The Days of Surprise

by Paul Durcan

A topical new collectioon from one of Ireland's best, and best-loved, poets.
     Paul Durcan never imagined he would be clasped by a woman again, but life is full of surprises! After all, would it surprise you to learn that at the US Ambassador's Residence in Dublin his libido almost destroyed the Peace Process? There is a new Pope, too, a 'man of constant surprise', although in St Peter's Square Durcan encounters a monk wholly lacking in the Holy Spirit. 
     Elsewhere he muses upon the 'pre-crucifixion scenario' of being prepared for surgery, the gift of a malacca cane, the joy of retail therapy, the horror that is wheel-clamping, the 'starry mystique' of the weather forecaster Jean Byrne, suicide, bird-watching, stammering, art, Mayo, New York City, New Zealand, murder in Syria and the commemoration of 1916. Perhaps the greatest surprise is the voice of the late Seamus Heaney coming down his 'Are you all right down there, Poet Durcan?' The Days of Surprise is proof that the great poet of contemporary Ireland is in fine fettle.

Genres: Poetry

176 pages, Hardcover

First published March 12, 2015

About the author

Paul Durcan was an Irish poet.

Reviews

[Barry Pierce · Rating 3 out of 5]

Paul Durcan is one of my favourite poets. In this, his latest collection, he returns on top form. Durcan is poet who is not afraid of comedy. He writes some of the funniest verses in modern poetry and his ability to capture the voice, the vernacular of the people he meets is wonderful. There is also great sadness in his work. You can be busting a gut laughing at one poem and then be moved to tears by the poem on the opposite page. His versatility is renowned. Some of my favourite from this collection are, "Ash Wednesday, Dublin, 13 February 2013", "The W.B. Yeats Shopping Centre", "Irish Bankers Shoot Dead Fifty-Seven Homeless Children", "1916 Not to Be Commemorated", and "Breaking News".

[Maeve · Rating 3 out of 5]

I put my survival of the Leaving Cert. year down largely to the budding of intimate and long-lasting friendships, sitting out in the sun people-watching during breaktime on warm May afternoons, and Paul Durcan's poetry. From first hearing about 'Nessa' off a friend in Transition Year, to flicking through my poetry book to 'Wife who Smashed Television gets Jail' when I was supposed to be deciphering dastardly chemistry diagrams, I decided that Durcan was the poet for me out of the holy octet quite early on.

Funny, descriptive and realistic; I fell in love with 'Sport', 'The Difficulty that is Marriage', 'The McBride Dynasty' and 'Windfall'. From each I memorised a mantra that I have driven my contemporaries demented with ever since. I always swore that I would venture further into his extensive poetic collection after leaving school, and now I have. The result? I was a little disappointed. Each of the aforementioned five poems, amongst others prescribed for the English course, was hilarious, hard-hitting or both. Metaphors were bountiful, but the poem still read fluidly at face value. These poems were a little further out of my reach, and perhaps the reach of anyone who is not Durcan himself. However, I greatly appreciated the use of fabulously varied yet comprehensible language; the narrative created through the order of the numerous poems, and the connecting themes throughout; the humour, however sparse; the depth and breadth of themes and topics discussed; the Irishness of it all.

Perhaps the greatest surprise was turning the last few pages of the book and finding a tribute to my granny's next-door neighbour from rural Mayo - I always say that 'Ireland is small, but not THAT small' - perhaps I need to eat my words. I would have probably given it four stars if I didn't know well what Durcan is capable of, but there were some astounding inclusions (e.g. '1916 not to be Commemorated' and 'Beau Durcan') which make it clear that he is just as astounding as ever.

[Peter B Waddell · Rating 4 out of 5]

There's warmth from personality and a sense of fun that kept me moving through the book faster than it deserved. Or maybe that was OK as the more serious poems and the richness of the himour only iptoved with another reading...and more.

[Gavin · Rating 3 out of 5]

Disconcerting autobiographical fun; sometimes jolly to the point of childishness - gynaecologists! priests!. And so full up with the Church, though teasing its pretensions and persisting brutalities. Here is the grand title poem, both Under Milk Wood for Ringsend his town and an occasional for Francis' coronation (who is, much like himself, "A figure of childlike passivity / As well as childlike authority").

A lovely man, clearly. When angry, he mocks his own anger. He does not denounce; instead he scolds. Also full of lovely banal lists:

I sat down under a recycling bin and wept – wept for joy and ecstasy and grief and anguish and the whole jing bang lot and Moses and Isabel Gilsenan and Johannes Scotus Eriugena and Georgie Hyde-Lees and Eimear McBride and Robert Heffernan and Katie Taylor and Christine Dwyer Hickey and Mo Farah and Roisin O’Brien and Joe Canning and Máire Logue and Rory and Columbanus and Enda and Fionnuala and Jorge Mario Bergoglio and Michael D. Higgins and – and – and – and – and – and – and – and – SABINA!

Best are "The Actors' Chapel"; and the title one.

[Sheila · Rating 2 out of 5]

Disappointing after the wonderful first book.