Dylan wasn’t one for writing on toilet doors, but when it came to writing poetry, beer mats often
became the perfect medium…
On this rare occasion the perfect opportunity arose to capture Dylan’s classic party-piece. Not a beer
mat this time but luckily for us, our wedding journal.
Well into the wee hours on August the 21st 2008, a sing song arose, and then hush was called for.
Dylan’s Party-piece….
A party-piece that never failed to get the crowd going, a party-piece to capture the crowds’ affection,
and single him out! And Dyl knew it; they would love him, for he never did fail them!!
Dyl could dance and Dyl could sing but this was his favourite thing, Poetry hey Dyl.
“Spare a thought for Love“ had been written on a whim the night before and read aloud. The crowd
were speech weary at that point and were expecting your average closing “Limerick.”
I knew it would be no Jack and Jill rendition, but his poem and delivery that evening just blew us all
away. I knew that poem would be special from the night before when we closed our doors, and Dylan
requested a pen and paper. “What ya doing Dyl?” I’d ask curiously for it wasn’t quite a normal
request, but then it wasn’t normal either that we’d head off to bed so early.
Oh just a little poem for you guys, sleep well dude, he replied. Public poetry isn’t something that Dyl
took lightly, “born in the wrong century” was a saying he attributed to himself. His, was a huge talent
and we, his close friends knew it.
Like the master of ceremonies, Dylan would grab any microphone confidently. Always his Rock Star
moment, his Dylan moment, no rehearsals needed. When “Spare a Thought for Love “was read aloud,
the gasps of awe were palpable throughout the room. They didn’t expect that, we didn’t either. Now
the party could really start.
Some hours later, and the nectar flowing freely, he was put on the spot again but this time everyone
expected it would be no ordinary rendition. Live poetry, Dylan in action.
3 random words were called for, the more obscure the better, as it would seemly push Dyl to his
creative limits. I urged the crowd to challenge his genius. Give him 3 words, the more obscure the
better. This guy is good; it was like asking the crowd to tempt a magician. He just sat there, poised
and ready for action.
And then 3 minutes of unindulgent creativity began… His head down, feverously writing, like he was
reeling off poetic classics somehow rehearsed years before. There was never a scratch your head
moment. I guess this is what they call, Poetry in motion.
When we say obscure, or random. This is what we got. We his friends who had seen this magical act
many times before were, High, on expectation. We loved the crowd’s involvement. For this was
perhaps their first encounter with Dylan and his magic tricks…No bag or wand mind you.
No two words were ever the same. It was also important that there be no rational link between the
words, for Dyl would scowl in your direction if there was. Come on Dude, give me something good!
And there would be no tricking Dylan with words, Sanskrit, hieroglyphic or otherwise. He would
correct them and fire them, right back at you dude. Be careful, choose wisely my friends. The 3
word’s chosen from obscurity, by an eager audience of 30 hardened late night revellers…and a few
past bed time, were. PARTY …PUMPKIN … FEATHER
OK, alright, he’d say, a little upset we hadn’t come up with something better. But I’ll go with it, for
manipulating the words wasn’t something he’d dare or try to do.
To throw another challenge into the mix, at the last moment he was requested to recite this Poem in his
finest Scottish accent. A request seemingly to push him to the limits and beyond, but I knew this
would just increase the laughter levels at the end…for we knew an accent, moreover a Scottish accent,
was playing right into his hand. He liked that addition and laughed aloud to himself.
And no, the Kilt wasn’t a factor, for he had chosen on this occasion not to upstage the Groom. This
was a party night without the temptation to tempt the “beautiful creatures“, as he would aptly call the
fairer sex. “Ok Dyl, take it away”
And the crowd would watch, quite like the hands rolling which became his finest mannerism, off he
set into another violent flurry of penmanship, hands working feverously. We would all wait in perfect
anticipation. I more than anyone, for this was one of my favourite Dylan moments.
Live poetry would break the classic sing song mould. Now, we were all rolling our hands furiously in
balls!
PARTY PUMPKIN FEATHERS by Dylan Ahern (in a Scottish accent)
Steep Down to ye
Merry Party Boy,
Wi all Fluff nay Feather,
I Te Dance Long
With thee Lass among the Fern and Heather,
And I will sing that Samhain Eve,
Without a Lantern, Pumpkin or Turnip Lit,
To see yer
Smile that candle
Burned and you, were
All of it,
Then again
I met your
Smile, upon the
Thresh of Eve,
T’was Hearty….
and all thee knew,
That Hogmanay my love,
And ye and me,
And aye, we
Would PARTY
What a classic…
To Rapturous applause and huge laughter, MORE, MORE, and then, DYLAN, DYLAN, DYLAN….
And someone shouted THOMAS,
Dylan would be unashamedly smiling now * (beaming) and there was absolutely no doubting, he had
won the crowd over. Would you go again Dyl? I’d ask. Yeah sure, try me Dude, he’d laugh
Ok, come on more, 3 people are asked for a word each hurriedly. Make it difficult for him for God’s
sake, he loves it. Words that can test his prowess, I’d say laughing to myself now.
And then the words were called aloud, one by one. TEMPLE, POLAND, CHEST
And then, with a hush, they thought, Ah we’ve got him! He’s gone all quiet.
And he smiled, followed by a sigh and then some laughter, and sure, everyone’s laughing now.
But I knew better and I remember him looking at me and laughing “DUDE “
He looked perplexed for a moment, through a gritted smile and then he laughed to himself, in the face
of adversity perhaps, knowing this was a difficult one.
His first words were…. POEMS ARE A CHALLENGE
He looked into the air, and then proceeded, enlightenment had just struck like a lightening bolt
instantaneously, this would be a quickie, a breakthrough, there’s no point in showing off. I could read
his mind.
TEMPLE, POLAND, CHEST by Dylan Ahern
YOUR SOUL IS A TEMPLE
VISIT POLAND WARSAW, DANZIG AND KRAKOV ARE THE BEST,
PLAY POKER WITH A STRAIGHT LYING FACE,
AND HOLD YOUR CARDS CLOSE TO YOUR CHEST
And that was it… He was a legend!
The crowd were dancing…
Drunk in laughter!!
What a party-piece, he was golden, untouchable…
Even the barmen were laughing.
There was no song that could match that…!!!!
The Singsong / Party could blaze off into oblivion now for Dylan was its MASTER.