The Death and Life of an Irish Poet

A lament, a tribute and a prayer for the late great Shane MacGowan.

This was a helluva week to die: Rosalynn Carter, Henry Kissinger, Charlie Munger, Sandra Day O’Connor and the death that hit me the hardest — Shane MacGowan.

So be easy and free when you’re drinking with me, I’m a man you don’t meet every day.

There was no one like Shane MacGowan. And there won’t be another like him any time soon.

He was truly one-of-a-kind.

A singer. A songwriter. A sinner. A saint. A drunk. A punk. A poet.

Shane MacGowan was the founder and frontman of the Irish band, The Pogues.

He will forever be remembered as the writer of the greatest Christmas song ever, Fairytale of New York.

But he was so much more than that.

They've got cars big as bars
They've got rivers of gold
But the wind goes right through you
It's no place for the old
When you first took my hand
On a cold Christmas Eve
You promised me
Broadway was waiting for me

I discovered the Pogues in 1985.

It was around the same time I began reading the great Irish writers: Samuel Beckett, James Joyce and William Butler Yeats.

Reading the Irish: One of the great benefits of being an English major.

There was music on the page and humanity in Shane’s songs.

Sally MacLennane.

A Pair of Brown Eyes.

If I Should Fall From Grace With God.

His covers of What a Wonderful World and My Way.

And The Body of an American a veritable anthem for the HBO show, The Wire.

Fare thee well, going away, there’s nothing left to say…I’m a freeborn man of the USA

One of the greatest live shows I ever saw was the Pogues at the Roseland Ballroom in the summer of 1988.

It was then that it hit me that the band around Shane was nothing short of sublime.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
Woo-ooh-ooh-ooh
Woo-ooh-ooh-ooh

So what to make of the life of this crazy, whiskey-soaked, cigarette-stained sack of stories and lyrics?

Shane was, after all, a bundle of contradictions.

So painfully ugly, he was irresistible.

So off-key in his singing he was wonderful to listen to.

So ancient and Irish, yet his music always sounds fresh and relevant.

So prolific in the first part of his career, he spent the rest of his time drinking.

So seemingly self-destructive he proved to be damn-near indestructible.

What can we learn from all of this?

I keep coming back to the music and even more acutely to the words.

To the lyrics.

To the poetry.

To the idea that if you say something, say it in a way that can make someone feel something.

Now the song is nearly over
We may never find out what it means
Still there's a light I hold before me
You're the measure of my dreams
The measure of my dreams

There’s a story making the rounds that Shane once got into a dust-up with the actor Kiefer Sutherland.

Long after the fisticuffs and scuffle Kiefer was drinking alone at the bar.

Shane came up to Kiefer and asked him if he could put him up for the night. All Shane’s friends had left and the prospect of sleeping on the street was unbearable.

“Three hours ago we were fighting on the floor!” Kiefer exclaimed.

“That was three hours ago, now I need a place to stay.” Shane responded.

Kiefer took Shane in at his hotel. He gave him blankets and fixed up the sofa for him.

Come morning Shane had left early. Each blanket folded perfectly.

He left behind a note written on hotel stationery.

Kiefer later said it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever read.

A thank you note after a drunken bar fight.

Blood, then ink.

Fists, then heart.

Attitude, then gratitude.

Been in a palace, been in a jail
I just don’t want to be reborn a snail
Just want to spend eternity
Right where I am, on the sunny side of the street

Godspeed, Shane MacGowan, Godspeed.