“Anto, singing the night away and wobbling out the door at 1:30 to the fading holler of the barman Big Tim’s voice saying, ‘Come on, time to go home now gents and ladies, have yuh no homes to go to.’”
“I get to see how creativity and expression can have an effect on the lives of people living life on the edge of society, and help them somewhat in their struggle,” writes poet Karl Parkinson.
“The coach unpiles and I am in my first Portaloo queue of the day, and thank the holy spirit it’s clean…” A poet’s journey to perform at a summer festival.
I’ll go the shop, into the butchers, need chicken for the dinner, a fella asked me once how many chickens do you think get eaten everyday, think about it he says, like you’ve chicken in so many things …
“I always see myself in paintings, former me, me now, as a child, me not yet alive, the all inspiring I in the us,” writes Karl Parkinson, in this saunter through current Dublin exhibitions.
Life among the hip, smart, cool, transy, funky poet children, the sons, daughters and othered of Walt Whitman, Allen Ginsberg and Patti Smith.
In his monthly column, poet and performer Karl Parkinson will reflect on arts and the city. Here’s the first installment.
Documenting life of the north inner city docklands in text and photographs, this is a fine historical document, with a few nice literary touches, writes Karl Parkinson.
