As happens often when we have little time or inspiration to write, I decide to guide our Irish readers down Leaving Cert. memory lane. Recently in the comments box, and to a lesser extent a post, I tried to establish a seperation between politics and art. This would render much of the poetic writings here pointless. For this reason, among various extentions of it, I've decided that I was misguided. There. Anyway people, Michael Longley.
In his poem Laertes, Michael Longley demonstrates his brilliant handling of classical studies and his superb ability with poetic technique. Homer’s Odyssey provides the backdrop to the poem, but Longley combines this ancient world of Homer with colloquialisms – “gardening duds” - belonging to his native Ulster. The poem’s ever increasing pressure - created by its first and only sentence which measures 177 words long - generates a lyrical intensity that conveys the sheer emotion of the poem very effectively. The poem employs a scene in the Odyssey in which Odysseus returns to his “dwindling father” after years on the high seas. It is an emotionally intense return; we are told that “all he wanted then and there was to hug him and kiss him and blurt out the whole story” which is “one catalogue and then another.” The line is almost childlike, yet encapsulates, with remarkable economy, the vastness of Odysseus’ experience, as well as his desire to share it with his father.
As with all homecomings, Odysseus’ return is not entirely positive. He has been away for a long-time, and while he grew – both physically and in stature – his father has grown old. It’s not a completely startling scenario, indeed I believe it happens naturally, but the reversal of roles, from a young Odysseus “traipsing against his father” to an old man “fainting in his breast” – is sad, heart-breaking and moving all at once. Indeed, the closing line, “cradled like driftwood the bones of his dwindling father” suggests that the old man does not have long to live, and although the terms used would usually be repugnant, in this case they are somehow poignant. As is the case in many of Longley’s poem, there is a hint of wry humour in the irony of it all. The simile “cradled like driftwood” suggests a gift thrown up by the sea, but we know that it is Odysseus – and not his father – who has just come from the sea.
Although its shape, surroundings and structure is in complete contrast to much of his work, it is impossible to read Laertes in isolation to Longley’s other poems. A son of a World War 1 veteran, Longley has written prolifically about his relationship with his father. In Wounds, Longley records the occasion on which his father revealed his experiences of war. This was done as his father was approaching death, as such, we are led to believe that they did not share a typical relationship, nor an entirely open one. The poem itself juxtaposes World War 1 with the Troubles of 1970s Belfast. Longley depicts the battlefields as being “a landscape of dead buttocks”, which along with the picture of the cynical “London-Scottish padre, resettling kilts with his swagger stick and a prayer”, amplifies the simple facelessness, impersonalised picture we already hold of WW1.
In contrast, the Troubles are portrayed as an entirely personal debacle; Longley writes of a man, a husband, a father “tidying away the supper dishes” before being brutally shot down in front of his family by a “shivering boy.” Each character is described, and as such, each character is humanised. The victim is conveyed as innocent, it is implied that the act is utterly unjust, but the boy – described as “shivering” – is perhaps a victim too, a naïve, unknowing, albeit living victim. The idea that the boy didn’t really understand why and what he was doing is echoed in the wry humoured concluding line, “I think ‘Sorry Missus’ was all he said.” Some might call Longley an apologist; some might mark him as forgiving and compassionate. Regardless, the idea of innocent through ignorance is illustrated throughout, whether it be in Northern Ireland, “I bury beside him three teenage soldiers,” or on the battlefields of the Somme, “the Ulster Division going over the top with ‘Fuck the Pope!’” At the end of this verse about World War 1, Longley finally gives the war a face: his father's; in soporific fashion, Longley poignantly croons “I touched his head, his thin hand I touched.”
Like in Wounds, Longley’s Wreaths again deals with the Troubles, only this time, more exclusively. The poems is divided in three sections – the Civil Servant, the Greengrocer and the Linen Workers - which would probably stand alone as fine poems, but together, form a collectively excellent poem. The Civil Servant was killed as “he was preparing an Ulster Fry” by a bullet which clinically “entered his mouth and pierced his skull.” The extremely ordinary action of preparing an Ulster Fry is contrasted with the surreal reaction of widow who, “took a hammer and chisel and removed the black keys from the piano.” In an example of Longley’s sublime mastery of poetic technique, he dehumanises the Civil Servant gradually; first he “lay in his dressing gown”, then his garden is surrounded by “notebooks” and “cameras”, before finally, he is “rolled up like red carpet.” The verses are factual and seemingly emotionless, but – following the expression, “the finest fury is most controlled” - it is perhaps the very factualness of the stanzas that convey Longley’s great outrage at the murder.
Just as Laertes is littered with colloquialisms, the second section of Wreaths, The Greengrocer, contains such phrases as “ran of good shop.” This expression conveys a sense of locality, and portrays the greengrocer through his attitude towards work. It is ironic then, that the “death-dealers” would come in the form of customers. The Greengrocer is set at Christmas time, “dates and chestnuts and tangerines”; firstly this enforces the tragedy of the atrocity, but its poignancy later gives way to satiric takes on the Christmas story, “three wise men,” for example.
The final section, The Linen Workers, contains surreal religious symbols such as “Christ’s teeth descend,” which are used, again, to express how unreal the murder by the IRA of innocent, Protestant linen-workers is. Originally, the phrase “I am blinded by the blaze of his [Christ’s] smile”, confused me, but I now believe that Longley aimed to deplore the murders which were committed in the name of religion by those whose faith was blind. Finally, Longley mentions his father. He writes “I must polish the spectacles, balance them upon his nose,” which is surely a statement of solidarity with the families of the linen workers, who will indeed have to do so before burying their loved ones. The tone of the collective poem is unresolvedly poised between pity, satire and benediction, which is perhaps deliberate in order to suggest the sense of despair present at that time.
Longley’s Last Requests is, in my opinion, his saddest, most moving poem. In it, he speaks directly to his father recalling a war story in which his father saves himself from death, before surfacing himself for a “long remembered drag.” Indeed, the cigarette becomes symbolic of his father’s past; we’re told that each one was “like a sacrament.” This proves important when Longley thought his death-bed-ridden father “blew a kiss before” he died. We’re told that “the bony fingers waving to and fro were asking for a Woodbine.” His father’s last salute is to his past, to the war, to an experience that defined and shaped his life. Longley recognises this, but is sad, even rueful, that - due to separation of age, experience and memory - he cannot share it. Longley exemplifies a range of interesting, perhaps rather contradictory aspects, in his poetry. He is an Ulster Protestant who has no difficulty in refering to himself as Irish. He is an urban poet who - as evidenced in Carrigskeewaun - has great knowledge of the countryside and finally, as I look at Harold Pinter, he is a poet who is not averse to dealing honestly with political violence but whose attitudes are never partisan. His final line in Wreaths, “I who brought peppermints and grapes only/ couldn’t reach you through the oxygen tent,” summarises brutally, metaphorically and yet somehow realistically the array of sentiments involved in his poetry; respect, grief, loneliness and love.
So now Michael; no more groaning when you hear his name, Longley has that touch of class. Everyone, let's hope he comes up in tomorrow's Christmas test!
In his poem Laertes, Michael Longley demonstrates his brilliant handling of classical studies and his superb ability with poetic technique. Homer’s Odyssey provides the backdrop to the poem, but Longley combines this ancient world of Homer with colloquialisms – “gardening duds” - belonging to his native Ulster. The poem’s ever increasing pressure - created by its first and only sentence which measures 177 words long - generates a lyrical intensity that conveys the sheer emotion of the poem very effectively. The poem employs a scene in the Odyssey in which Odysseus returns to his “dwindling father” after years on the high seas. It is an emotionally intense return; we are told that “all he wanted then and there was to hug him and kiss him and blurt out the whole story” which is “one catalogue and then another.” The line is almost childlike, yet encapsulates, with remarkable economy, the vastness of Odysseus’ experience, as well as his desire to share it with his father.
As with all homecomings, Odysseus’ return is not entirely positive. He has been away for a long-time, and while he grew – both physically and in stature – his father has grown old. It’s not a completely startling scenario, indeed I believe it happens naturally, but the reversal of roles, from a young Odysseus “traipsing against his father” to an old man “fainting in his breast” – is sad, heart-breaking and moving all at once. Indeed, the closing line, “cradled like driftwood the bones of his dwindling father” suggests that the old man does not have long to live, and although the terms used would usually be repugnant, in this case they are somehow poignant. As is the case in many of Longley’s poem, there is a hint of wry humour in the irony of it all. The simile “cradled like driftwood” suggests a gift thrown up by the sea, but we know that it is Odysseus – and not his father – who has just come from the sea.
Although its shape, surroundings and structure is in complete contrast to much of his work, it is impossible to read Laertes in isolation to Longley’s other poems. A son of a World War 1 veteran, Longley has written prolifically about his relationship with his father. In Wounds, Longley records the occasion on which his father revealed his experiences of war. This was done as his father was approaching death, as such, we are led to believe that they did not share a typical relationship, nor an entirely open one. The poem itself juxtaposes World War 1 with the Troubles of 1970s Belfast. Longley depicts the battlefields as being “a landscape of dead buttocks”, which along with the picture of the cynical “London-Scottish padre, resettling kilts with his swagger stick and a prayer”, amplifies the simple facelessness, impersonalised picture we already hold of WW1.
In contrast, the Troubles are portrayed as an entirely personal debacle; Longley writes of a man, a husband, a father “tidying away the supper dishes” before being brutally shot down in front of his family by a “shivering boy.” Each character is described, and as such, each character is humanised. The victim is conveyed as innocent, it is implied that the act is utterly unjust, but the boy – described as “shivering” – is perhaps a victim too, a naïve, unknowing, albeit living victim. The idea that the boy didn’t really understand why and what he was doing is echoed in the wry humoured concluding line, “I think ‘Sorry Missus’ was all he said.” Some might call Longley an apologist; some might mark him as forgiving and compassionate. Regardless, the idea of innocent through ignorance is illustrated throughout, whether it be in Northern Ireland, “I bury beside him three teenage soldiers,” or on the battlefields of the Somme, “the Ulster Division going over the top with ‘Fuck the Pope!’” At the end of this verse about World War 1, Longley finally gives the war a face: his father's; in soporific fashion, Longley poignantly croons “I touched his head, his thin hand I touched.”
Like in Wounds, Longley’s Wreaths again deals with the Troubles, only this time, more exclusively. The poems is divided in three sections – the Civil Servant, the Greengrocer and the Linen Workers - which would probably stand alone as fine poems, but together, form a collectively excellent poem. The Civil Servant was killed as “he was preparing an Ulster Fry” by a bullet which clinically “entered his mouth and pierced his skull.” The extremely ordinary action of preparing an Ulster Fry is contrasted with the surreal reaction of widow who, “took a hammer and chisel and removed the black keys from the piano.” In an example of Longley’s sublime mastery of poetic technique, he dehumanises the Civil Servant gradually; first he “lay in his dressing gown”, then his garden is surrounded by “notebooks” and “cameras”, before finally, he is “rolled up like red carpet.” The verses are factual and seemingly emotionless, but – following the expression, “the finest fury is most controlled” - it is perhaps the very factualness of the stanzas that convey Longley’s great outrage at the murder.
Just as Laertes is littered with colloquialisms, the second section of Wreaths, The Greengrocer, contains such phrases as “ran of good shop.” This expression conveys a sense of locality, and portrays the greengrocer through his attitude towards work. It is ironic then, that the “death-dealers” would come in the form of customers. The Greengrocer is set at Christmas time, “dates and chestnuts and tangerines”; firstly this enforces the tragedy of the atrocity, but its poignancy later gives way to satiric takes on the Christmas story, “three wise men,” for example.
The final section, The Linen Workers, contains surreal religious symbols such as “Christ’s teeth descend,” which are used, again, to express how unreal the murder by the IRA of innocent, Protestant linen-workers is. Originally, the phrase “I am blinded by the blaze of his [Christ’s] smile”, confused me, but I now believe that Longley aimed to deplore the murders which were committed in the name of religion by those whose faith was blind. Finally, Longley mentions his father. He writes “I must polish the spectacles, balance them upon his nose,” which is surely a statement of solidarity with the families of the linen workers, who will indeed have to do so before burying their loved ones. The tone of the collective poem is unresolvedly poised between pity, satire and benediction, which is perhaps deliberate in order to suggest the sense of despair present at that time.
Longley’s Last Requests is, in my opinion, his saddest, most moving poem. In it, he speaks directly to his father recalling a war story in which his father saves himself from death, before surfacing himself for a “long remembered drag.” Indeed, the cigarette becomes symbolic of his father’s past; we’re told that each one was “like a sacrament.” This proves important when Longley thought his death-bed-ridden father “blew a kiss before” he died. We’re told that “the bony fingers waving to and fro were asking for a Woodbine.” His father’s last salute is to his past, to the war, to an experience that defined and shaped his life. Longley recognises this, but is sad, even rueful, that - due to separation of age, experience and memory - he cannot share it. Longley exemplifies a range of interesting, perhaps rather contradictory aspects, in his poetry. He is an Ulster Protestant who has no difficulty in refering to himself as Irish. He is an urban poet who - as evidenced in Carrigskeewaun - has great knowledge of the countryside and finally, as I look at Harold Pinter, he is a poet who is not averse to dealing honestly with political violence but whose attitudes are never partisan. His final line in Wreaths, “I who brought peppermints and grapes only/ couldn’t reach you through the oxygen tent,” summarises brutally, metaphorically and yet somehow realistically the array of sentiments involved in his poetry; respect, grief, loneliness and love.
So now Michael; no more groaning when you hear his name, Longley has that touch of class. Everyone, let's hope he comes up in tomorrow's Christmas test!
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