MEETING COLM TOIBIN ON HIS HOME TURF

I CAN’T exactly remember what year it was. I think sometime in 2001. It was cold, then. You told me sometime before- ‘Look me up when you get to Dublin- I’m the only Toibin in the phone book’- So we did- we looked you up from a phone box. You sounded a trifle uncertain on the phone- Did you remember me and our roughly planned visit? Was it terrible timing? Had you started The Master? At any rate we set off to Upper Pembroke Street We had with us a drink of some sort And maybe some cake or biscuits, to be hospitable. I can’t remember what it was like opening the gate And knocking on the door. I think I found it momentous Which it probably was- and ballsy- what did we have to offer? We sat inside at an old wooden table A mountain of books on top- I remember one of them was about Rouault. We spoke of many things and you Gave us some advice about travelling in Ireland Seemingly dismissive of your own places Enniscorthy, Tuskar Rock, Cush Gap Keating’s Hotel, Curracloe, Friary Street, Nora Webster, Eamon, Blackwater And wanting us to explore the ancient- The Aran Islands Inishmore, Inishmaan, Inisheer An authentic escape from the modern world. But we never did get there- we travelled A conservative path instead We had a lovely time at Colm Toibin’s But I look at the occasion now With a few small regrets. We have no photos commemorating our trip. I was too shy to ask if I could see his study And his fabulous books and maybe even a manuscript or two I wish we talked about his childhood stuttering And each of his books that I have devoured over the years And how it felt to write a book like ‘The Heather Blazing’. Instead the afternoon wore on too quickly And Colm took on my suggestion that we had better get along now And stood up and answered a mobile call in the shadows of another room. Now, if I ever visit Joni Mitchell Or Van Morrison or Paul McCartney Hopefully I will be much better prepared.