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Thursday, January 05, 2006

Pat Tierney Remembered

Who out there remembers Pat Tierney? Who can recall Pat Tierney, diminutive in stature, gigantic in spirit standing in Grafton Street reciting poetry to the passing populous? Who would have stopped to listen as his belted out poems by Yeats and Kavanagh and Clarke? Who would have seen the vitality he breathed into the written word like the seanachai of old?

Pat Tierney was born on the 7th of January 1957 in Galway city. His mother, who was 17 years of age gave birth out of wedlock, which at the time was seen as not being socially correct. From a very young age Pat was shunted from religious institution to institution before ending up in St. Patricks institution (prison) for young offenders. In St. Patricks, Pat made contact with his family in England and on release he travelled to England to meet them and for a reunion with his mother.

Unfortunately this reunion did not work out and after a run in with the law Pat was deported back to Ireland. Pat didn’t remain long in Ireland before leaving for America. He travelled extensively around the United States residing in Michigan, Wyoming, California and Florida. In each place Pat played an active part in the social and cultural life of the Irish American community.

However Pat did encounter the dark side of life with excessive drinking and intravenous drug use which was later to come back to haunt him.

Pat’s final journeying in the New World took him to rural New Foundland where he discovered the joy and freedom which poetry can be. Indeed he became something of a local celebrity in Newfoundland appearing on the radio and TV. However his stay in New Foundland was cut short when local authorities began to investigate his status in the country. In fact Pat was in the country illegally and had to get out of the country quick.

He decided to return once more to Ireland.

Upon returning Pat decided to take poetry to the people and started reciting poems in Henry Street but due to a lack of response he moved his patch to Grafton Street. Pat moved into Ballymun on Dublin’s northside and became active in various community activities throughout the area. He published several chapbooks containing his poems as well as an autobiography entitled "The Moon On My Back", which tells of his life story.

Not afraid of the limelight, Pat used the media to highlight his story and the many causes he worked for and promoted.

The story for Pat did not have a happy ending. He returned to England in order to make a final effort at reconciliation with his mother but this did not happen. Finally as a result of his intravenous drug use and sharing dirty needles, Pat was diagnosed as being HIV positive.

Seemingly undeterred Pat continued working on several community projects as well as with the Dublin Aids alliance. "The Moon On My Back" was adapted for stage by Pat and seemingly ran successfully for a while in Dublin. A second autobiography was planned and on the surface all was well. This however was not the case.

Pat’s health worsened. The play was not the commercial success Pat needed and he ended up getting into debt. Debts he could not afford to have. The second autobiography did not materialise.

On the night of January 5th 1996, disheartened by his apparent failures and a rapid decline in his health, Pat Tierney took his own life.

Pat Tierney on the 10th anniversary of your death, you are not forgotten.

Comments:
Joe, I've never heard of Pat Tierney, but I will definitely try and find some of his work to read as your post has a certain concinnity for me.
Today is my grandad's anniversary and it's three years today since my leukemia diagnosis. Whether is fate or coincidence, I feel obliged to seek out this tragic poet because of January 5th.
Thanks.
 
I remember him :-) Thank you for that post, it brought such memories back to me, and also of the Dice Man, two wonderful characters that leaves Grafton Street, and us Dubs poorer for their loss.
 
hi there,
pat tierney was my cousin and i met him a couple of times when he came over,although things didn't work out with his mother(my aunt)he did get along with other members of the family especially my nan.i just wish things could have been different and i got to know pat a whole lot more.
 
Hard to believe that its ten years, I remember him fondly,and all i can say about him is that i never have met ANYONE with such a hugh personality, and zest before or since.
 
Hi,
I dont know why but Pat came into my head today, i just typed in his name and this came up, i remember pat very very well i used to live next door to him in ballymun and he helped me out on plenty of occassions, i remember him very fondly, god only knows what he would have went on to achieve if he had the chance, what a waste of a great man RIP Pat.
 
Hi

I read Pat Tierneys book my aunty lived beside him in Ballymun and his kids peotry books are brilliant, my little cousin was in one of them I still have it to this day, unfortunatly I lent out my copy of The moon on my back to a friend and they must have really liked it too as I never got the book back. I was very disappointed it was gone as my aunty got it for me just after Pat passed his life story is so sad and touched me deeply I read it at 15 its 13 yrs since and I am looking to get a copy of it again to read again. God bless a man who touched more hearts than he would've ever of thought. R.I.P
 
I knew Pat from 1991 t0 1994 i found him to be a wonderful careing person i read his book the moon on my back his life story covering his time in institutional care pat got the truth out he offered his life for all the childres that sufferd in these snake pits that the regilious ran and the state condoned for so long. I lived in 17 eamonn ceannt tower pat lived in 77. as martin luther said FREE AT LAST FREE AT LAST FREE AT LAST (BUT WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTON).your friend Desmond
 
Pat Tierney was a huge influence in my Life, I was a member of the Rymers Group Pat had set up for the kids in Ballymun. He thought us how to write and spent many hours with us taking us to the horse fair or to Howth beach on summer days there was many an evening we would sit in his flat with him and count out his money in his poets pot or teach us how to cook his favourite dinner, steak with mash spuds and onion and white sauce, its funny the things you will remember.
He had made a promise that he would always be with us and watching over us this he made just a few days before he left us.
Miss you loads Pat.
 
Pat was the son of my Mother which was strange for me. when i was 21 i was told about him by my mother and then in an hour or two he was knocking at my mums door .
Iwent to the pub that night with Pat ,my uncle and a couple of cousins he was great crack laughing and smileing all night .
that was the only time i met Pat soon after he passed away.
The brother I never had . R.I.P PAT
 
Abacas ,if you are talking about the Pat Tierney who came to Newfoundland a couple of decades ago and called himself the Irish Bard , i also knew him .I got a call one Sunday evening from a local resident who had put Pat up for a night or two ,to ask if he could spend a night with my family .We agreed and got to know very briefly a very fine person .I brought him to my father's home where he recited and sang .Next morning after he spoke to my English class ( I taught high school) I dropped him off on the trans Canada Highway at edge of Grand falls -Windsor en route to St. John's , NL to spend some time .If we are talking about the same man ,all I recall apart from his talent and great personality was his hatred for the Irish Christian Brothers because of abuse he suffered at their hands.I often thought about Pat and wondered what happened to him .I want to know if we are talking about the same person .cbasmith@nl.rogers.com
 
i first heard of pat when my sister julie gave me his book i home on holiday from new york . it is a great book . in late 90 s i loaned 2 a ballymun girl working in my hood sunnyside/ she had 2 go home 2 bally / took book with her. i understand pats hatred of christian bros/ the brutality they used in public schools on their students who later yrs beat hell out of own kids leaving a legacy of no feelings life long misery. no 1 has taken pay back 2 them yet/ that will change/ 2 many people have taken own life over those bastards. it will b good 2 c them suffer .
 
I photographed Pat over the last three years of his life. This included a sponsored walk from Galway to Dublin. I eventually had an exhibition of my time spent with Pat. They were good and bad times Pat told me he was going to commit suicide three days before he done it. He wanted to die on the night of a full moon. He went to the Irish Independent Newspaper to get the story of his forth coming suicide published. They would not publish the article he then went to The Tribune who agreed to publish the article. He then waited for the next full moon to commit suicide. It was his last piece of self publicity for which he was so fond of.
 
do u know patrick tierney writes poems? he wrote a poem called hong kong that touched me as a hongkonger.
They aay that other cities
Are just as noisy and duaty
As oura;
That people there are just as hurried,
Worried, and that the traffic
Jam is even worse.

The difference they say is in
The intensity of living,
In the potent, pervasive smell
Of money, and of course in the
Loud and strident lingo
Called Cantonese.

We cannot compete with the clean
And green, smoke~free, smog~free
Manicured cities of the world ;
Nor with those of ancient lineage ,
Decorated and blazoned
With ancestral offspring.

We hv our place,
In the shadow of Big Brother,
Bridging the gap,
Treasuring the freedom we hv
To be as we are:
Open to the world.

patrick tierney

found from my english textbk. the poem is too pity to be burried


 
do u know patrick tierney writes poems? he wrote a poem called hong kong that touched me as a hongkonger.
They aay that other cities
Are just as noisy and duaty
As oura;
That people there are just as hurried,
Worried, and that the traffic
Jam is even worse.

The difference they say is in
The intensity of living,
In the potent, pervasive smell
Of money, and of course in the
Loud and strident lingo
Called Cantonese.

We cannot compete with the clean
And green, smoke~free, smog~free
Manicured cities of the world ;
Nor with those of ancient lineage ,
Decorated and blazoned
With ancestral offspring.

We hv our place,
In the shadow of Big Brother,
Bridging the gap,
Treasuring the freedom we hv
To be as we are:
Open to the world.

patrick tierney

found from my english textbk. the poem is too pity to be burried


 
I was just about to get acquainted with Pat Tierney I think it was 1994/5. I was to meet him at his flat in Ballymun but unfortunately I was late and when I called he had gone out somewhere. I waited there for a while but had to leave as he didn't return. I was disappointed when I found out what had happened to him. RIP
 
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