Dublin Is Us
(For My Friend Jim Kelly)
Cold October Saturdays and endless grey
what if it was all an illusion to begin with anyway?
Oh Glorious Dublin’s got a way and a DNA!
Dublin will always be Dublin, home or away
literature the blood of its air
the Spartan and Trojan, sporting heroes
embodying the streets we walk
the cobblestone memories of Swift
Joyce, Behan and Charlton
singing through Stephen’s Green with Noel Purcell
and the new diverse multicultural,
the faces of our great writers atomised and embedded
into the cracks in every wall and in the green shoots
emerging through the gaps in the pavement.
The inescapability of Beckett, Joyce and Shaw
their towers growing higher with time
coming to terms with the gravities of their achievements
like Shakespeare on all of the world’s stages,
all of the world is a stage
like the representations and depictions
of heritage and histories
life, inclusion and the Joie De Vivre on Saint Patrick’s Day
flotillas showcasing everything good and great
about our capital city so full of potential
the underdog pugilist that can hold its own in any place
or time, right now or back then
as far as you wish to go
down the bloodlines and recorded histories
oral traditions, folklore, the mythic, the mystical
religious, scholastic, the saints and scholars
known as that Isle since at least the 7th century A.D.
but we’re modest, and we keep it under our caps
we can take on anyone no matter how many
with heart and mind, with soul and kindness
embodying characters sculpted
statuesque magnificence in a humble package
shrouded in the ancient lands we walk and jog on
the riches sedimented and embedded in every inch of our soil.
The codes are all there waiting to be unlocked
with the footfalls on the pavements
and the archaeologist’s trowels and brushes
and the jugs and bowls discovered
of enormous cultural significance.
However there are those who inhabit our streets,
on their backs and knees, walking on their hands
down the underground tunnels
forced to beg for scraps and a bed
symbols of lost compasses.
Knives, dark alleyways, spray -paint, barbwire and turnstiles
men in blue cleaning last night’s mess and unnecessariness
among the tears of lost and found loves
on late-night Fridays and Saturdays.
We walk in and out of the doorways
where rough sleepers have spent their nights
in fear of their lives
traffic and trafficked
on the floors above the busy city streets
greed never being pleased and excess never being appreciated
exhausted sleepers at the mercy of the sadistic
who could rain down upon them for kicks
at a moment’s notice.
Flags, badges, proclamations, tables, megaphones
flip-charts and roars, left and right, right and left
right and wrong, rights and wrongs
can we all just shake hands after all?
Move on and work together for everyone’s betterment
what is so wrong with aspiring to this?
There is no need to take a left or a right hook to the jaw
to prove that you are a hard-Shaw
a Hawkshaw a hard man or a hawk.
Markets and horses say a lot about us
trays of fresh fruit and vegetables
the smell of real life in the market quarter
very much worth preserving for ourselves
and future generations which never goes out of fashion
freshness like the emblem of three castles
etched like an Albrecht Durer masterpiece
into the capital’s collective consciousness
symbolising what was not easily attained
but was so nonetheless with heart
mind and indomitable spirit.
We are one, east and west
handshakes will benefit us, far more than bullets
guns, bombs, disinformation or malice
it is a window of chance that has come upon us
we are all in this.
The capital is its people
we are its streets and buildings and we all deserve
our rights, respect and dignity and a helping hand
when we fall down upon the floors and grounds.
Atavism still with us
the charred skeletal remains gored by the devil-horns
of historical warfare
territoriality and needless murder and killing
inside and outside the old walls, rivers and tributaries
we attribute and salute.
Our compassion for the helpless needs rekindling
to a mighty flame to snatch our inherent good nature
from the jaws of rapacious
greed and avariciousness
for the benefit of us all
our Dublin for all of us, once again.
Dublin is Carruth’s tenacity, Dowling’s passion
Katie Harrington’s self-belief, Delaney and Coughlan’s
four minute golden miles
across the city’s bridges and rivers
its blistering, never-ending, days of sunshine
and Liffey swimming where everyone
becomes grounded and human again.
Dublin is homecomings
Italia 90, Euro 88, Keane’s and Duff in 2002
McGrath from an open-top bus
olé, olé, olé, olé, olé
you’ll never beat the Irish,
the Irish Rovers, Rover Saves Christmas
Shane McGowan, Ronnie Drew, John Sheehan
Patricia Scanlan, Damien Dempsey, Philip Lynott
and Sinéad, Nothing Compares to her
nothing compares to Dublin Town.
Dire Strait’s prehistoric garbage trucks
with the city to themselves at night
all-night cafes,
from the light to dark, to the darkest dark
to the morning light, casinos, late night restaurants
night-links and taxis, Pony cabs and hook-ups leaving the city
the stags and the hens.
Dublin is that walk of shame
when you didn’t meet the woman or man
of your dreams that night
and had to go home alone
and the greatest night of your life
when you woke up with a beauty
knowing you had punched way above your weight that night
and fell madly in love, of course!
Dublin is City Hall, Civic Regalia
it is east and west, north and southside
provinces of the city, which includes all of us
tourists, visitors and those who enrich the fabric
frescos, tapestries, mosaics and histories of the city
by coming to live here
becoming Irish citizens
and making magnificent and miraculous contributions
to our city
stitching us up in hospitals, transplanting our lungs
and hearts, saving our lives.
Dublin is a place of sanctuary
a bowl of chowder and a slice of crusty bread
on a cold, wet, blustery November afternoon
in good company and with a soothing hot whiskey
when you’re feeling a bit under the weather
and the greyness of the streets, skies and buildings
is getting you down, as Autumn becomes winter
a long way from Christmas and New Year’s Eve.
Dublin is markets, Moore Street
hollering Dublin accents, old school kindness
wisdom and looking after everyone who passes them by
or who stops to say hello to old Dublin
to reconnect with the eternal collective soul
much older, than eight hundred years old.
Dublin is many nationalities
all welcome, all part of the new Dublin
the city where everyone is welcome to make a contribution
and make it greater than it’s ever been
taller than the spire
and brighter than the bright light at the very tip
that almost touches the sun, stars and the moon.
Dublin is the city and its walls, Waters ran upon
the Vikings, Sitric Silken Beard, Silken Thomas
silver tongues, soothing brogues, the blás and beauty
of the Celtic Irish tongue of gold, silver and Connemara marble.
Dublin is its tourist shops, Arran seaters
Taylor Swift wears, Beckett, Guinness’s
Hop house Thirteen, Kavanagh down by the Royal Canal
strawberry beds forever beside the River Liffey
bridges named after famous writers
statues of Phil Lynott, Like Kelly, Jim Larkin
and The O’Connell Street Monument
and The Wellington Monument
structures that have witnessed
visits by Pope John Paul The Second and Francis
preaching wisdom and love for humankind
promoting peace, tolerance and forgiveness
thousands turned out to pay their respects
in Dublin’s Phoenix Park.
Dublin is Croke Park on a Sunday
and valiant athletes full of heart and passion
Gavin, Brogan, McMahon, Connolly
McManamon, Cluxton
and so many in a row
holding the Sam Maguire cup aloft
before bunting and a lap of honour
and a next day visit to Crumlin Children’s Hospital
to share the pride and joy after a big night out
in the Boar’s or Stag’s head bars.
Dublin is architectural styles
Georgian, Gothic, Tudor and Busaurus’s art deco
steeples reaching the sky
Christ Church, The Pro Cathedral,
White Friars Street, George’s Street arcade
bags of chips, records, cassettes, jams, marmalades,
bohemian style clothing, bongs and being around
the corner from Powerscourt
Doric plinths, columns, cranes
building across the sky
and the smell of hops from car windows.
Dublin Area Rapid Transit
from Bray
to Howth Junction that ‘could take you away’ as Damo would say
and back to see beautiful aspects of the city and county
forgetting time, place and weather
summoned to a higher plane.
Moving through tunnels
around cliff edges
peering over precipices
seeing out to the horizon
marvelling at the beaches
and a welcome visit from Matt Damon.
Shorelines and then on through the city
the nexus and epicentre
the power of the centre
the centre-piece of the people and the streets
walking, rushing, cruising in electric-cars
and stuck in traffic jams
a contrast to the carefree yachts sailing in Dun Laoghaire
and Howth
with the 2024 cars passing through Raheny village
like modern Toyota Carinas
higher professionals, artisan coffee shops
election posters, the Hayes statue
near the crossroads
and some close friends
residing beside the sea.
On Dollymount Strand
lifeguards, boy-racers, souped up two-door cars
occasional gatherings to settle scores and drink cans
amazing new cycle-ways to breathe the fresh air
retired couples walking hand in hand
wearing jumpers, sleeves draped over their chests
tied in loose knots
carefree, comfortable, with purpose in their countenances.
Dublin overall is like a gull
white, with its majestic wings at full-span
soaring with enormous aerial impact.
The gull is a great Dublin symbol
a tenacious city full of potential.
Dublin is rivers and bays
remembering the stalls on Parnell Street
and the clothing markets on Meath Street.
Dublin is a maze of streets
beautiful historical buildings
walls, trees, cranes, hard-hats, boiler suits
tea breaks, not beyond this point
visual and virtual signs etched into our minds.
The quartets and quarters, Irish coffees and cappuccinos
high-rise estates and tower blocks and graffitied shop-shutters.
Dublin is then and now
re-imaginings, transformations, re-buildings,
incredible regenerations
and my dear Dolphin’s Barn,
O’Devaney Gardens, Stoneybatter’s barbers
gourmet coffee-shops and artisan houses
Cabra clubs, soccer, taekwondo
five-a-side, astro-turf pitches, astronomy
looking to the clear skyline
on Spring nights
as the transition to the temporary winter months
of lower temperatures where you nearly can taste the cold
and watch your breath on glass like Midge Ure.
Dublin is condensation on bus and Luas windows
broken cars in driveways, lanes and side-entrances
needing repair and garage doors needing re-painting
or replacement back in the day
before the dominance of the screens
and varieties of wines, beers and gins in your local shops.
Dublin is the old city walls
pearls in shells, old pistols and muskets
buried under ruins
and sunset in the Sunset House
in communities that would lend you a pint of milk
or a bag of sugar
without even having to ask for it.
Dublin is the kind Coolock taxi-drivers
that would drive you and two-weeks of food
all the way home on a cold wet day
for a few euros if couldn’t afford it.
Our Dublin kindness and compassion
as valuable to us as Cluxton’s point in 2011
that set us all alite again.
It all exists in cycles
beds of oil, tar, nails, grass and weeds
but there are always green shoots growing
all the time
anthropologies, sociologies
banks, societies, technologies, monies
silver linings to everything
always light on the way
after the darkest of nights and days.
With the alignment of sky, mind, heart
ground, soil and earth.
Dublin is the dew on Grafton Street
on a sun-drenched October morning
on a day full of endless promise and sunshine.
Dublin is our deep roots
going back generation after generation
and our natural resilience
and drive to succeed in life.
Dublin is us, simple as.
(Updated version: 2024)
About the Author
Gavin Bourke grew up, in the suburb of Tallaght, in West Dublin. Married to Annemarie, living in County Meath, he holds a B.A. in Humanities, from Dublin City University, an M.A. Degree, in Modern Drama Studies and a Higher Diploma in Information Studies, from University College Dublin. His work broadly covers, nature, time, memory, addiction, mental health, human relationships, the inner and outer life, creating meaning and purpose, politics, contemporary and historical social issues, injustice, the human situation, power and its abuse, absurdism, existentialisms, human psychology and behaviour, truth and deception, the sociological imagination, illness, socio-economics, disability, inclusivity, human life, selfishness and its consequences, as well as urban and rural life, personal autonomy, ethics, grand schemes and the technological life, in English and to a lesser extent, the Irish Language.
Gavin is also a multi-instrumentalist and has been a songwriter, composer and guitar teacher, for the past, thirty-five years. He plays Classical/Spanish guitar, acoustic-electric guitar, bass guitar, jazz guitar, electric lead guitar, banjo and mandolin. He has written songs, music and lyrics, recorded albums, collaborated with many musicians and songwriters and has performed, in venues, all over Dublin.
