Live Encounters Poetry & Writing Volume One Nov-Dec 2026.
The Road Out, guest editorial by Terry McDonagh,
Founding Contributor of Live Encounters since 2010.
Background image by Mark Ulyseas
The Road Out
Having been asked to write this editorial, got me thinking back – back to the late eighties in a Hamburg café with a friend who, simply, asked me, how do you see yourself? Taken aback, I pondered for a moment. What do you mean? He didn’t reply immediately but stirred his coffee three or four times – if a stranger asked you about work – how you earn a crust, what would you say? It wasn’t something I’d thought about. Teacher, I’m a teacher, I replied. But you write, don’t you? I took time over my response. I do. Yes, I suppose I do, but it’s not my main focus and it doesn’t put food on my table.
This was no epiphany moment where scales fell for my eyes or my dance turned to a jig. It had nothing to do with a second coming, but it was a moment when I began to think of how well we wear our disguise. Back then, it was not easy for me to come out and say, I’m a poet. I could have said, I’m a poet who teaches, I suppose. I remember his words: wear the hat and, perhaps, you’ll see yourself and your writing in a different light.
We grow up imagining a state of mind or place we always thought could be our own and from which there could be no return. It would be special – nothing meek or mild about it, like a search for water and rest in the riddle of sun and rain. It’s a kind of calling – in my case I call it poetry. I can say it, now, without fear, qualms or misgivings. I am first and foremost, a poet.
A newly-founded English language publisher, Olaf Hille Verlag Hamburg, came calling and a new journey began. In 1992, my first collection, The Road Out, was published. An exciting time. My relationship with the city of Hamburg was firmly established and even though I, now, live in Ireland, this relationship has remained. I once wrote, those many storms have cut my boats adrift. And I am grateful for this unease.
In response to the publication of The Road Out, Armin Schwing of Norddeutscher Rundfunk, wrote:
We live today wondering how yesterday could have happened. The future is today with a feeling that nothing can change yesterday. And so, it goes on. I am the land of others and my own land and I try to commit their city and my land to paper. I am their journey and my own and there is no turning back. Turning back would be like trying to put words in a place where the wind was born. Wind howls across hilltops and lost valleys – it tosses and tumbles into corners where education gets in the way of learning.
I think a lot about yesteryear. I think of my uncle, Tim McDonagh, who took me up to the High Fort in the townland of Cill Aodáin where he told me tales about my great grandfather, Thady Conlon and about Anthony Raftery, the blind poet and the last of the travelling bards in Ireland. I, too, was born in Cill Aodáin and, have returned to it.
Door Through Time
This particular uncle was timid
with a slight limp
that must have grown out of sadness.
He was a teacher but not in that way.
He used to climb down into out stolen wilderness
and among centuries of involuntary tales
he’d stand on the Hill.
We’d listen to the victims of the Púca,
peer into the sealed cave
under the High Fort
and on down to Thady’s headstone
in Cill Aodáin graveyard by the river.
In puddles among the rushes
Under the Easter moon
I saw footprints of the poet.
My uncle would often stand long
as if trapped in something far away.
As he had come, he went – screaming.
His voice only half used.
Those hills and bushes
though smaller now
still dance.
Armin Schwing said, the trip was lovely. The trip is lovely. As I’ve already said, I’m in Ireland now. That friendship in a Hamburg coffee shop was a Hamburg friendship but the conversation has remained. It comes back to me in most unlikely places – eating an apple at a football match or over a pint in a cosy establishment. It took time but I did get round to wearing the hat, owning up to the poet in me. At first, it came out as whispers, but it gradually found its way into mainstream until it was taken for granted by me and others.
In the meantime, I have published 15 poetry collections – In Ireland with Arlen House but I never tire of repeating that Hamburg coffee conversation when talking about my work.
© 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 2024, 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.
email: terrymcdonagh,writer1@gmail.com
00353 (0)86 8861853