Wednesday, March 12, 2014
From the time I met him as a student in one of my second-year English classes, Patrick was always striving to make sense and beauty from the world he lived in. He was equally capable of distilling lyrical moments from the people and the natural world around him, and of creating fiery images to illuminate the injustices of the world of politics and the misuse of power. As a poet, Patrick was ambitious, seeking to make poetry important in a world less and less given to meditation and reflection. That in recent years he found an audience on Facebook is an unexpected tribute to a medium more noted for the frivolous effusions of the moment than the deeply committed and philosophical work he posted. Patrick laboured long in the service of poetry, leaving us a richness of thought, of image, and of deep feeling. He knew all too well that the rewards for the poet were small, its fame in the modern world a faint glimmer. "Though heart may tend, and what is sown / Thrive well in slow-maturing soil, / Death will have the major benefit. / The end of labouring, the end of toil / Comes to nothing but this meagre spoil. / Heart must learn to glean its little bit / With winter wrens, accept its small reknown." - From Seventeen Odes, written when Patrick was 30.
