Tag Archives: Samuel Beckett

Nine Poems

Friday, 9th August, 2019

Laurence O’Bryan,

Dublin

Laurence,

I wrote nine poems yesterday, an unusually high number for me but not unprecedented. All are on my blog tichennis.com and all have so far at least one like. I got one more follower yesterday and my total may now be 270.

Some of the poems I wrote yesterday had as few as four lines, some a good few more. This one, https://tichennis.wordpress.com/2019/08/08/about-me/

which I was going to call My Character I called About Me instead because apparently I already had another poem written with the name My Character.

Someone said I don’t write poems, I write rhymes. Oh well. A friend said I will be famous after I die. That’s something to look forward to. I don’t only write poems, which I insist on calling them. A much maligned genre. Poetry, what sins are committed in thy name? Manifold, to use an archaic word, though not archaic in motor car engines.

So you should have my book Arklow Voice and my CD Great Irish Songs today if not sooner. Do they constitute a suitable requiem? Am I born before my time? What times are coming? A more enlightened age, hopefully.

The one and only written in print in a newspaper review of my work and very brief it was was this year when I took part in a poetry reading and the report described my poetry as “unique”. That’s nice to know. Wendy Cope the popular English poet said poetry readings are a form of torture, a line I quoted before that recent reading of mine, saying I hoped to prove her wrong.   I heard indirectly someone’s brother thought I was good. No, not my brother, he was not there.

Some guy I met in a pub said he tried being a comedian but no one laughed at his jokes. I thought that was funny but was too polite to laugh. He could tell that one. Samuel Beckett is a comedian, he said everything is futile, it would be better never to have been born. I wouldn’t go that far, someone said. Unintentional humour is often the funniest I said to a friend, it always is he said. Okay, he’s a bit emphatic.

I asked Centra here in Arklow would they sell my last book, Reasonable Rhymes, they said everything they sell is supplied by Musgraves. I looked them up the other day, nothing but groceries appeared to be mentioned, they are a multi million euro business. I had thought you might approach them then I thought why not me?

Of all sad words of tongue or pen the saddest are these, it might have been – Robert Louis Stevenson. Why do artists want appreciation? Why do they do what they do? If its for money I’m a dead loss.

So, what do you think of my book and CD, they’re not just for looking at? I have no day job to give up, so don’t say don’t give up the day job. My day job is writing and living and all that goes with it. I will not stop. Till death do us part. My pen and me. Or I if you prefer.

Centra do sell newspapers and magazines (not of a high literary value). I also asked the local Easons but all their stock is supplied by head office. Not about my new book Arklow Voice, it has not been printed yet except for proof copies, of which you have the most recent.

I would like to enter the real world sometime, not just in my imagination. So would millions of others. I am not alone.

Oscar Wilde said there are only two kinds of books, good books and bad books. Is mine good? I like it, but who am I to say? The last person in the world.

I await your judgement. Smiling the boy fell dead.   Entertaining the masses is a serious business. It depends how you look at it.

I more or less said it all in my last letter. If people like things they pay for them. I won’t repeat myself. My blog will probably last until I die. I will never give up.

If the public won’t pay for my stuff they can have it for nothing. That seems like a bargain.

I like people liking my stuff, that comes first. Blogging costs nothing, printing books does.

I won’t try your patience any longer. How long is a piece of string? It depends where you cut it,

Best wishes,

David (Tich) Ennis

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My Fellow Citizens

My Fellow Citizens

(To Sylvester Bourke, Pat Hoey, Pier Leonard and Chantel Kangowa, my preferred candidates in Arklow local elections. As of now. Please circulate widely.)

         I fully intend to vote for one or more of you in the forthcoming election or elections. Why? I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt. Whose doubt? Mine. You have yet to prove yourselves in this great façade we call life, or something like that.

As far as I know, but who am I to say, you are reasonable facsimiles of human beings. Robots can be very realistic and getting more so all the time. Once I vote for you, if I vote for you, that’s it. I’ve burned my boats. I’m stuck with you until the next election, if you get elected.

Speaking as a semi-lunatic, driven mad or half mad by circumstances beyond my control, but that’s life, isn’t it, yes, as I said before, I strongly intend to vote, if I get around to it, which I expect I will. But don’t count on my vote, let the counting officer do that.

My point is I will have to put up with you for 4 years if you get elected but you will ignore me completely. That may be mutual. I have better things to be doing than thinking about politics all the time.

People like me are the electorate, for better or worse, and require representation. How can you be one of us and not one of us at the same time? Can you square that circle?

This may be a joke but someone said all politicians should be taken out periodically and shot. That’s fairly funny if you’re not a politician. There is still hope. You may not be elected.

To quote Samuel Beckett, everything is futile, it would be better never to have been born. He also said try again, fail again, try again, fail better.

He was more or less a comedian, not to be taken too seriously.

I too am Irish. So what? If I was born somewhere else I would be something else. And equally ashamed or proud, or probably both at once.

All good things come to an end, including life itself, good or otherwise. So you are going to make my life better. Says who? I didn’t make much of a job of it myself. I can’t really blame you. Not yet, anyway.

The torch was passed to another generation and they lit a marijuana cigarette with it. Fine words butter no parsnips. But they’re better than nothing.

To quote Dean Swift, and why not, in his self-written obituary:

He left the little wealth he had

to build a house for fools and mad,

and showed by this satiric touch,

no nation needed it so much.

 

End of quote.

What is your price? Will you fulfil my requirements? Do you endeavour to give satisfaction? Or do you just want to get elected?

I will sign my vote in blood. That sounds good, doesn’t it? Not mine, I hope.

A cynic is a person who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing – Oscar Wilde.

I know the price of a pint of Guinness, four sixty in my favourite hostelry, less in some places, more in others.

Have you read Less is More? Or Small is Beautiful? Neither have I. I recommend them to other people. Not written by Irish people, but we can’t all be Irish.

What’s wrong with Ireland that you want to make it better? A patriot is a person who says a country is the best in the world because he was born in it – G. B. Shaw (also Irish).

Karl Marx said something else but he wasn’t Irish. He once said smokers of the world unite, you have nothing to lose but your chain smoking. Or something very like it.

So, okay, if you get elected we won’t have to put up with each other for four years. I look forward to that. An amicable divorce. We all make mistakes.

Any of you could turn out to be another Hitler, Pol Pot or Shane Ross. God help us all. At least you’re not Nigel Farrage, not so far, anyway.

Are you good at soundbites? Do you tweet often? What have you learned from Donald Trump?

Okay, that’s it, fateful Friday approaches, the day of reckoning, when the sheep are sorted from the goats, the men from the boys, the girls from the women, the good things from the bad things. I’ll see you in Heaven, Hell, Purgatory or Nirvana, whatever you’re having yourself. Destiny awaits. Many stirring words have been spoken, I am stir crazy hearing them.

Ok, I’ll vote for you, something is better than nothing. Or so they say. That’s for me to know and you to find out. Take it on the chin. Roll with the punches. Let Katy Taylor be your role model.

Arklow forever! Or the time being, anyway. Sorry for taking up so much of your time and mine.

Still, you could be in jail. Cheer up!

P.S.

I asked a woman was she a politician, she said she hasn’t sold her soul. A man I repeated that to said politicians have no soul. He used the eff word.

Anglo Saxon is a gift bestowed on us by the English on their departure. We are fluent speakers.

d

Tich Ennis

22nd May, 2019

 

Irishman

Am I on the alert or semi-alert to quote Samuel Beckett who was an Irishman and is no more?

Am I wrong or am I right, am I aware or unaware, ought I be heartsore?

Ghastly things are happening in the world through no fault of my own.

I would prefer if many people were left alone.

Would it take a cataclysm or catastrophe to change everyone including me?

I don’t know the answer, is it up to me?

If so roll on catastrophe.

I end on this note, the best is yet to be.

How and when and where?

Here and there.

Everywhere.

Wait and see.

Who is he or she?

To be or not to be.

A fool like me.

With apologies to Samuel Beckett and William Shakespeare.

You spoke loud and clear.

I too drink beer.

I hope this is not obscure but, Hell, do you understand the universe?

Is Hell a curse?

It could be worse.

Endless verse.

Tich Ennis

24th April, 2019