Patrick Marnham
The best book this year was Daddy, Daddy, the new collection of Paul Durcan's poems (The Blackstaff Press, £5.95). In one of the political poems he puts forward an original scheme, that 'the heroic democrats of the IRA' should spend six months riding the Dublin-Belfast train before emerging at Belfast Central to swear an oath on Mein Kampf. But the main theme is personal, the death of the poet's father, the late Judge John Durcan of the Connaught Circuit, a remarkable man with a remark- able son.
. . . There is no one in my life Whom I disliked so submissively, Yet whom I loved so mercilessly, As you, Daddy. To me You were at once saint and murderer.
When you raised your right hand To smash in my face, I saw the face of the murderer.
When you spoke the name Of a beloved townland or parish, Keelogues or Parke, I saw the face of a saint . . .
There are fine verses here, both funny and sad, as well as frightening. AND VERY EASY TO READ. And cheap. So buy them.
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