Death of PJ Kavanagh

 

 P J Kavanagh at home in 2004 Photo: Charles Sturge The Telegraph Aug 31st 2015

 

 

Patrick Joseph Kavanagh  

(6 January 1931 – 26 August 2015)

 

 

 It is with great sadness that I learned today of the death of PJ Kavanagh last Wednesday, and it was also something of a shock since I had only recently seen him at the Powys Society conference.  I met him four years ago at another of the conferences, when he came and sat beside me at the table in the dining room and we talked over lunch.  I missed a little of the early conversation as my complete attention was taken by the voice in my head, shrieking with manic joy and astonishment, "oh my God! I'm talking to PJ Kavanagh."  I managed to come to my senses and went on to enjoy a conversation with him that spanned Irish poetry and poets, some of his work on radio and the writings of John Cowper Powys.  Lunch ended all too quickly, and he was called away from the table.  I didn't want him to go as there was so much to ask him, to talk about.  He was a poet, among other things, someone who achieved much through his talent and creativity but what struck me most was his humanity; it shone through his eyes and emanated from his whole being.  

 

This year, I attended my second conference after a gap of four years and he was again present with his wife, Kate. I didn't get the opportunity to speak with him but I listened as he read one of his favourite passages from John Cowper Powys's works.  It was a pleasure to hear him read and also talk about his feelings and opinions on the piece.

 

I met him only twice but PJ Kavanagh, the man, has left a lasting impression on me.  Sadly, he is gone but he leaves behind his poetry and writings. 

Below is one of his poems:

 

THE TEMPERANCE BILLIARD ROOMS

 

The Temperance Billiard Rooms in red and green and brown 

with porridge-coloured stucco in between

and half a child's top for a dome, also green - 

it's like a Protestant mosque! It'll come down;

no room for this on the Supermarket scene.

Eight years ago on a Saturday afternoon

we used to walk past it, for no particular reason, 

dressed in our weekend clothes now long out of fashion.

and bump into friends, newly married, just as we were,

and go to a film, or not, or window-shop.

Eight years before that I was seventeen,

eight years from now I may be forty-one;

thirty-three salutes the Billiard Rooms alone.

Because I'm the one who's alive still, but without much enthusiasm,

for loving someone has no particular season, 

just goes on, as I do too I notice; not only from fear -

though its true I don't want to go for I've never been there -

but while you are breathing it takes a decision to stop;

and I'm vaguely pleased to see that green and brown

(something so uneconomical's sure  tocome down)

in all its uselessness waiting out its season:

pleased to find the Temperance Billiards Rooms still here,

and for all I know men playing billiards temperately in there.

PJ Kavanagh

 (The Oxford Book Of Twentieth Century Verse - Chosen by Philip Larkin)  

 

 

There is much I like about this poem but the one line that stands out for me, is: 

'for loving someone has no particular season, 

just goes on,'

 

A profoundly beautiful statement of fact. 

 

 PJ Kavanagh R.I.P

Obituary

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/obituaries/11834771/P-J-Kavanagh-poet-obituary.html