Poet Tich Ennis shares his insights on life and poetry
REPORTER DAVID MEDCALF CALLED TO THE ARKLOW HOME OF POET DAVID ENNIS, WHO HAS REVERTED TO HIS CHILDHOOD NICKNAME OF TICH. THE VISIT UNLEASHED A REMARKABLE TORRENT OF QUIPS, VERSE AND OBSERVATIONS FROM THE 79 YEAR OLD.
THIS series of newspaper feature interviews has been running for more than three years. In that time, your reporter has never experienced an interviewee who presented a greater professional challenge than this one. Where some of the subjects over the years have been a little shy, the flow of talk from David ‘ Tich’ Ennis was unceasing. He even continued sending a stream of messages to my phone, suggesting various additions to the piece, in the days after our chat ended. The latest popped up as a text which arrived just as I sat down to write this article:
‘You could mention this if you like: My first book, ‘Pub Talk’, was launched in 2014 in Bridge Street Books in Wicklow town, which was twice voted the best bookshop in Ireland. Thanks, David (Tich).’ And thanks in return to you too, David (Medders)…
It was immediately clear on arrival at the Ennis home in Arklow that this conversation would follow no easy course. Tich was welcoming, charming, funny (verging on hysterically so) and chatty, with a mind lively to a degree which must be the envy of most of his fellow 79 year olds. He was good company, blessed with laugh-out-loud insights and a nicely cynical view of life which added edge to all the humour.
The problem was that Tich found it impossible to steer a straight conversational course, zig-zagging from quotation to notion to concept with chaotic abandon. The Dublin native describes himself these days as poet, though he has been many other things in his life. The list of previous professions includes journalist, fisherman, solicitor’s clerk and metal-worker.
But he gives the impression that he really should have followed a career in comedy. Maybe he could have cut it in stand-up or, perhaps, if the cards of life had fallen his way, he might have found work writing gags for Bob Hope.
It became quickly apparent that the old-fashioned notebook with which I entered the house that Tich shares with his brother George was a liability. No mortal shorthand could keep up with the flow of wit and occasional wisdom which poured out between quick-fire puffs of cigarette after cigarette.
So the notebook was discarded in favour of a voice recorder as the visitor attempted to put some shape on proceedings. The format loosely agreed was: One, the posing of a question or an invitation from the reporter to express thoughts on a given subject. Two, Tich keeping his reply down to no more than 90 seconds.
So now, with considerable trepidation, press ‘play’ on the voice recorder. Here goes:
– On his own poems: ‘I am not important but I would like to think my work is. ‘One thing about my poetry is that my stuff means something and makes sense. Poetry
doesn’t need to rhyme – but it can. It imposes a discipline on you.
‘I wrote my first poem by accident. I was with my brother and some other relatives in Tenerife, just the two of us were at the table and he was talking his head off as usual and I wasn’t really listening, as usual. He said “I met a man...” I didn’t really catch what he said and I thought he said “I met a metaphor.” I thought I could make a poem out of that, four lines in about one minute: ‘I met a metaphor today / it said I haven’t much to say / you see I mean two things at once / and might be taken for a dunce.’
– On broadcasting:
‘ Television presenters, they mainly present themselves. Marshall McLuhan said the medium is the message and that certainly is the case with some of them. For instance Pat Kenny, who appreciates people according to the quality of their spin and nothing else.
‘You don’t need to listen to a comedy show now. Just listen to them talking about politics.’ – On Covid-19:
‘It’s certainly got serious with this virus thing. The worst thing about it is they’ve closed the pubs – that’s a tragedy.’
‘A new phrase has come into the language - social distancing. How would you like to go to a dance where social distancing was insisted on? It wouldn’t be much fun, would it?’
– On favourite poetry:
‘‘ Tread lightly for you tread on my dreams.” That’s just lovely. WB Yeats came from a rather privileged background, what you would call upper class, and that’s the way he wrote. But it doesn’t matter because it’s good. He deserved the Nobel Prize. I’m not posh but I could have been. I describe myself as a gentleman retired – I was a gentleman but I have retired from being a gentleman.’
‘I like that poem by Robert Frost ‘ The Road Less Travelled’ which winds up “for I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep and miles to go before I sleep”. Someone asked him why did he say the same thing twice at the end and he said “because I couldn’t think of anything else to say”.
‘My favourite line, probably, is from a poem by Dylan Thomas: “rage, rage against the dying of the light”. Poems always have a literal meaning and a metaphorical meaning. That one was actually about his father going blind which I didn’t know when I first saw the line. I thought it was about the dumbing down of the world.’ – On ambition:
‘I want to live forever. You are never too old to die. I’d like my writing to be read. The struggle of the artist is to get his voice heard. I could write on walls but I won’t. Why do I keep going? Ask an alcoholic why he drinks. Am I addicted to writing? I don’t know.
‘You don’t get rich writing poetry. You get rich by winning a prize. I got the ‘Writers & Artists Year Book’ which has names of publishers and agents all over Ireland, America and the UK. Nearly all of them say no poetry because poetry does not sell. ‘
– On reaching out:
‘I have over 2,000 pieces on my blog - all free. I get likes on the blog and followers.’ (See https:// tichennis.wordpress.com)
‘I have sent stuff on tweets – but not to Donald Trump. I have sent stuff to the leaders of the main political parties – poems and stuff. I probably did tell them what to do but did it make a blind bit of difference? No.’
– On residing in County Wicklow with his brother George:
‘I was living in a house called Kestrel Ridge which overlooks the Vale of Avoca. It wouldn’t be my ideal house but the view was terrific, the best view I ever saw. We lived there from 1992 up to about three and a half years ago.
‘I was in the Loire valley in France. That is said to be lovely but Wicklow is nicer as far as I am concerned.’
‘ The Dublin people are very lucky to have County Wicklow so near to them.
‘Avoca is a one horse town and Arklow is a five horse town – there are more pubs here.
‘ The house in Avoca used to belong to Harry Harrison, the science fiction writer. I said that if a writer owned it, it had to be pretty good.’ – On his output:
‘All three of my books were self-published. ‘Pub Talk’ I had printed in the UK. And the other two – ‘Reasonable Rhymes’ and ‘Arklow Voice’ – were printed here in Arklow by Blueprint. My CD ‘Great Irish Songs’ is also for sale in Delaney’s of Woodenbridge.’
And the poet, who often churns our two or three poems in a day, had one called ‘ Never Tell’ prepared for his (only slightly!) late caller, written in pencil and ready to be recited:
‘Never tell anyone something is going to happen / because you never know if it will That may be a valley, not a hill
You can be sure you can’t be sure, that’s about all / maybe, might, perhaps, probably you’re headed for a fall
Okay / make a date with your future mate you intend to meet at a gate
It’s not true to say you never will / all things considered, she could be waiting still
I may be fatalistic because some guy didn’t show up / if I complain to God he’ll say shut up
Or as my uncle might have said ‘you young pup’
The future is unpredictable / don’t try / you can be reasonably sure you will die’