You would meet him at the close of day. Or at the start, or in the middle. Coming from café or bookshop. Because when Brendan Kennelly wasn’t in a lecture hall or in his room in Trinity, he was walking the streets, talking to strangers and friends.You couldn’t miss him on his beat between College Green, Grafton St, Dawson Street and Stephens Green. A boulevardier with the face of a fallen angel, he spent much of his time quoting poetry. Never his own. Usually Patrick Kavanagh. At one time he talked a lot to me. Before he went back to Kerry,…

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