Words in memory
of Paul Devlin.
Magee theatre
department, UU, Foyle Arts Building. 26.5.2016
Is mise Dave Duggan.
Drámadóir is urscealaí is ea mé.
I'm Dave Duggan. I'm
a dramatist and a novelist.
Is mór an onóir
agus an pribhléid dom focail cuimhneachán a rá ar son Paul Devlin.
It is a great honour
and a privilege to say some words in memory of Paul Devlin.
Mo bhuíochas do
Lisa as an cuireadh.
My thanks to Lisa
for the invitation.
Words are my
business. Paul loved words. Essentially, I want to say and use four
of them. Three S words and one F word.
Let's start with the
F word. Paul Devlin was my friend. There are many people who were
Paul's friends, and very much more: Kate and their fine daughters;
Paul's wider family; men and women he grew up with, knocked about
with at school and college; worked with, staff and students, here in
Magee and elsewhere. Myself and Paul Devlin were friends as theatre
makers and as men. There are misconceptions that men don't form
friendships. Men do. That men don't share. Men do. That older men
(me) and young men (Paul) – (the tragedy of Paul's death is a
tragedy of youthfulness) don't become friends. We did. We'd be in the
canteen, invariably with a plate of his chips between us, me ngucking
them and we'd be talking about making theatre. Often with Adrian to
add the seasoning.
Which
leads me to the first S word. I quickly realised that Paul knew
things. Deeply. That he was wise. That Paul Devlin was a savant.
I saw him speak at a conference and was struck by the depth of his
knowledge, his felicitous use of language and his humane yet wry take
on his work and on the world.
And he did more than
know things. He found things. He detected opportunities, airs in the
zeitgeist, possibilities in the culture that could be explored by
theatre. He was a researcher, yes, but in the fine tradition of
unearthing that is the realm of the sleuth. Paul Devlin was a Shamus,
the second S word.
I
was not long out of hospital, recovering from a critical illness that
had almost taken me away, when he asked me to make something about
borders. I found a townland name on a map and we went there, to
Brishmachree – an anglicisation of the Irish do
bhris mo chroí,
my heart broke – and I wrote and performed a theatre piece on
borders, under his commission and his direction. It was a pleasure to
take direction from him in this room/building. And then to perform
the work on a June day of near persistent rain, down a muddy lane,
where fine mists occluded the ancient sun fort at An Grianán in
front of us and the medieval keep of the O'Doherty's beside us, but
could not occlude the magic and wonder of Paul Devlin's making.
Thus I find the
third S word. Paul Devlin was shaman, a theatre maker of ritual and
magic, rooted to our wondrous earth. One of his great shamanistic
acts was the theatrical carnival of memory he directed in the
department store, Austins of the Diamond. He led students and staff,
and he included me, with my writer's kitchen, in a grand theatrical
embodiment of living history, remembering and performing, which has
particular resonance now that the shop, like Paul's all too short
life, has come to an end.
We cannot shirk away
from tragedy, in life and in theatre. Tragedy, as a concept and as a
reality, as a manifestation of the cruelty of life, was often
addressed in conversations Paul and I shared. Is tragedy ever a boon?
Never. The boon is living, as Paul Devlin did. As savant, shamus,
shaman. And of course, the F word. As friend.
Let us chose our
words, then. S words and F words.
L words too. Live.
Love.
Míle buíochas. A
thousand thanks.
http://breathingwithalimp.blogspot.co.uk/2012/06/blogpost-special-new-short-drama.html
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