Terry McDonagh – What has Poetry got to do with a hole in a shed roof – Guest editorial

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Live Encounters Poetry & Writing 16th Anniversary Volume One
November- December 2025

What Has Poetry Got To Do With a Hole in a Shed Roof?
guest editorial by Terry McDonagh.

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When half the roof of our shed was tossed off in a wild wind, stuff had to be rescued. The matter was urgent, but, as ours wasn’t the only damaged roof in the area, it became difficult to find a competent tradesman. They’re all in Australia, I was told. Poetry was of little consolation, and my neighbour’s wry comment didn’t do much to lift my ailing mood either: Any builder who’s available can’t be much good.

You’d be right to question the relevance of a roofless shed in the refined world of poetry. I buried myself in pen and paper duties inside a window and made phone calls. No luck. We got used to the fractured roof and more-or-less abandoned hope of finding the right roofer. It even became a talking point in the pub at one stage. Poetry was rarely mentioned. The quest continued to no avail and to make matters worse, little colourful plants began to stir and trust themselves. Birds drifted in and out, without fear, as if they had earned squatters’ rights. It began to feel like an eerie aviary. And I was learning a thing or two about myself.

I’d cycle the back roads to clear my head – thought of doing Yoga even drank green tea and turned to my inner self for comfort – to pondering on an afterlife with cremation, or otherwise, as an in-between option. October was on its way.

In a moment of light, my eye fell on Paul Durcan’s ‘80 at 80’ poetry collection. I needed comfort and got flavours of it on page 57. In his poem, Raymond of the Rooftops, Durcan’s wife, Nessa, bemoans the fact that she is up to her knees in rainwater fixing a hole in their roof, while her husband sits indoors writing an Irish fairytale for a women’s magazine in London.

Raymond of the Rooftops

This morning after the night
The roof flew off the house
And our sleeping children narrowly missed
Being decapitated by falling slates,
I asked my husband if he would
Help put back the roof:
But no – he was too busy at his work
Writing for a women’s magazine in London
An Irish fairytale called Raymond of the Rooftops.
Will you have a heart woman – he bellowed –
Can’t you see I am up to my eyes and ears in work,
Breaking my neck to finish Raymond of the Rooftops,
Putting everything I have got into Raymond of the Rooftops?
Isn’t it well for him? Everything he’s got!

Poetry has always been a way of tuning into the essence of the human struggle – of telling the important stories – and, as my the hole in my roof was an aspect of the human struggle and a proper story, I couldn’t resist putting pen to paper:

A Dark Hole in Our Shed Roof

Cycling home along the wood road
late at night – not a light anywhere –
outer space all around – beyond me
and families all snugged out of sight,
I dug deep into the day-dreamer in me
as I pedalled and pushed – with
gentle rain falling on me in big tears
and on all of East Mayo – and softly
into a hole that used to be a shed roof,
a receptacle without a hee-haw of hope
and sniggering October round the corner.

But some say, hope springs eternal and when it springs, it feels like a cosy evening with a good book by a turf fire. This time, hope came in the form of a phone call. My friend, Declan, a romantic spirit and caring soul, called into my mobile phone: McDonagh, I think I’ve got a roofer for you – and a good one at that! This was poetry. Not the kind of stuff you’d get in a schoolroom or an anthology but the real thing that enters the soul and nourishes those dark corners where drear holds too much sway.

Jimmy arrived with measuring tapes and a practiced eye. He knew what he was on about and to add to the occasion, he had a big smile. See you on Monday, came at me like the opening line of an epic poem. He arrived with kit and tools and went to work with the grace and elegance of a man used to smiling. He was one-in-a-lifetime – an artist, masterful in what he was doing and what we needed. I was watching an artist a work in his studio – a poet, tapping nails and twisting screws. Things were happening in a whiplash: That blue and grey panorama above – visible through the gaping hole – was fading into a memory. The tap, tap and drill sounds were like beats, quavers and rhythmic lines. The voice of a violin, rich and melodic filtered across the space between shed and back door and invaded our kitchen. These were rich, calming rhythmic sounds. Bit by bit, the work became clarity itself. It would endure.

Job complete and Jimmy paid, there was little left for me to do except to admire. This roof would outlive me. It could stand alone smiling skywards at great colourful – even stormy autumn days and a few sunny ones. It might cry out: Do your best elements – you got me when I was weak and defenceless. You tore me apart but Jimmy came and healed me. On some days, a poet comes and stands there to admire and I just know he will sneak into his writing corner and give me my place in the greater scheme of things. I am another cog in the great wheel of life. I, once, was a gaping hole in a shed roof and, now, I am put right and pleased. Let the wily winds blow.

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© Terry McDonagh

Terry McDonagh, Irish poet and dramatist has worked in Europe, Asia and Australia. He’s taught creative writing at Hamburg University and was Drama Director at Hamburg International School. Published eleven poetry collections, letters, drama, prose and poetry for young people. In March 2022, he was poet in residence and Grand Marshal as part of the Saint Patrick’s Day celebrations in Brussels. His work has been translated into German and Indonesian. His poem, ‘UCG by Degrees’ is included in the Galway Poetry Trail on Galway University campus. In 2020, Two Notes for Home – a two-part radio documentary, compiled and presented by Werner Lewon, on The Life and Work of Terry McDonagh, The Modern Bard of Cill Aodáin. His latest poetry collection, ‘Two Notes for Home’ – published by Arlen House – September 2022. He returned to live in County Mayo in 2019.