Frank Corcoran

irish composer


I am peering now into our June 1961 Group Photograph, the end of our final school year and end of our school time at St. Finian´s. That unhappy mask, the young, cocky mug squared against the infinite openness of my future which is now largely closed. This theme is not banal: I am a creature made of time; I am a person and a time-machine. A composition of temporality. ( Hands up anyone who “understands” this ? ) Across fifty full years now the glint of that preternatural light on our final year class. Six members of the original 49 boys have ” passed away”. Where? The not quite natural ” Priests who taught us”, “Laymen who taught us” and ” Nuns who tended us” ( tender is the night is right ). I leaf through 43 biogs. ” I produce a calender for the homeless”. “Consumer affairs was my most abiding interest”. “I have worked in a malthouse”. “Definitely three great kids top the list”. Much, much too much football, wet and heavy like our College porridge: “His name appeared in the papers after he was buried.” “Massive heart-attack.” “I enjoy reading provided it is non-fiction.” “Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.” Must explore that light, those neutrinos in our Leaving Certificate Photo. How now, Great Arbiter, Alpha et Omega of all our banal, not banal trajectores ? “Being unaccustomed to th lack of gainful employment”…. “Hip replacement in 1997 due to football wear and tear”.

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