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Alan Corkish

Updated: Mon, 24 Sep 2007 06:05 pm

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Poet, Novelist, Editor and Reviewer. Edits the radical poetry journal 'erbacce' ( Publications: Autobiography due out this year: 'Glimpses of Notes' Novel: 'Groups'. 2006 Poetry Collection: 'Corrupted Memories'. 2003 (reprinted 2004) Satire: 'A to Z of Education'. (Under pen-name: Chris O' Kalan) 2002 Alan writes reviews for Orbis, The Journal, New Hope International and Stride, he co-edited the best selling 'Listening to the Birth of Crystals' which was published in both the UK and the USA, his work appears in hundreds of small press publications throught the world and in many poetry anthologies including: 'The People's Poet', 'See Me Hear Me', 'The Ticking Crocodile', 'A Sporting Chance', Dream Weaving', and 'Liver Bards'. Alan lives in Liverpool UK where he is working currently on a Masters Degree in Psychotherapy. He studied for his BA(Hons) in English and Philosophy at Liverpool University and has a Masters Degree in Writing Skills.


father (First published in MÖBIUS (USA) 2004) a man i called father ~for a brief moment in my life~ smoked a clay pipe and chewed ‘old rope’ which spittled crackling on the open fire eyes grey as a north sea storm never settled on me and he went to his death without us ever touching or meaning anything to one another he was just there and he came and went with no word of greeting or goodbye except for once when his own son drowned and i saw salt in the crevices that seared his face like the salt grey of his hair and the eyes dimmed briefly in that brushed leather face as a single finger, coarse and brown like a ropes end, brushed away what might have been a memory or an unstoppable tear *********** throwing stones at Salmon* 9th February 2004 (First published in Dream Weaving 2004) in Temple Bar squat too many legal-highs grogshops and tattooists too many tarot readers astrologers and tat-shops and in this strumpet of a city with its multicoloured Oscar Wilde posing on a rock and bronzed and shit-strewn statues of everyone from Parnell to de Valera; too many drunken brawlers battered beggars and door step sleepers huddled by the Custom’s House rails but at Trinity at least young girls in purple scarves throw stones at Salmon’s sullen squatting statue as a passing don walks by eyes fixed purposefully on sun-chilled snowdrops and golden crocuses huddled at the elm bowl’s stem *One time Provost of Trinity, Dr. George Salmon, who was avidly opposed to the admission of women into Trinity College Dublin. ********** Loss Lingers (For Chas) (First published in Corrupted Memories 2004) touched by frost the last rose wilts folds in upon itself seeks solace in winter slumber touched by loss the soul wilts folds in upon itself seeks solace in solitude frost and loss both wilt but for most of a given year there is no frost; loss lingers a grief for all seasons **********

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<Deleted User> (22247)

Fri 5th Jul 2019 15:23

"Loss Lingers" had that end-punch I so enjoy in poetry.

Enjoyed discovering your poetry!

<Deleted User> (9801)

Thu 17th Nov 2011 19:02

Sad about your Father! never touching (his loss) I suffered a lot of loss too? doesn't get easier, well written ( Loss Lingers)x

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Antony Owen

Fri 5th Feb 2010 10:36

the haunting landscape of your Father's face evoked memories of an old man filling his wrinkles (my own Father).

I see an honesty in your poems that I like which do not get distorted or overshadowed by poetic parameters.

From one author to another I much enjoyed your work!

<Deleted User> (6230)

Fri 22nd May 2009 11:29

I am but a lowly writer, not to be compared with yourself, a published professional. I just don't understand how it is radical.

Why don't you take a look at my blogs and IF I decide I want you to publish me, I will allow it :-)

Good health to you, Sir.

<Deleted User> (6230)

Fri 22nd May 2009 10:55

I don't see how any of this is radical.

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