The Man Made of Rain

by Brendan Kennelly

The long poem written after the poet's quadruple bypass surgery documents the shadowlands between life and death

Genres: Poetry

94 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 1998

About the author

Timothy Brendan Kennelly, usually known as Brendan Kennelly, was an Irish poet and novelist. He was Professor of Modern Literature at Trinity College Dublin until 2005. Following his retirement he was a Professor Emeritus at Trinity College.

Reviews

[Bernadette · Rating 5 out of 5]

Perfect Brendan. I had this little book by my bed in the 1990S as a companion as I struggled with personal pain. Thank You Brendan

[Kristopher · Rating 5 out of 5]

Never thought I'd see the day I'm giving 5 stars to poetry but here we are, someone cracked me. Tenderest thing perhaps ever I've read. Everything about this is incredible, especially when you consider the task. As Kennelly notes, "The challenge of 'afterwards' is connected with 'afterwords,' how to preserve the normality of the moment without being distorted or even drowned in the familiar sea of Dayenglish."

"word-shadows flicker and sway, / stop as if startled then flow / in a river of silence through the tongue of rain."

"This little now / is so beyond me / I'd better make haste / to invent / eternity."

"All the dying years love / to have their hearts caressed by rain."

"What do the dying years remember? / What do I, October, remember? / I like to think my colours touched November."

"...dustpoem, / lovething, vivid presence in the process of vanishing."

"It is my stricken guess / that more men die of caution / than excess."

"A human being / longing / to flow forever, / to pour forever, yet be contained, / to fall on houses anywhere, / on first love, last words, / plans hatched in darkness, bloody murder, fields of wheat / ripening through summer days / longing to fall / like blessings / like praise."

"Deceives, animates, wearies me as well. / Memory laughs all the way to hell."

"I think if I had made the world / I'd smile, now and then."

"If my dreams met his, / here, now, / how would they get on together? / Would they talk to each other?"

"I take your word for it, fatherbone. / Who knows the loneliness of words, / thin, drifting flames in the infinite cold?"

"there's no cold like the cold / of not knowing how cold the heart has grown."

"I saw my scars becoming roads in his rainy head."

"Flowers bear the burden of the eyes that they enrich."

"Love kisses death again, again. Death disappears / in the eyes of rain."

"I never thought I'd see the day / when I'd cry like the rain / and not begin to know why."

"A bit like the kind of goodbye / you will never describe to anyone."

"Maybe a cry is question and answer all in one."

[katie · Rating 5 out of 5]

I discovered this writer at a Museum I visited last summer. And I was moved to tears by a poem he had written about his complicated relationship with his father. It struck something within me. I felt the poem too somehow. I made a promise to myself on that day that I would read more of his work. So when I came across this book at the library, I knew I had to read it. It’s so wonderful. I relate to it in ways I can’t begin to describe. It’s about… well it’s about so many things… aboht the contradictions and complications of life and yet also of life’s simplicities and the beauty that can be found in both! Also the fact that he is an Irish born writer makes Kennelly even more relatable. I loved his reference to Irish songs throughout this collection of poetry. I wish I could keep this one, not have to return it.

[Simon · Rating 2 out of 5]

Probably the first long-form poem I've read since Wordsworth's The Prelude in school a couple of decades ago (hangs head in shame).
The central image is a compelling one and there are memorable snippets and phrases here and there, but on the whole I found it pretty opaque. There seemed to be a lot of stuff which was either specific to Irish history and culture, or specific to Kenelly's personal experience which I didn't really get. I'm sure it was very cathartic for him to write, but it left me mostly mystified.