Liam Ó Muirthile (1950-)
Side by side with the poetry written in English as part of the Celtic
Revival from the late nineteenth century onwards – the tradition of Yeats – there was a vigorous movement of new poetry in Irish. This development received a powerful impetus in the mid-twentieth century from major writers in several areas of the country. The southern leader was Seán Ó Riordáin (1916-1977) in Cork, who brought the structures and personal concerns of the modern European lyric into short poems in Irish. Along with Seán Ó Tuama, poet and Professor of Irish at University College Cork, Ó Riordáin inspired a group of student poets in the late nineteensixties, all associated with their poetry magazine Innti. Several major figures emerged, generally known as the Innti group; the principal figures were Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill, Gabriel Rosenstock, Michael Davitt
and Liam Ó Muirthile.
In many ways Ó Muirthile carries forward the lyric tradition of Ó
Riordáin more faithfully than his fellow-members of the group. Like Ó Riordáin, he lived in Cork City but his forebears came from mid-West Cork, as described in his masterpiece ‘An Parlús’ (‘The Parlour’) here which evokes wonderfully the common experience in modern Ireland of the urban child (and grown-up) descended from country parents. He was born in Cork city in 1950; his father was a carpenter from near Dunmanway. After his time with the Innti poets at UCC, for many years he wrote an important column in Irish in the Irish Times (see ‘In One of Bewley’s Oriental Cafés’ here), selections of which were published as An Peann Coitianta (‘The Popular Pen’) in 1991. He published a successful novel Ar Bhruach na Laoi (On the Bank of the Lee) in 1995. But his major impact is as a poet who combines modern experience with various Irish
cultural traditions (see ‘Living Together’ here). His first book Tine
Chnámh (Bonfire) in 1984 centres on its title-poem about St John’s Eve bonfires in Cork city, linking sexual, religious and pre-Christian subjects. His second collection Dialann Bóthair (Road Diary) was published by Gallery Press in 1993. Like the other Innti poets he weaves the traditions of Irish culture with cosmopolitan perspectives (he is very aware of French poetry) and – perhaps more than the others – modern lyric forms. And like Ní Dhomhnaill in particular, he finds it possible to be quietly outspoken about political events (in his poem ‘Béiteáil’ – ‘Soil-burning’ – in Dialann Bóthair about the first Gulf war for example) in a way that seems to have been found awkward in English.
Translation is a crucial matter for all the Innti poets, and Ó Muirthile
has not been translated enough. It is an issue explicitly recognized by
them, for its political as much as its linguistic significance. Rosenstock is himself a major translator into and out of Irish; Davitt has been occasionally translated (in Paul Muldoon’s poem ‘The Mirror’ for example). Ní Dhomhnaill does not translate her own work but has it translated by many of the foremost contemporary Irish poets in English, notably by Michael Hartnett who was a major poet in Irish and English. Some poets, most famously Biddy Jenkinson, refuse to have their work translated. Translation of Ó Muirthile’s work seems to me to be particularly vital because of his quiet, reasoned addressing of public issues, perhaps attributable to his dual role as poet and journalist, and for his demonstration that modern and international subjects can be treated in Irish as much as in any other poetry. ‘Béiteáil’ is a good example:
I’m an incinerator, making room
for new growth, but when the flame
dies down, the charred limbs left
burnt black recall
the suddenness of death,
bodies swallowed by the blaze
on the road to Basra.
(Translated as ‘Burning Furze’ in Bernard O’Donoghue Outliving
(London: Chatto & Windus 2003), 37.) But this public vernacular is by no means his only language. He derives from the Irish tradition an assonantal resonance of great metrical and rhythmic power which the translation of ‘Caoineadh na bPúcaí’ (‘Lament of the Demons’) here, dedicated to the brilliant accordion-player Tony MacMahon, can hardly begin to suggest.
For the context Ó Muirthile’s writing, see the excellent anthology of twentieth-century poetry in Irish, see Greagóir Ó Dúill ed., Fearann Pinn. Filíocht 1900 go 1999 (The Territory of the Pen. Poetry 1900 to 1999. Coiscéim 2000). Ó Dúill’s introduction (in Irish) places the modern poets with a lively authority. See also some versions of Ó Muirthile by Greg Delanty in MPT 21.
Revival from the late nineteenth century onwards – the tradition of Yeats – there was a vigorous movement of new poetry in Irish. This development received a powerful impetus in the mid-twentieth century from major writers in several areas of the country. The southern leader was Seán Ó Riordáin (1916-1977) in Cork, who brought the structures and personal concerns of the modern European lyric into short poems in Irish. Along with Seán Ó Tuama, poet and Professor of Irish at University College Cork, Ó Riordáin inspired a group of student poets in the late nineteensixties, all associated with their poetry magazine Innti. Several major figures emerged, generally known as the Innti group; the principal figures were Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill, Gabriel Rosenstock, Michael Davitt
and Liam Ó Muirthile.
In many ways Ó Muirthile carries forward the lyric tradition of Ó
Riordáin more faithfully than his fellow-members of the group. Like Ó Riordáin, he lived in Cork City but his forebears came from mid-West Cork, as described in his masterpiece ‘An Parlús’ (‘The Parlour’) here which evokes wonderfully the common experience in modern Ireland of the urban child (and grown-up) descended from country parents. He was born in Cork city in 1950; his father was a carpenter from near Dunmanway. After his time with the Innti poets at UCC, for many years he wrote an important column in Irish in the Irish Times (see ‘In One of Bewley’s Oriental Cafés’ here), selections of which were published as An Peann Coitianta (‘The Popular Pen’) in 1991. He published a successful novel Ar Bhruach na Laoi (On the Bank of the Lee) in 1995. But his major impact is as a poet who combines modern experience with various Irish
cultural traditions (see ‘Living Together’ here). His first book Tine
Chnámh (Bonfire) in 1984 centres on its title-poem about St John’s Eve bonfires in Cork city, linking sexual, religious and pre-Christian subjects. His second collection Dialann Bóthair (Road Diary) was published by Gallery Press in 1993. Like the other Innti poets he weaves the traditions of Irish culture with cosmopolitan perspectives (he is very aware of French poetry) and – perhaps more than the others – modern lyric forms. And like Ní Dhomhnaill in particular, he finds it possible to be quietly outspoken about political events (in his poem ‘Béiteáil’ – ‘Soil-burning’ – in Dialann Bóthair about the first Gulf war for example) in a way that seems to have been found awkward in English.
Translation is a crucial matter for all the Innti poets, and Ó Muirthile
has not been translated enough. It is an issue explicitly recognized by
them, for its political as much as its linguistic significance. Rosenstock is himself a major translator into and out of Irish; Davitt has been occasionally translated (in Paul Muldoon’s poem ‘The Mirror’ for example). Ní Dhomhnaill does not translate her own work but has it translated by many of the foremost contemporary Irish poets in English, notably by Michael Hartnett who was a major poet in Irish and English. Some poets, most famously Biddy Jenkinson, refuse to have their work translated. Translation of Ó Muirthile’s work seems to me to be particularly vital because of his quiet, reasoned addressing of public issues, perhaps attributable to his dual role as poet and journalist, and for his demonstration that modern and international subjects can be treated in Irish as much as in any other poetry. ‘Béiteáil’ is a good example:
I’m an incinerator, making room
for new growth, but when the flame
dies down, the charred limbs left
burnt black recall
the suddenness of death,
bodies swallowed by the blaze
on the road to Basra.
(Translated as ‘Burning Furze’ in Bernard O’Donoghue Outliving
(London: Chatto & Windus 2003), 37.) But this public vernacular is by no means his only language. He derives from the Irish tradition an assonantal resonance of great metrical and rhythmic power which the translation of ‘Caoineadh na bPúcaí’ (‘Lament of the Demons’) here, dedicated to the brilliant accordion-player Tony MacMahon, can hardly begin to suggest.
For the context Ó Muirthile’s writing, see the excellent anthology of twentieth-century poetry in Irish, see Greagóir Ó Dúill ed., Fearann Pinn. Filíocht 1900 go 1999 (The Territory of the Pen. Poetry 1900 to 1999. Coiscéim 2000). Ó Dúill’s introduction (in Irish) places the modern poets with a lively authority. See also some versions of Ó Muirthile by Greg Delanty in MPT 21.
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