Michael Hogan (1832-1899) Poet of the People By Kieran Beville On a quiet corner of New Road, Thomondgate where the Shannon breeze tugs at peeling paint, the once-bustling Whelan’s Pub stands silent now — its doors bolted, its windows dulled by time. Yet on its weathered wall, a small plaque bears the words that keep memory alive: “Michael Hogan, The Bard of Thomond, lived here.” To most who pass by, it is a ghost of a building. But to those who knew it — those who drank there, sang there, or grew up hearing their fathers talk of the poet who once called it home — Whelan’s remains sacred ground. I count myself among them. I was born and raised in Thomondgate where my father and grandfather lived and I became a poet. So, in a sense I am part of that lineage. I remember sitting at that bar with my father on Sunday afternoons, when the talk turned to Hogan — our own local legend. Even then, before I’d written a word worth keeping, I understood that in Thomondgate, poetry didn...