ISBN
1876044292
Published 1999
94 pgs
$23.95
Cork & Other Poems
book
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Cork & Other Poems - Winner of Fourth Lawrence M. O’Shaughnessy Prize for PoetryCitation 29 February 2000
Here
on Archbishop John Ireland’s campus halfaway round the globe from
County Galway, we gather not for the customary March observances of
things Irish--no parading or pub-crawling tonight—but for a feast—a
feast both literal and literary. We gather in honour of the Irish poet
Louis de Paor, the language of his originality, and particularly his
seventh collection of poems
Cork & Other Poems.
Published just last year,
Cork & Other Poems is the third of de Paor’s bilingual books after
Sentences in Earth and Stone of 1996 and
Speckled Weather
of 1993. Each of those collections offers de Paor’s own English--what
he terms his “forgery”—of the original Gaelic poem. Each collection
gives a welcome to English, and not a farewell to it.
Because
each of his lines pronounces by turns de Paor’s devotion to the
familial, the intimate, and the sum of Irish heritance, each reader
receives what such other poets in Modern Irish as Máire Mhac an tSaoi
or the late Michéal hAirtnéide have so generously passed on to those
willing to listen. de Paor’s poem “Gaeilgeoiri” raised that question
early on:
Cad leis go rabhamar ag súil?
Go mbeadh tincéiri chun lóin
in Áras an Uachtaráin?
Go n-éistfí linn?
***
What did we expect?
That tinkers could drop in
for a spot of lunch
at Aras an Uachtarain?
That people would actually listen to us?
The
answer, this night, is a plain “Yes.” Remarkably, de Paor’s Irish and
his English forgeries have come to us in St Paul and London—or Boston
and even Dublin—all the way from Australia.
Speckled Weather /
Aimsir Bhreicneach came first, marking off from the outside de Paor’s maturity in 1993.
This
is hardly an accident. It comes, of course, from an essential Irish
circumstance—the necessity to emigrate. Goban Cre is Cloch /Sentences
of Earth and Stone voices that diasporic heritage in a long poem titled
“Oileán na Marbh” or “The Island of the Dead.”
Whether in
English or Irish, those lines keep all of de Paor’s later poems mindful
of the penitential durance of emigration, and not solely because
Australia served as a British penal colony for decades. Visiting the
plots of those prisoners, de Paor declares:
Better to wear a
cowl to hide the shame of
man made nothing, to cover
your face...
***
Ba chuíúla dar liom
cochall a chaitheamh
gan uirísleacht an duine...
The hallmark qualities of
Speckled Weather and
Sentences of Earth and Stone underscore the real presence of every line in
Cork & Other Poems.
De
Paor’s title reminds us that he received the Sean O Riordain prize 1988
and then the 1992 Oireachtas. de Paor was bom in Cork and educated
there. His study of the Galway writer Mairtin Ui Cadhain and his
anthology
Leabhar Sheain Ui Thuma
pay tribute to the poet and scholar Séan Ó Tuama. Like the poets Nuala
Ní Dhomhnaill or Thomas McCarthy, de Paor comes of a remarkable
generation tutored by Seán Lucy, John Montague and Ó Tuama himself at
University College, Cork.
In
Cork & Other Poems,
local and national events speak bitterly and passionately. Early and
Bardic lines pose their sweet and sour against our contemporary lives.
Most importantly, though, de Paor keeps to simple freedom with metaphor
that suddenly and rewardingly complicate a living moment. That is why
the father-and-son scene, a family scene, of “Heredity/ Oidhreacht”
surprises us in its closure.
...ta fíacail ar sceabha
i ndrad mo mhic
gleas chomh hard
le niamh an phearla
ar a ghaire neamhfhoirfe
gan teimheal.
***
...there’s a tooth askew
in my son’s mouth,
bright as a a pearl
in his perfectly crooked smile.
One
of the traditional tasks of the poet’s language is to skew our
perceptions and expectations, to make our straight ways of
understanding crooked, to set our ordinary feelings
ar sceabha.
Whether
forgeries in English or playfully forged in Irish, Louis de Paor’s
poems renew the powers of Irish to set askew the presumptions and usual
preferences of English as we find it in Ireland and Britain, in the
Americas, in Australia.
It is in recognition of those powers
that we celebrate the accomplishment of Louis de Paor by awarding him
the fourth Lawrence M. O’Shaughnessy Prize for Poetry.
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Cork
Gaol Cross
About Time
Silk of the Kine
Oisí
n
Harris Tweed
Under Ground
Winter
Congregation
The Street
The Light
The First Time Ever
Shocked
Bearing
End of the Line
The Drowning Man's Grip
The Pangs of Ulster
Thirst
Omens
Leprechauns
Rory
14 Washington Street
Nanbird
Setanta
Heredity
Sorcha
Notice
Brewing a Storm
Notes
Clár
Corcach
Gaol Cross
That Am
Síoda na mBó
Oisí
n
Harris Tweed
Bóthar an Ghleanna
mí nádúrtha
Tionól
Díoltas
Fuineadh
An Chéad Lá Riamh
Turraing
Uabhar an Iompair
Deireadh Line
Greim an Fhir Bháite
Ceas Naíon
Íota
Tairngreacht
Leipreacháin
Rory
14 Washington Street
Nanbird
Setanta
Oidhreacht
Sorcha
Neamhaire
Báisteach
Nó
taí
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Reviews
A
Breath of Fresh Air!
Duncan Richardson
Social Alternatives,
Vol. 20
No. 1, January 2001
de Paor is a breath of fresh air in contemporary poetry, to borrow a
tired cliché but his honesty and unpretentiousness demand a
metaphor of
that kind. For lovers of myth and legend too, his poems are exemplars
of how to use such themes without beating readers over the head with
your erudition. There are two pages of notes on Irish myth and legend
at the end of this book, yet this comes as a surprise, so skilfully are
the images and references worked in. de Paor, who draws on experiences
in Ireland and Australia for the poems in this collection, has a poetic
voice that takes a participant-observer stance, not the self-righteous
or heroic tone so common among writers who deal with traumatic subjects.
When he deals with Ireland’s recent history of conflict, his
images
stem from the cycle of generations, migration and the violent scenes so
familiar from TV yet he does not preach or lapse into mawkishness.
Instead, he offers insight into the conflicting desires in the human
heart, virtue versus fear, and the difficulty of living up to ideals
whatever level of action they may be applied to.
Readers of Gaelic will get double value from this book as each poem
appears in the two languages.
The impact of his work depends on the development within the poem, so
short quotes cannot do them justice. The following poem though shows
how de Paor lets the world speak for itself, through deft handling of a
scene.
Heredity: It won’t come out, / the blood that goes through /
me from my
mother’s side / leaving one snarled tooth / in the roof of my
mouth, /
an itching poet in my head / where demented ideas / scratch in
unseasonal heat, / an ogham stone / shouting me down / with its
unintelligible alphabet. // I put my thumb / under the tooth of
knowledge / and the stone speaks its mind / from the underworld of my
thoughts: / - You’re only a blow-in, / like all that belong
to you; /
hard words like grains of sand / in the corner of an eye / shut tight
as an oyster. // When a blade of light / prises it open /
there’s a
tooth askew / in my son’s mouth, / bright as a pearl / in his
perfectly
/ crooked smile.
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Gaelic
Poetry...
Nicholas Birns
Antipodes (United States),
Vol. 14, No. 2,
December 2000
Louis de Paor’s Cork
& Other Poems (Corcach
agus Dánta
Eile),
published by Black Pepper Press, seems at first but an intriguing
cultural phenomenon. de Paor (born 1961) is an Irish Gaelic poet who
resided for a time in Australia. Here he publishes a bilingual edition
of his poems with an Australian press. But de Paor’s poems
themselves
are startlingly good, confirmably so in English, and coming through
quite well in Gaelic even for the reader who does not know much of it
(though Gaelic, presumably one of the “European
languages” of the
notorious dictation test for prospective migrants, is an easy one to
crib). de Paor’s freshness of diction, even, and especially,
when using
the most transparent language, is stunning. “...and again
today/ the
light is soft as butter/ on bread fresh from the oven,/ you could put
it in your mouth/ and let it melt/ like holy communion/ on your tongue/
or place it in a jar/ in the medicine box/ a sovereign remedy/ for the
heart.” I will give the Gaelic for the last two lines as the
syntax
falls into place if you realize, not a hard task, that chroi = heart.
“iochshláinte/a chneasóidh do
chroi”. This is poetry one can read, and
re-read, as poetry, not as rhetoric or even as
“verse.” The language is
unbelievably simple, yet possesses an equally unbelievable amount of
depth. The poems themselves have little to do with Australia, and de
Paor, it seems, is no longer resident there. But it shows what
Australian literature can be in a global sense. It can also serve as a
clearinghouse for all sorts of possibilities in global literature - as
if Australia can because of its own “distance”
shake us into
confrontation with reawakened language such as that de Paor gives us.
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De
Poar:
award-winning poems
Chris Watson (past secretary, Cumann Gaeilge na
hAstráile/Irish
Language Association of Australia)
Tá
in, September 2000
Louis de Paor, who was born in Cork, lived at Melbourne’s
Coburg for
about ten years before returning to Ireland in 1996 to live at
Oughterard, County Galway. Chris Watson, past secretary of Cumann
Gaeilge na hAstráile/lrish Language Association of
Australia, reviews
de Paor’s new book, Cork & Other Poems: Corcach agus
Dánta Eile.
Louis de Paor, fluent in both Irish and English, is a self-translator
who freely changes idioms that work well only in one language, so that
both versions of poems in this recent bilingual collection read as
strong poems in their own right. Readers of the edition published in
Ireland are given less assistance: for them, it’s Irish or
nothing.
The poems based on his departure for Australia and return to Ireland
explore memories and come to terms with the relationships of the
family’s past. ‘Gaol Cross’ recalls that
in flying out from Shannon
Airport, he ‘crossed over/ in my father’s
footsteps,’ and he sees his
grandmother, like Mary at the cross, as a symbol of bereaved
motherhood: ‘When I looked back across the water / the last
light was
dying / in my grandmother’s eyes / as she stood like a statue
in the
dark / looking after us from the foot of the Cross.’
‘Silk of the Kine / Sioda na mBó’ takes
its title, as a note reminds
us, from the old song An Droimeann donn Dílis.
‘When flight number EI
32 / turned its dripping snout / for home, slow / as the white-backed
heifer / that took one last look / at those faraway hills...’
Return
from abroad brings mixed feelings.
He remembers his grandfather’s cow whose own last journey
strangely
resembles his own return home: ‘before climbing the ramp / of
the old
brown truck / to the slaughterhouse.’ Even wryer and more
enigmatic is
the Irish version of the ending, alluding to the opening of the old
song: ‘sara gcuach isteach / i dtrucail donn /
dílis an tseamlais (the
faithful brown slaughterhouse truck).’
In the later part of the book, the family perspective shifts, with
emphasis on being a husband, and father to a new generation. Several
poems are about his response to his wife’s pregnancies. I was
particularly struck by those where he speaks as a father of young
children.
In ‘Notice/Neamhaire’, his daughter asks him to
watch her dance on the
kitchen table. ‘“Jesus Christ,” I say,
“Watch yourself,”’ corresponding
to the untranslatable exclamation, “A dhiabail
álainn / ...tabhair
aire” gives the English poem another
‘watch’ usage in a poem with
several references to cutting and watching. At the poem’s
end, ‘She’s
fallen, her face streaming / like blood from a cut’ and calls
on him to
see her in her distress. However, ‘When I take off / the
blindfold /
she cuts me dead.’ The Irish version is starker in its use of
the
watching and cutting imagery: ‘Nuair a bhainim / an
púicín dem amharc /
tá faobhar ar a súil / dom fhéachant
go feirc. (When I take / the
blindfold from my sight /there’s a blade from her eye /
watching me to
the hilt.)’
Other poems recall incidents and characters outside the family, often
with wit, as in the words of the woman who has to leave her dwelling:
‘I wouldn’t give him the itch / for fear
he’d have / pleasure
scratching it.’
In ‘Congregation’, the noise of a group of
disturbed swans suddenly
resembles the more ominous noises of those who expressed
‘righteous
indignation... in the kangaroo court / outside the Cathedral’
over
ecumenical actions by Mary McAleese. Like this one, many poems, even
when not overtly political, are conscious of the important public and
historical issues surrounding the more familial concerns.
The book is attractive. The cover by Gail Hannah, has a beautiful
overhead picture of a curragh on sand.
Sorcha
When she talks to
trees
plums and apples
land in her lap,
fruit of the vine
and half-blind
strawberries give
in
to her giving
hands.
Cats and dogs know
her
for one of their
own,
their coats speak
in velvet tongues
to her attentive
cheeks.
She goes out like
a light
when the dark
comes in
and stays out till
the
sun climbs from
the snare
of her buckled hair
as morning picks
its way
through the locks
on her forehead,
the slip-knots
of her undark name.
Má labhrann
sí le
crann
péacann
úll
nó pluma ina
glaic,
cuardaíonn an
fhineamhain
is an sú
talún
béal a baise
gan
chraos.
Aithníonn
cait is
coileáin
aon dá
gcineál
labhrann a gcotai
fionnaidh
briathra sróil
lena grua
biorchluasach.
Téann
sí as
nuair a ligtear
an doircheacht
isteach
is ní thagann
ar
ais
nó go
scaoiltear
an mhaidin
as gaiste
búclaí a
foilt,
éiríonn
an ghrian
ionam
as dola reatha
a hainm nach
dorcha.
Author’s note: Sorcha is a girl’s name, meaning
brightness, the
opposite of Dorcha, darkness.
Photo: Sorcha de Paor at Korweignguboora, 1996
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Raining
on Mythology’s Parade
Cork
& Other
Poems
Peter Skrzynecki
Sidewalk,
No. 6, July 2000
(pgs 46-48)
[Text not yet available]
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The
Long and the Short of It: 24 Writers
Cork
& Other
Poems
Michael Sharkey
Ulitarra,
No. 17/18, July 2000
(pgs 222-232)
[Text not yet available]
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Fine
collection of haunting love lyrics
Tim Thorne
The Sunday Tasmanian
26 March
2000
Louis de Paor has produced yet another
excellent collection
of
bilingual poems.
It is gratifying that Black Pepper has enough faith in his appeal to
Australian readers, despite the fact that it is more than three years
since he last lived in this country, to bring this book out.
de Paor’s reputation in Ireland is firm and since his return
there he
has edited an anthology of Irish poetry which includes work in English
and Irish.
He invariably creates his own poetry in Irish, then translates it into
English.
Having the Irish text on pages facing the English is a constant
reminder of this and must make the vast majority of his Australian
readers, who cannot pronounce, let alone understand the language, long
to hear those pages come to life.
Those of us who have been privileged to hear de Paor read are aware of
the magic that his presence and his voice create in either language.
In this collection there are occasional references to Australia but, as
the title implies, most of the pieces are set in his native city of
Cork and in other parts of Ireland.
There is the wonderful and poignant ‘Rory’, about a
musician who now
plays ‘where
Robert Johnson plays broken / riffs on the boards of a
coffin’.
It encapsulates the dilemma of the exile returning from the other side
of the world after a long absence, while at the same time extolling the
glory of music which transcends narrow cultural boundaries as it
transcends nostalgia and even grief.
There is an element of wry wit apparent in this book which was not such
a feature of de Paor’s earlier work. It is evident in lines
like this
from Harris Tweed: 'In the month of July / in Inverary the grouse /
take to the sky on teatowels.'
These lines follow a list of archetypal images of the smells of
traditional Ireland evoked by a tweed jacket bought ‘for
a song / from
the Salvation Army / in Wonthaggi’.
But it is the haunting love lyrics, the celebrations of the natural
world and the meditations on domestic life that form the core of this
fine collection.
Louis de Paor has the gift of writing with crystal clarity while
presenting challenging complexities.
You can delve into deeper and deeper layers of meaning or just enjoy
the brilliant surface of his poems, as the mood takes you.
Either way, this is a most rewarding book.
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A
Summer Feast
Cork
& Other
Poems
Ian McBryde
Island, No.
80/81,
Spring/Summer 1999 - 2000 (pgs 203-208)
[Text not yet available]
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‘Blow, wind,
blow...’: new poetry
Cork
& Other
Poems
Kerry Leves
Overland,
No. 157, 1999
The poet’s English translations accompany his Gaelic
originals;
reading aloud is advisable. Each bit of the ordinary - stockings on a
washing line, a pregnant woman’s back and belly, clocks,
cars, a tweed
jacket still redolent of the barn-floor love-making it once eased; an
eviction at once achingly particular and deadpan commonplace, the lot
of any poor person anywhere - is chanted, caressed, growled, rasped
irifo life. A woman is shot mistakenly by a sniper: a child on
the way
home from mass sees it happen, but there’s no easy lament;
instead, the
painstakingly ingenuous narration, with its dogged rhythms, seems to
follow the entry of this experience into the child’s nervous
system.
The intensity may have to do with the poet’s return
to Ireland after
ten years in Australia; de Paor’s word-music mixes rain,
earth, light,
the body’s alertness. His poetry makes physical
inroads, and searches
out generosities on its shifting Catholic-animist ground.
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