May 23, 1939 – January 17, 2013
Drunks/Recovery
Each time Drunks is read in a meeting, afterwards I thank God for recovery, I tend to watch the faces around me. I see smiles, heads nodding, occasional laughter, closed eyes, and tears. Memories of our drinking, the ones who came in and left, the ones we prayed for who never made it though the doors. Jack was “given” these thoughts and words to pass on to us; so blessed to have him and now, the legacy he left.
— A member of Jack’s AA home group
Drunks and Other Poems of Recovery is Poet Jack McCarthy’s living and lasting legacy to his recovery from alcoholism. It offers an intensely personal and truthful look at life through the eyes and the heart of an incredibly tender and gentle man. Through his poignant poetry and breathtaking prose, Jack offers a message of hope and the promise of recovery, presented with an abundance of gratitude and grace. This is one of those rare books that resonates from deep within the soul of a man who mattered.”
— Neil Scott
Producer/Host
RECOVERY – Coast to Coast, Clear Channel Radio
www.recoverycoasttocoast.org
The problem with Jack McCarthy’s final book, Drunks, is that people never return it once I lend it to them! The poems are so rich in texture and chockfull of emotion and Jack’s homespun insight that people don’t want to stop reading and re-reading them. If one has ever been affected by alcoholism, either personally or vicariously through friends and family, this book speaks to the heart. Jack did his final reading from my college in Seattle, and I have never been so elated for my school. Some of my students read that day as well, and Jack was typically gracious and charming. I love this book SO much! (But please remind me to purchase it in bulk from now on.)
— Michael Hickey
Seattle’s Poet Populist
The first time I read Jack McCarthy’s poem Drunks, I ended up re-reading it immediately at least 10 more times. I was astonished by how brilliantly he had captured the despair and hope of alcoholism and recovery.
A few months later at Recovery Café we hosted an event where people were invited to read a poem about recovery or share one of their own. Mike Hickey, Seattle’s Poet Populist (and a friend of Jack’s), read Drunks.
It was a large room with close to 100 people in it and by the second stanza everyone was riveted. As Jack’s poem touched our hearts the only sound was that of weeping from a few audience members. A man next to me was deeply affected and he whispered about his Dad to me after the poem was complete. I will never forget that night where Jack’s words unified and electrified a room, a room where everyone there had lost someone or something to addiction.
I have given Jack’s book to several funders, elected officials, and friends because I believe his words capture with eloquence and compassion what it is like to struggle with addiction as a disease. He paints beautifully how hard people are trying to stop using and provides a light that points the way to the hope that recovery is possible.
— David Coffey
Executive Director, Recovery Cafe
www.recoverycafe.org
DRUNKS isn’t just a ‘scared-straight’ reality check but a poem that delivers an authentic earned and fought for message of hope. I insisted two family members sit down and watch Jack perform Drunks on YouTube. They needed to hear it and were moved to tears. It was part of the reason they took the first step to get help. Drunks should be read at A.A. and N.A. and AL-ANON meetings. It’s a life-changer and life-saver. It’s a heartbreaking experience watching a loved one struggle with addiction. I’ll never forget Jack’s words to me when we talked about a family member. “What should I do now?!?” I asked. “Love them and remember to take care of YOURself,” he said. Exactly what I needed to hear.
— Christopher J. Jarmick
Writer, Poet
Chris’s Blog: PoetryIsEverything
Hearing Jack McCarthy’s poem Drunks is what I assume veterans must feel when hearing the National Anthem. This poem gives homage to those that came before us paving the way to freedom. We remember the war we have gone through, those that have fallen and those we are bonded to for life in friendship because of a shared experience. Jack McCarthy wrote OUR ‘national anthem’ forever reminding us we are not alone. We tell our stories to show it is possible for others to endure and survive the same agonizing battle. This poem and Jack are true national treasures.
— Anonymous
Drunks
We died of pneumonia in furnished rooms
where they found us three days later
when somebody complained about the smell
we died against bridge abutments
and nobody knew if it was suicide
and we probably didn’t know either
except in the sense that it was always suicide
we died in hospitals
our stomachs huge, distended
and there was nothing they could do
we died in cells
never knowing whether we were guilty or not.
We went to priests
they gave us pledges
they told us to pray
they told us to go and sin no more, but go
we tried and we died
we died of overdoses
we died in bed (but usually not the Big Bed)
we died in straitjackets
in the DTs seeing God knows what
creeping skittering slithering
shuffling things
And you know what the worst thing was?
The worst thing was that
nobody ever believed how hard we tried
We went to doctors and they gave us stuff to take
that would make us sick when we drank
on the principle of so crazy, it just might work, I guess
or maybe they just shook their heads
and sent us places like Dropkick Murphy’s
and when we got out we were hooked on paraldehyde
or maybe we lied to the doctors
and they told us not to drink so much
just drink like me
and we tried
and we died
We drowned in our own vomit
or choked on it
our broken jaws wired shut
we died playing Russian roulette
and people thought we’d lost
but we knew better
we died under the hoofs of horses
under the wheels of vehicles
under the knives and boot-heels of our brother drunks
we died in shame
And you know what was even worse?
was that we couldn’t believe it ourselves
that we had tried
we figured we just thought we tried
and we died believing that we hadn’t tried
believing that we didn’t know what it meant to try
When we were desperate enough
or hopeful or deluded or embattled enough to go for help
we went to people with letters after their names
and prayed that they might have read the right books
that had the right words in them
never suspecting the terrifying truth
that the right words, as simple as they were
had not been written yet
We died falling off girders on high buildings
because of course ironworkers drink
of course they do
we died with a shotgun in our mouth
or jumping off a bridge
and everybody knew it was suicide
we died under the Southeast Expressway
with our hands tied behind us
and a bullet in the back of our head
because this time the people that we disappointed
were the wrong people
we died in convulsions, or of “insult to the brain”
we died incontinent, and in disgrace, abandoned
if we were women, we died degraded,
because women have so much more to live up to
we tried and we died and nobody cried
And the very worst thing
was that for every one of us that died
there were another hundred of us, or another thousand
who wished that we would die
who went to sleep praying we would not have to wake up
because what we were enduring was intolerable
and we knew in our hearts
it wasn’t ever gonna change
One day in a hospital room in New York City
one of us had what the books call
“a transforming spiritual experience”
and he said to himself
I’ve got it
(no you haven’t you’ve only got part of it)
and I have to share it
(now you’ve ALMOST got it)
And he kept trying to give it away
but we couldn’t hear it
the transmission line wasn’t open yet
we tried to hear it
we tried and we died
We died of one last cigarette
the comfort of its glowing in the dark
we passed out and the bed caught fire
they said we suffocated before our body burned
they said we never felt a thing
that was the best way maybe that we died
except sometimes we took our family with us
And the man in New York was so sure he had it
he tried to love us into sobriety
but that didn’t work either, love confuses drunks
and he tried and still we died
one after another we got his hopes up
and we broke his heart
because that’s what we do
And the very worst thing of all was that every time
we thought we knew what the worst thing was
something happened that was even worse
Until a day came in a hotel lobby
and it wasn’t in Rome, or Jerusalem, or Mecca
or even Dublin, or South Boston
it was in Akron, Ohio, for Christ’s sake
A day came when the man said I have to find a drunk
because I need him as much as he needs me
(NOW
you’ve got it)
And the transmission line
after all those years
was open
the transmission line was open
And now we don’t go to priests and doctors
and people with letters after their names
we come to people who have been there
we come to each other
and we try
and we don’t have to die.