The Columbia History of British Poetry (161 page)

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Authors: Carl Woodring,James Shapiro

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BOOK: The Columbia History of British Poetry
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Page 621
1967) he maintains that "nationalism is seldom based on those sincerities which give any true spiritual force its power. Good work cannot survive in an angry atmosphere." He even distinguishes English literature from "the often scoundrelly nation." For Kavanagh, "love of the land and landscape is of course a different kettle of potatoes altogether. Constable, Wordsworth, Clare, most of them were great patriots in that sense."
Kavanagh's celebrated essay "The Parish and the Universe" suggests how a "parochial" poetry might bypass both the Nation and the metropolis:
The provincial has no mind of his own; he does not trust what his eyes see until he has heard what the metropolis . . . has to say on any subject. . . . The parochial mentality on the other hand is never in any doubt about the social and artistic validity of his parish.
Kavanagh's poetic parochialism took the form of a more self-conscious relation to Inniskeen and to the phenomenal world. This self-consciousness extends to language:his sonnet "The Hospital" affirms: "Naming these things is the love-act and its pledge." Another sonnet, ironically entitled "Epic," relishes a local boundary dispute: "the Duffys shouting 'Damn your soul' / And old McCabe stripped to the waist." The sonnet ends:
That was the year of the Munich bother. Which
Was more important? I inclined
To lose my faith in Ballyrush and Gortin
Till Homer's ghost came whispering to my mind.
He said: I made the Iliad from such
A local row. Gods make their own importance.
The discrepancy between
The Great Hunger
and his poems of return to Inniskeen, such as "Epic" or "Innocence," indicates that Kavanagh, too, could not make up time lags between country and city. His disaffection from Dublin, an internal exile, was aggravated by his Northernness: coming from one of the three Ulster counties outside Northern Ireland, he was doubly displaced from his cultural hinterland. In this way, Kavanagh's trajectory parallels that of Louis MacNeice, even if MacNeice's displacements overshoot rather than undershoot national boundaries. It may seem an irony that
Autumn Journals
twenty-four cantos pivot on "the Munich bother," whereas "Epic" marginalizes it in a phrase. Nonetheless, the emphases are complementary. And
Autumn
 
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Journal
, the other defining poem of the Irish mid-century, is as angry as
The Great Hunger
about Ireland's "purblind manifestoes"Unionist as well as Nationalist:
And one read black where the other read white, his hope
    The other man's damnation:
Up the rebels, To Hell with the Pope
    And God Saveas you preferthe King or Ireland.
The land of scholars and saints:
    Scholars and saints my eye . . .
At the same time, Kavanagh's "A Christmas Childhood" (1940) and MacNeice's "Carrickfergus" (1937) differ significantly in their nexus of place and autobiography. Less elaborately than Dylan Thomas, Kavanagh invokes a unified primal vision: "Cassiopeia was over / Cassidy's hanging hill." The assonance between Greek and Irish names suggests once again that language shares in a cosmic harmony. Similarly, parish, universe, and poetry chime when the "child-poet's" mother ''makes the music of milking." Carrickfergus, too, has imprinted a poet's imagination and verbal textures, but there the resemblance stops:
The little boats beneath the Norman castle,
    The pier shining with lumps of crystal salt;
The Scotch Quarter was a line of residential homes
    But the Irish Quarter was a slum for the blind and halt.
The difference is not only between rural and urban scenarios, or between Inniskeen's homogeneity and the sectarian North. "Carrickfergus," which begins with the advent of the Normans in Ireland and ends with the Great War, is informedlike all MacNeice's poetryby a historical consciousness generally lacking in Kavanagh. The poem's most pervasive images are of barriers, fissures, mutilations, and continuing war in Europeits last phrase, "the soldiers with their guns," is not really a closure. There is also religious difference. Different religious backgrounds also have shaped the cosmologies of these poems. A British perspective indicates that "Spilt religion" has poured more profusely and continuously into poetry beyond secular England. Muir, MacDiarmid, Dylan Thomas, MacNeice, and Kavanagh may wrestle with various forms of life-denying, sex-denying, art-denying puritanism, but their poetry still inclines to the metaphysical or visionary and to quests for cosmic pattern.
 
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R. S. Thomas is primarily a religious poet: "It was I, said God, / Who formed the roses / In the delicate flesh / And the tooth that bruises" ("Pisces"). Two of Kavanagh's successors in the Republic, Brendan Kennelly (b. 1937) and Paul Durcan (b. 1944), notably combine critiques of the institutional Catholic Church with their own version of the poet as parish priest. Kennelly's massively long sequence
The Book of Judas
(1991) is an idiosyncratic sermon on a motif that links Christianity and Irish history. Durcan's oeuvre abounds in titles like ''Priest Accused of Not Wearing Condom" and "Archbishop of Kerry to Have Abortion." Nevertheless, his poetry is dedicated to an intense anarchopacifist-feminist-spiritual mission and it follows Kavanagh in believing in poetry itself: "I have not 'met' God, I have not 'read' / David Gascoyne, James Joyce, or Patrick Kavanagh: / I believe in them" ("They Say the Butterfly is the Hardest Stroke").
The dialectic between faith and doubt is as fundamental to poetry as the dialectic between country and city, or Eden and history. MacNeice's poetry encompasses all three dialectics. His well-known poem "Snow" zestfully surrenders to relativistic flux: "World is crazier and more of it than we think, / Incorrigibly plural." But, saturated in Bible and prayer book, he also conducts an implied dialogue with the clergyman-father who had originally given him "a box of truisms / Shaped like a coffin" ("The Truisms"). MacNeice tired of thirties reportage, and (partly a result of his friendship with Dylan Thomas) his poetry became increasingly "in need of myth" ("The Blasphemies").
MacNeice's last two collections,
Solstices
(1961) and
The Burning Perch
(1963), contain more varieties of parable than Edwin Muir could produce. These exemplify his Beckett-like view that "the nearest one gets to an answer is in the sheer phrasing of the question." Transcendence receives a bad press today, as does Celtic mysticism, yet Yeats originally needed his mysteries because Darwin and Huxley had "robbed" him of his childhood religion. Symbol and myth are part of that Yeatsian legacy to later poets. For good and ill, religion remains a major cultural force in certain parts of the British Isles. Like the sense of place, it has helped keep poetry alive there.
Language, Canon
Celtic languages shadow the English lyric in the British Isles: the Irish language; Scots Gaelic, which is close to Ulster Irish; and the Welsh

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