{"id":11901,"date":"2020-12-16T00:05:53","date_gmt":"2020-12-15T23:05:53","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=11901"},"modified":"2020-12-14T20:10:33","modified_gmt":"2020-12-14T19:10:33","slug":"eilean-ni-chuilleanain-collected-poems-e20-00-pb-the-gallery-press-reviewed-by-david-cooke","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=11901","title":{"rendered":"Eil\u00e9an N\u00ed Chuillean\u00e1in, Collected Poems (\u20ac20.00 (pb), The Gallery Press)"},"content":{"rendered":"

The publication of Eil\u00e9an N\u00ed Chuillean\u00e1in\u2019s Collected Poems, <\/em>encompassing some half a century\u2019s work, is a welcome opportunity to appreciate the full extent of her achievement and leaves one in little doubt that her poetry, by virtue of its emotional depth and imaginative \u00e9lan<\/em>, places her in the front rank of poets currently writing in English. And yet, although she received the prestigious Griffin Award in 2016 and in spite of the fact that her work has been attracting an increasing amount of critical attention, her poems are unlikely to be as familiar to British readers as those of her contemporaries, Heaney, Longley or Mahon. To some extent this may be an historical accident. The quality of the poetry written in the North during the Troubles was beyond dispute, but there can be little doubt that its wider dissemination was furthered by those tragic events. By contrast, poets from the South were overlooked. Born in Cork in 1942, N\u00ed Chuillean\u00e1in comes from a prominent Republican family with close ties to the Catholic Church, one effect of which is N\u00ed Chuillean\u00e1in\u2019s self-confessed fascination with nuns. The family is also academic and artistic. Her mother was the well-known writer Eil\u00eds Dillon<\/em>. Her father was a professor of Irish and her sister was a professional musician. Unsurprisingly, much of her poetry is informed by this inheritance.<\/p>\n

However, because she is wary of writing in a too obviously autobiographical mode, her poems can be challenging. Whether she is exploring public or private events, her approach is frequently oblique. So it may be helpful for new readers if I share my own first acquaintance with her work. It was in Blackwells, Oxford, in 1972. Having immersed myself in the poems of Montague, Heaney, Mahon and Longley, and intrigued no doubt by the poet\u2019s Gaelic name, I was drawn to Acts and Monuments<\/em>, her recently published debut collection. Even now, I remember the thrill and bewilderment I felt on reading \u2018Lucina Schynning in Silence of the Nicht\u2019, with its strangely archaic title and dreamlike ambiance:<\/p>\n

Moon shining in silence of the night<\/p>\n

the heaven being all full of stars<\/p>\n

I was reading my book in a ruin<\/p>\n

by a sour candle, without roast meat or music<\/p>\n

strong drink or a shield from the air<\/p>\n

blowing in the crazed window, and I felt<\/p>\n

moonlight on my head, clear after three days\u2019 rain.<\/p>\n

This was poetry on a different wavelength from anything else I had been reading. What drew me in was the clarity of the images, the focus and memorability of the language: \u2018I washed in cold water: it was orange, channelled down bogs \/ dipped between cresses.\u2019 Initially, the fact that I didn\u2019t know who the protagonist was or what exactly was going on was something I would have to live with. Subsequently, I found \u00a0myself wandering in a kind of parallel universe inhabited by hermits, swineherds, voyagers, exiles, and, occasionally, in poems like \u2018Letter to Pearse Hutchinson\u2019 and \u2018Going Back to Oxford\u2019, someone who might be the poet herself:<\/p>\n

Something to lose; it came in the equipment<\/p>\n

alongside the suicide pill and the dark blue card:<\/p>\n

\u2018I am a Catholic, please send for a priest\u2019<\/p>\n

with a space below for the next of kin.<\/p>\n

Revisiting these poems decades later, it still seems that the most effective way to approach them is to concentrate on those whose surface detail is most alluring and not to worry too much about those whose meaning may at first seem obscure. Gradually, as recurring patterns and themes emerge, one gets an increasing sense of a poet who is striving towards what Pasternak called \u2018the heart of the matter\u2019, the truths enshrined in the past, however provisional such \u2018truths\u2019 might be. Although narrative is a strong element in N\u00ed Chuillean\u00e1in\u2019s poetry, her stories tend to be enigmatic and fragmentary. We nearly always find ourselves in medias res<\/em>, but our desire for context is all too often subverted. And yet, with some justification, the poet might argue that life is like that. \u2018In \u2018Family\u2019, she finds a striking image for the elusive nature of reality: \u2018Water has no memory \/ and you drown in it like a kind of absence\u2019.\u00a0 In \u2018The House Remembered\u2019, she suggests that truths are not only provisional but also subjective:<\/p>\n

The house persists, the permanent<\/p>\n

scaffolding while the stones move round \u2026<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The stairs and windows waver but the house stands up;<\/p>\n

peeling away the walls another set shows through<\/p>\n

and somebody was born in every room.<\/p>\n

Like Kant, it would seem that N\u00ed Chuillean\u00e1in draws a distinction between \u2018the world as it is\u2019, which, ultimately, will always elude us, and \u2018the world as we perceive it\u2019.\u00a0 <\/strong>This dichotomy is particularly poignant in \u2018A Bridge Between Two Counties\u2019 where it seems that a child is being handed over to a new family. Without knowing any of the details that have preceded this moment, the reader\u2019s perspective is suddenly reduced to that of the child: \u2018and the woman paused and passed \/ the child\u2019s hand \/ to a glove and a sleeve\u2019. The focus here is cinematic, a technique that the poet frequently uses to powerful effect. In \u2018Following\u2019, the opening stanza is a beautifully rendered description of a young child as she \u2018follows the trail of her father\u2019s coat through the fair \/ shouldering past beasts packed solid as books \u2026\u2019 Then there is a sudden shift to an eerier, presumably much later memory:<\/p>\n

until she is tracing light footsteps<\/p>\n

across the shivering bog by starlight,<\/p>\n

the dead corpse risen from the wakehouse<\/p>\n

gliding before her in a white habit.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong>These sudden changes in perspective are at their most challenging in \u2018Site of Ambush\u2019, a sequence in eight sections which is the centrepiece of her second collection. Given the poet\u2019s upbringing in Cork, one might be entitled to presume that the poem is about the notorious ambush of Michael Collins. However, this does not seem to be the case. Its brief opening section, \u2018Reflection\u2019, is enigmatic: \u2018You are not the sun or moon \/ but the wolf that will swallow down both sun and moon.\u2019 However, this soon gives way, in \u2018Narration\u2019, to a realistic description of soldiers preparing for a military engagement: \u2018At ten the soldiers were climbing into lorries, \/ asthmatic engines drawing breath in even shifts\u2019. \u00a0Thereafter, the \u2018narrative\u2019 becomes increasingly dreamlike as it moves across a locale haunted by ghostlike presences: the soldiers, a deaf child, a girl whose hair has been cropped, an old man sitting on a bench and then, in the sixth section, \u2018Voyagers\u2019, mythological heroes like Maelduin and Odysseus. It\u2019s a poem in which, to paraphrase T.S. Eliot, all time seems eternally present. Elsewhere, the poet\u2019s probing of the Irish past is more immediately accessible in those poems where historical figures are more clearly delineated: James Connolly, Maria Edgeworth, or members of her own family, as in \u2018On Lacking the Killer Instinct\u2019. Written in memory of her father, it describes his narrow escape from the Black and Tans, but expresses also his concern that he might be putting at risk the people who were giving him shelter: \u2018Should he have chanced that door?\u2019 \u00a0In \u2018Daniel Grose\u2019, we are taken back to the eighteenth century, where a \u2018military draughtsman \/ is training his eye \/ on the upright of the tower\u2019. He is completing Antiquities of Ireland,<\/em> a sequence of drawings for an audience whose interest in Irish history is no more than \u2018a taste for ruins\u2019. It takes the poet to remind us that the picture is incomplete:<\/p>\n

No crowds engaged in rape or killing,<\/p>\n

no marshalling of boy soldiers,<\/p>\n

no cutting the hair of novices.<\/p>\n

In \u2018Old Roads\u2019, the map of Ireland has been redrawn so that all trace of the Gaelic past has slowly been eroded. \u00a0However, in \u2018A Map of Convents\u2019, N\u00ed Chuillean\u00e1in celebrates the work of Nano Nagle, the founder of the Presentation Sisters and a pioneer of Catholic education at the time of the Penal Laws: \u2018There was another map, \/ of a different place, in her head; she told nobody.\u2019<\/p>\n

The poet\u2019s admiration for Nano Nagle is clear and there are poems, also, in which she writes with affection of others who have embraced the religious life, such as three of her father\u2019s sisters. She is also fascinated by the cloistered lives of nuns who have created their own separate society independently of men. In \u2018To the Mother House\u2019, she commends the nuns\u2019 selfless commitment to comforting and healing the sick: \u2018There was a war coming, there was work. The novices \/ would never see a soldier, only smile \/ at meagre faces in the alpine sanatorium.\u2019 In \u2018The Real Thing\u2019, the subjective nature of reality is seen in the context of religious faith and the nuns\u2019 belief in the true nature of a holy relic, \u2018the longest \/ known fragment of the Brazen Serpent\u2019; while \u2018J\u2019ai mal \u00e0 nos dents\u2019 is a touching portrayal of one of the poet\u2019s aunts who joined a convent in France. The poem\u2019s offbeat title derives from the fact that the sisters, who have given up all personal possessions, avoid using the word \u2018my\u2019. It is not entirely clear, to this reader at least, what the poet\u2019s personal relationship with Catholicism might be. However, in \u2018Translation\u2019, which was written \u2018for the reburial of the Magdalenes<\/em>\u2019, she expresses her solidarity with those young unmarried mothers who suffered at the hands of the Catholic Church: \u2018there are women here from every county, \/ just as there were in the laundry\u2019; while in \u2018Bessboro\u2019 she describes a notorious mother and baby unit:<\/p>\n

This is what I inherit \u2013<\/p>\n

it was never my own life,<\/p>\n

but a house\u2019s name I heard<\/p>\n

and others heard as a warning<\/p>\n

of what might happen a girl<\/p>\n

daring and caught by ill luck:<\/p>\n

a fragment of desolate<\/p>\n

fact, a hammer-note of fear \u2013<\/p>\n

The various scandals which have, in recent decades, undermined the once inviolable authority of the Catholic Church in Ireland are only one aspect of N\u00ed Chuillean\u00e1in\u2019s concern for those forces which have led to the marginalisation and repression of women. \u00a0In \u2018St Margaret of Cortona\u2019, we see how, in spite of her canonization, this patron saint of single mothers, reformed prostitutes, and all those who are falsely accused, cannot herself escape being categorized and even denigrated by men:<\/p>\n

She had become<\/em>, the preacher hollows his voice,<\/p>\n

a name not to be spoken, the answer<\/p>\n

to the witty man\u2019s loose riddle, what\u2019s she<\/p>\n

that\u2019s neither maiden, window nor wife?<\/p>\n

In the early poem, \u2018Odysseus Meets the Ghosts of the Women\u2019, a contrast is drawn between the heroic agendas of men and the untold stories of the women they leave behind: \u2018the longhaired goldbound women who had died \/ of pestilence, famine, in slavery.\u2019 However, in \u2018Pygmalion\u2019s Image\u2019, we are given a powerful sense of female emancipation when a discarded statue comes to life and finds its own voice:<\/p>\n

The crisp hair is real, wriggling like snakes;<\/p>\n

a rustle of veins, tick of blood in the throat;<\/p>\n

the lines of the face tangle and catch, and<\/p>\n

a green leaf of language comes twisting out of her mouth.<\/p>\n

Perhaps that image of female empowerment is as good a place as any to draw a line. Within the relatively brief compass of a review it is only possible to hint at the subtlety, richness and transformative power of these poems. Eil\u00e9an N\u00ed Chuillean\u00e1in\u2019s Collected Poems<\/em> is a uniquely compelling body of work that has the coherence and inevitability of a natural growth. It is a fitting monument to her passionate concern to ride \u2018the horses of meaning\u2019 and to \u2018let their hooves print the next bit of the story.\u2019<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

David Cooke<\/p>\n

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The publication of Eil\u00e9an N\u00ed Chuillean\u00e1in\u2019s Collected Poems, encompassing some half a century\u2019s work, is a welcome opportunity to appreciate the full extent of her achievement and leaves one in little doubt that her poetry, by virtue of its emotional depth and imaginative \u00e9lan, places her in the front rank of poets currently writing in […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":113,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":[]},"categories":[13,283],"tags":[],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\nEil\u00e9an N\u00ed Chuillean\u00e1in, Collected Poems (\u20ac20.00 (pb), The Gallery Press) - The Manchester Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=11901\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Eil\u00e9an N\u00ed Chuillean\u00e1in, Collected Poems (\u20ac20.00 (pb), The Gallery Press) - 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