Devlin Carnate - the Man behind the Verse
Who is Devlin Carnate? A thorny question that, and difficult to answer.
I first met Devlin in 1995, in England. It isn’t his real name, of course;
he relinquished that long ago. I’d expected the dark hair, wayward and tousled,
that gives him a boyish look, but I hadn’t guessed he'd be so tall, about
six two, six three. His eyes are blue, not bright, but faded to a shade as
soft as robin’s eggs; there’s sorrow in them plus a twinkle of humour, usually
wreathed in smoke from the ever-present cigarette. He used to drink heavily,
now rarely does. When I ask him about the women in his life he smiles shyly
and grows evasive. ‘Only my Muse,’ he says, ‘and only a scoundrel would kiss
and tell!’
The essence of the man is his poetry, an eclectic mix of trite shallows and predatory depths. Throughout much of it wind his twin trademarks, like twisting veins of gold, his relentless rhymes and driving rhythms. Then, lest you think his work is humourless, he throws in one of his bracketed comments, a trapdoor into the poet’s whimsical mind. I admire the way he skips from souffle-light, self-mocking ditties to serious pieces with a deep core of darkness. Politics don’t figure greatly in his work; his favourite themes are greater - Love, Betrayal, Sorrow and Death.
Devlin Carnate - world famous
Irish poet. Believe it.
Siobhan O’Houlihan, Poetry/Contemporary Review