Patrick Kavanagh scared the living daylights out of my mum when she was cleaning a house in Dublin. She didn't know who he was and why he was in the house. He wanted a soft boiled egg in a mug and the braces on his trousers fixed.
This has always been a favourite of mine, since I read it in schoolas a poem. In November 2012 on Grafton street I met my birth mother for the first time in 38 years. It makes it even more poignant for me.
I live in Tyrone and my love for this man makes me feel like a Dubliner, and on a tour of Glasnevin many moons ago I noticed that at the conclusion of the tour the guide had failed to take us to Luke Kelly's grave so I asked him where Luke's grave was, and he told me to go across the road as Luke was buried in the part of the cemetery with all the rest of the common Dublin folk and that gave me an untold level of respect for Luke as not only did he and his gravestone proclaim to be nothing more than the run of the mill Dubliner but he too was buried amongst them, away from the spotlight, the tours, the grandeur, just a simple cross with simple text nestled amongst the rest of the normal people. That is what showcases a real hero
I am from Nepal, and yet I find this music enchanting. We may be divided among our opinions, race, culture, identity, but a song like this unites us all.
We sang this to my dad as he was dying, three weeks tomorrow. It was his go to at sessions. RIP my beautiful father. My world, the whole world, is a sadder place without you.