My life in books: Everything by Tim Robinson is well-written, I finish his books with a lighter heart
John FitzGerald, poet, at his home in Co Cork: 'there are writers I must avoid — like strong drink — because they’ll smother my own voice if allowed.' Picture: Jim Coughlan.
John Fitzgerald is a poet and former university librarian at UCC.
His most recent poetry collection is , published by Gallery Press. He lives in Carrigdarrery, Co Cork.
I’m a fan of the sonnet, its compressed energy and the infinite possibility of the form. I’m also a very quick fall-to-sleeper, so a sonnet before sleep is the perfect way to end the day.
Don Paterson’s is on my locker currently: He’s so clever and inventive and each poem is different, surprising, always entertaining.
The journal of the Kilmurry Historical and Archaeological Society is written by local lay-historians and celebrates Kilmurry’s rich archaeological and historical heritage — evidenced too by the best local museum found anywhere.
I rarely don’t finish a book, but there are writers I must avoid — like strong drink — because they’ll smother my own voice if allowed.
Seamus Heaney, Bernard O’Donoghue, and Elizabeth Bishop do this to me, so I read them sparingly, and rarely a whole book at a time, as I may be silenced forever.
It was poems for me from the start. by John Betjeman was a revelation. I learned it off when I was 12 so I could recite it to myself for its extraordinary music.
The poems of Alice Oswald helped to propel me into writing.
Everything by Tim Robinson is well-written, intensely absorbing, often revelatory. I finish his books with a lighter heart and renewed energy to celebrate our precious, fractal world.
by Cormac McCarthy terrified me. It’s set, so vividly and believably, in a world after nuclear armageddon and follows a father and son trying to survive in unimaginably hostile conditions.
It would be sad to see it all end like that.
I first read , edited by Richard Hamer, when I was 17 and couldn’t believe the skill and humanity of poems written over a thousand years ago.
It opened up my mind and my imagination to the value of older work, and to appreciating that good writing never ages, just like the works of Homer and the Tang poets of China.
We had a copy at home of the 11th edition of , bought by my great grandfather around 1911.
I spent much of my childhood lost between its covers, all 29 volumes. I loved the wafer-thin paper and the endlessly interesting detail of entry after entry.
An encyclopaedia of birdsong.
, the debut collection of Cork-based poet Dean Browne, is already scooping up awards. The poems are like remote-controlled firecrackers. Buy a first edition now; you won’t regret it.
Pat Collins’ is easily the best book adaptation I’ve ever seen.
Evoking the mood of John McGahern’s novel, its slow-moving flow and the richness of the characters make it a masterpiece.
Waterstones in Cork, for the books of course, but also the genial and energetic John Breen, whose generosity to Cork writers makes it the best bookshop any city could wish for.
My problem is not organisation — I spent three decades as UCC librarian, so classification is a natural instinct — but space.
I wish I could double my shelf capacity at home; but there is a plan …
Nothing, thank you, just the book — and silence, uninterrupted silence.
The voice of Eibhlín Dubh Ní Chonaill, the keener of the remarkable is never far from earshot, and she’s been made more real by Doireann Ní Ghríofa’s spellbinding memoir .
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