T.S. Kerrigan has died
 

Friends and family members of Thomas Kerrigan, who was a member here and who usually published as T.S. Kerrigan, have announced on Facebook that he has died. I didn't know him well, but he took poems of mine when he guest-edited The Raintown Review, and he was kind in his comments on my poems and his replies to me on Facebook.

If you weren't familiar with him, here's some of his work, on The Hypertexts.

I thought that some who post, or used to post, here would want to know. May he rest in peace.

Oh, I'm very sad to hear that news, Maryann. Tom and I exchanged many a friendly PM, right from when I first joined the Sphere. In addition to poetry, we chatted about motorbikes when he found out that I rode one.
I liked his sense of humour, though once or twice I wasn't quite sure whether Tom was joking or not!

Thank you for letting us know.

Jayne

Thank you, Maryann. I didn't know him well but where our online lives touched there was warmth and good conversation. He confronted his illness with fortitude and I admired him greatly.

Yes, I had a casual online relationship with him as well. He was always a gentlemen, but with a mischievous side. I know he has been ill for some time, but this is nevertheless sad news. Rest in peace.

Nemo

In what was maybe one of the greatest Eratosphere threads ever, he once posted a perplexing two-line poem in Met that immediately prompted several pages of argument over

• whether or not it constituted a poem and if so whether it was good poem
• the history of the short poem
• what obligation the writer has to readers in terms of clarity

with no word from its creator. Several days later he returned having been somewhere with no computer access to find he had accidentally copy and pasted only the first two lines of a much longer poem.

I am sorry to hear of his death. I remember his editorship of The Raintown Review and his participation in Eratosphere.

Susan

This is why I almost wish we had a hall of fame for posts. I'd love to have read this.

I'm sorry to hear of his passing.

That's a lovely story, Orwn. The two-line poem I remember is I think the only Latin poem I can still quote entire:

Odi et amo. Quare id faciam,
nescio. Sed fieri sentio, et excrucior.

I am sorry to hear of his passing as well.

Cheers,
John

This is sad news - another good poet gone. How small a part of time we share.

Sad news indeed. He had a bit of a rocky relationship here, as I recall, but Orwn's post captures the memory nicely: he was more scattered than rude, and he was definitely one hell of a poet at times.

Sorry to hear of his passing.

That's funny! I don't remember it. But I remember something a bit similar, the time when Tim posted a new unpublished Richard Wilbur poem wherein one of the quatrains stood out for not having a rhyme. A long discussion ensued, with the majority opinion emerging that it was a brilliant move that only the great Dick Wilbur could pull off. A couple of days later, Tim apologized for the typo and corrected the line, which now rhymed. I think that sort of benefit of the doubt is only accorded to poets perceived as extraordinarily gifted, so it's a tribute to Mr. Kerrigan than he could be in that category.

So sorry to hear this news. It seems like quite awhile ago that I last saw him post here, but his posts always struck me as interesting and well thought-out. Even without really knowing him I feel saddened by this.

And so, I just learned, has J.D. McClatchey.

I'm sorry to hear that. I have his Horace, Odes, and it's very nice to work from. Besides all else.

John

Thank you, Maryann, for delivering this news. I am sorry to hear it. He was kind to me, solicited my poetry for his issue of "The Raintown Review" many years ago, and seemed a highly-intelligent man.

May he rest in peace.

Jennifer

Tom was a very dear friend. In recent years he lost the ability to type to Parkinson's. I have about seven Parkinson's poems, and I hate that disease. I've earned him a Plenary Indulgence from the Church, don't necessarily believe in them, but I seek them for my friends, a sound spiritual exercise. And I wrote him a double trimeter sonnet by way of elegy:

Plenary Indulgence

I.
Tom Kerrigan has died
of Parkinson’s in doubt.
A candle has burned out
fueled by its Irish pride.
I’ve prayed for him for years.
Let him be overawed,
this man who knew not God,
for Heaven surely nears.
Remission let me earn
for all of Tall Tom’s sins.
deliverance begins
at Pentecost. He’ll turn
his heart reborn, restored,
his face to Christ, our Lord.

II.
Our Catholic friends who fall
into a deep morass
whose bounds no hope can pass
have one chance at the Wall
of Heaven, that we pray,
confess, receive the Host,
then beg the Holy Ghost
to lead them on their way.
A better friend my art
has never had than Tom
who rhymed with such aplomb.
Friend, I shall play my part
while I’m yet undestroyed.
Your soul waits in the Void.

Sorry to hear of this. He was, after all, by picking Anna Evans as his associate editor at The Raintown, indirectly responsible for my reign of terror in that position when Anna took the reins. He was a prickly guy, but so am I. It's part of how I came to like him.

I’m sorry to hear about this. A few years ago, Tom kindly sent me a copy of his poetry book My Dark People.