Thursday, January 26, 2017

A STUDY OF MASCULINITIES IN BULLFIGHTING BY RODDY DOYLE





NADIA QARAQRA, 2016



“For heterosexual men, change has occurred when and where the social as well as the individual possibilities for it have been greatest.”[1]


U
nlike The Deportees and Other Stories, Bullfighting hasn’t received the criticism it deserves in the literary world as other pieces of art by Roddy Doyle although it has been published six years ago, four following his first story collection. This might be why up till today; it has been his last short-story collection.

This research exploits the thought of masculinity and its presentations in order to interpret the short story titled as its collection; Bullfighting by Roddy Doyle. In this study, I will be juicing Connell’s theory of hegemonic masculinity to achieve a discursive textual analysis through postmodern binoculars.


The short-story collection joins four blue-collared class-conscious and wage-dependent Dubliners together for the protagonism of the collection. They were schoolmates, and up till today each one of them makes sure his status quo is well maintained; middle-aged, mid-living, mid-hopeful and standing in the middle of the truth. And noting the casual meetings they have to contemplate “the nothingness” by the beginning of the story, you might also think they’re mid-friends too, for they don’t share personal details or the familiar wife-talk or true fears, the shrug is rather the answer generally.


Thirteen stories totter between the simplest activities of middle-aged men to their softest spots in this collection. But by the end of our story Bullfighting, when you start listening to what each of the characters does NOT say, is when your probable belief of their mid-friendship is completely refuted.


The fact that the female figure is hardly presented in the story hit me. I didn’t expect a pink novel having read the title and the main topic, but I anticipated the wives or daughters as active and present. For this is Doyle we’re exploring, who granted The Girl Who Walked Into Doors the strength and relief she longed for. But reading a text that resolved about middle-aged men in Spain, with little or no mention of female presentation whatsoever, gave way to my Hemingway phobic alert.  








Masculinities:


“The Australian "iron man" surf-sports champion described by Connell (1990), a popular exemplar of hegemonic masculinity. But the young man's regional hegemonic status actually prevents him doing the things his local peer group defines as masculine? going wild, showing off, driving drunk, getting into fights, and defending his own prestige.
”[2]

Raewyn Connell, one of the important contributors to the modern popularity of the term “Hegemonic Masculinity” links sports to hegemonic masculinity through the example of the Australian iron man, suggesting that even when practicing this hegemonic masculine sport, it somehow draws the sportsmen from evolving into animal-like “tribal male bonding” as Coltrane[3] might call it.
The dominant framework through which I can get to the core of the complexities of masculinities in Donal and his three friends was Connell’s explanation of hegemonic masculinity through sports and gender activities.

This cry for danger in bullfighting is notable through the four protagonists each in his way; a gateway into proving a new masculine and independent male is emerging. Nothing but each one’s self -not fatherhood nor matrimony, not politics nor music- just the invincible selfness of each; could define them.


In Valencia, the four men gathered to have a meal and a couple of drinks in the vicinity of a bullring, where a gripping foreshadowing takes place; Donal as a conservative status quo master; drew an analogy to the bull in the fiesta playing on T.V. The bull who is known to be strong and daring, and who was the star of the T.V for a while, is what formed the astute token of the moment, inasmuch as when the young ‘lads’ got closer and tried to provoke a game; the bull never moved an inch. Hence, he was taken off the screen irreversibly. I find this a great allegorical subtext of Donal himself, alerting him to move, battle, and recognize his choices truly, the reader knows that a revolution is to come, especially by Donal, because he’s the one who noticed and contemplated the show on T.V the most.


“—It’s the fiesta, said Gerry. The annual festival. Saint something. Or the Virgin Mary.
—They slaughter bulls for the Virgin Mary?”[4]


Ireland is a country of Catholic and Protestant Christians, and a church door backed up that bull that lacked the counterattack. Thus although Donal could transform into his traditional view of the hegemonic man by facing the burning of the bull’s horns for pleasure, but we get to know, Donal is a believer in the natural law, and isn’t ready to rebel against all he knows. Because of all he’s seen, what he ruminated was the host of the event, the church.

“The commentator was going mad, but all Donal could see was the door of the church.”


The ellipsis of the scenery either on TV or in the close-by ring, the bulls and the ‘lads’ with their red shirts, and the music in the street keeps haunting the reader until the end of the story, realizing that this story hasn’t actually been written to tackle bullfighting, rather to suggest us as bulls in our own violent rings and our actions accordingly, over and above the masculine need for dangerous adventure and the middle-age fear crisis.
Postmodernity is loud in the story, Donal has a set of rules and ethics to abide by, but in Spain things differ a bit, for what is moral or legal or fun in Ireland, might not necessarily abide by the same limits in Spain. This moral relativity is a symptom of postmodernity.  


Very similar to the anxiety, suspense, and pleasure bullfighting breeds in its audience, it’s tantamount to sex in that aspect. Therefore, readers hungry for bloody pleasure will have to bear their need for violence till the second half of the story, and anticipate another self-reflection of pleasure through language instead, yet still within the borders of physicality.


“—This is the first thing I’ve eaten since my breakfast, he told her, and she laughed and he could feel that, too, rippling her skin, lifting her. He’d held her—he told her this years later—he’d held her hips to keep her on her back, so that none of the melted chocolate would drop onto the sheet, because it was the only sheet he had and he didn’t want her to know that. He ate the chocolate, cleaned it all up, and then he didn’t care what way she ended up. It was up to her.”

After the climax, as everything fluctuated tacitly, the four men opened up all topics never tackled before. Supplied by this dose of hegemonic masculinity, personal story to remember, and a deadly adventure all in their pocket; everything they’ve ever needed was finally encountered gradually as Connell suggests as the need for hegemonic dose of sports and their effect on the individual male. Uninterrupted and eager for more time, they shared ceaseless personal stories, secrets and details of all types. They’ve found their Dublin in Valencia, their bar and the young pretty waitress for them to serve. The reason those four men went to Spain wasn’t to watch the bullfight, the reason why they stopped in the café beside the bullring wasn’t to live the ambience; it was this fear they needed to scare away. Although in Spain and adjacent to the bullring, or the musical marching band out the street; they never went to watch prior to Donal’s smoothing of the path on the celebration day.


Assuming for the analytic sake that bullfighting is a sport, it would be one of the most commercial “sports” worldwide. Most of the tourists in Spain or Latin-American countries make sure they’re to enjoy a corrida[5] before they leave off to their homelands. Connell uncovers the long searched hegemonic masculinity within each one of our protagonists in this aspect. Depending on her analysis of confrontational and violent sports, it can be analyzed that this bullring that constitutes the well of hegemonic masculinity; will quench Donal’s thirst for novelty and liberty of fear, noting how the violence bullfighting creates as a confrontational sport is one of a radically hegemonic nature.



“Commercial sports are a focus of media representations of masculinity, and the developing field of sports sociology also found significant use for the concept of hegemonic mascu linity (Messner 1992). It was deployed in understanding the popularity of body contact confrontational sports-which function as an endlessly renewed symbol of masculinity- and in understanding the violence and homophobia frequently found in sporting milieus (Messner and Sabo 1990).
”[6]

And hence the settings of the story; Doyle poured his plot in Valencia in the most horrific form of bullfighting; "Toro Embolado”[7] was the activity taking place on that night in Valencia, fire was rising and hailing repeatedly. Dating back to Prometheus, fire has been considered the official way towards the elimination of sin, cleanliness, and punishment, which proves the level of alterity Bullfighting bears not only as a textual evidence, but it also witnesses the hegemonic nature that refutes bullfighting’s consideration as a sport.

I couldn’t help but wonder what is “Donal” -father of four, kind and giving, precautious to his children and seemingly kindhearted- doing there? How could his self-negation and repulsion allow him to become the hegemonic entity he so long seeks? He exhibited how overwhelmingly content he is; yet still he maintained an excessive hunger for change and danger punctually as patriarchy rules.


Through this masculine journey supplied with many ontological notions of self-challenge, Doyle made sure those interpersonal relations in between Gerry, Donal, Seán, and Kin whereupon bullfighting formed the basis for the transcendence of this climax, placing the bull up the sanctum of Alterity.
The kind of transcendence that is “ethical” to each of the protagonists is what judges their attitude towards each other and others in their otherness. It is this transcendence we believe to be ethical, is what constitutes the core part of us as humans, as Levians suggests hereby.
“The ethical transcendence that springs up in the interpersonal relation indicates that the egalitarian and reciprocal relation is not the ultimate structure of the human. So it is that the infinity of the face of the other man is the living refutation of the pretension of the social totality, the economic and administrative structure, to be sufficient unto itself. “[8]




Behavioral Psychoanalysis:

Conservatism and conformity take over the personas in the story, while reaching the climax, another face of the first protagonist of the story Donal is exposed. He is no longer a father, no longer a longanimous husband abiding by selflessness. Reordered, he has actively become an initiating hazardous adventurer with no horizon ahead, observing death with the eye of a dreamer and a seeker, as J, M Barry suggested in his peerless fantasy:

 “Peter was not quite like other boys; but he was afraid at last. A tremour ran through him, like a shudder passing over the sea; but on the sea one shudder follows another till there are hundreds of them, and Peter felt just the one. Next moment he was standing erect on the rock again, with that smile on his face and a drum beating within him. It was saying, "To die will be an awfully big adventure."[9]


The representation of the men is melodic and interesting. Just like Elaine and the rest of unseen female figures of the story, it is rather interesting to me how four middle-aged men sacredly get together every once in a while to talk about “nothingness”. They can be proud of their kingdoms; their kids, wives or jobs, but they never share extensive discussions or problems these topics summon. On the other hand there is a certain fear; the hypermasculinized men with their Irish utopia are actually afraid, the kind of fear that is constructing an illness, a contagion. As much as they confine in and trust each other, for them a threat is imposed if opening up to each other vulnerably declaring their nightmares and trembling angsts; is it the hegemonic fear of emasculation?
This psychological tension that is felt throughout the protagonists’ stay in Valencia brings up Freud’s analysis of Pankejeff and his fear of emasculation. Freud believed that the phallic shape of horses or wolves (and in our case bulls) might cause a certain fear, the subconscious preoccupation that sticks to the person until he embraces it, and he owed this individual and interpersonal anxiety to the perceived repression of one’s desires.[10]

“…In none of these cases would we expect hegemonic masculinity to stand out as a sharply defined pattern separate from all others. A degree of overlap or blurring between hegemonic and complicit masculinities is extremely likely if hegemony is effective.”[11]

Connell suggests that sometimes hegemonic masculinity doesn’t expose itself as in other blunt cases, we’ve seen and gotten to know Donal and up till the climax he projected a peaceful and inferior character to feel with, however, the end of the story proves Connell righteous, as we witness the hegemonic prominence of masculinity Connell warned about. In fact, Donal and his friends might be students of Zeno’s philosophical school of stoicism, with their cold takes on their surroundings and projection of indifference, each in his epistemological discourse. Even sexual pleasure has been avoided by Donal although at the prime of his relationship with Elaine, exhibiting an ideal stoic.

“Donal never felt tired on Thursday nights. He’d be away on holidays—in France, say, or Portugal, or Orlando, in the States—having a great time. But on the Thursday, wherever, he wished he was at home, on his way up to the pub.
It had always been like that. There was once, early on with Elaine, they’d been on the bed, in his flat. She’d just poured a melted Mars Bar into her navel. And she caught him looking at his watch.
—Have you something more important to do?
—God, no. Fuck, no. This is brilliant.”

A minor alteration of events takes place and a character revelation is anticipated when the fatherhood Donal thought he chose for a very long time proved him wrong by fading gradually once the Valencia-n breeze had its effect on him. After spending 20 years being a father, lamenting the older three boys he once had for not being his anymore now that they’re teenagers; Fatherhood had seemed a ride away, and kids were one SMS away.


“But he didn’t really miss them. He didn’t think about them. He didn’t ache to hold them as they used to be, their weight in his arms, their smells under his nose. He didn’t mind being alone in the bed when he woke. He liked it, just himself, nothing to remember or catch up on. He stopped hearing the dogs.”


Among those personal-social intersections, there rises a political atmosphere in the short story that can’t be left uncanvassed. The political atmosphere of Ireland at the time is fundamental to comprehend the characters profoundly. The masculinity and the anxiety found in those characters especially the sentimental situation of Donal’s fatherhood can be analyzed in terms of the political status of the Irish state at the time, the recent condemning of the bloody Sunday by the British state post-liberation from England, Queen Elizabeth II as the first monarch to visit the Republic of Ireland, and the end of Mary McAleese’s. The Irish belief in the necessity to be defended against a threat for their liberation after a long dispute is reflected through the ascending metamorphosis of Donal inside the bullring, and the compulsive exposure to danger. There existed the belief that he can have power over the community by aiming at it, and that staying on the safe side with no interaction with fear or challenge whatsoever would make him the scapegoat, a position he’s trying to elope from.





Language

Confrontation could be the subtitle for the climax in the story; each one of the protagonists faced a certain confrontation with his fear in this hegemonic apparently unitary masculine trip. That fear is projected through the different semiotic representations of the same character as the husband, the father and the friend. Correlated, the semiotic relationship that women took from the linguistic representation implied an ideological manipulation, and sometimes irony.

“—Poor oul’ Benazir.
—What a place.
—Mad. Would you have given her one?
—Oh, yeah. Absolutely.
—Too late now, an’anyway.
—She was a fine thing. I liked her head scarf.
—That’s the thing, though, said Donal. Women don’t wear them here anymore.
—Not even at Mass.
—They’ll make a comeback, said Ken. Wait and see. Abercrombie & Fitch or somebody will bring back the head scarf.
—Benazir but, said Gerry. She was a lot better-looking than any of the women politicians in this country.”


In the previous quote and many other long conversations among the protagonists, Doyle does not identify the speakers for us, this plurality of opinion and being, this ontological mindset of the four characters along with the plurality of women as wives, and of children as a source of life and death at once; all bundle up to construct a postmodernist atmosphere.

The language possesses the ideological power to unmask Donal and his friends; every action in the story and every character revelation during their stay in Spain are clearly metaphorical and symbolic in deconstructing the persona of the characters but most of all that of Donal. On the surface he discloses the applauded monogamist utopia, that perfection of the steady, fatherly, and masculine middle-aged man, but nestles a vulnerable truth. Interestingly enough, each one of the characters displays a different charisma and representation of masculinity, but substantially, they all share the same personal crisis. Each injects the definition of strength and manly power in a distinct manner.

The complexity of Donal can also be understood through the lens of competition, Donal’s vocalization which represents his view of everything in the story, is controversial. He is a result of the social system that causes this constant fight for living. Therefore after being a spectator, he forms part of the collaboration of identities we are allowed to gaze at by the time we reach the climax as readers, to witness these confrontations. He feels passion to his friends even if that wasn’t projected as well by the beginning of their trip, but they all share the same sense of adventure, literatim what he needed. Actually, part of his traumatic escape of rejection and fear might have given way to him being a father always, hence being there with a flock of people irritating the bull, was a life-changing experience in all senses. All of the characters represent well the middle-age crisis, and they fall into the trap of stereotyping in many occasions, in their conversations about youth, drugs or the Spanish scenery.




“And Donal knew. One day soon he’d open his hand for Peter’s, and it would stay empty. And when that happened he’d die; he’d lie down on the ground. That was how he felt. After twenty years. Independence, time to himself—he didn’t want it.”


Donal presents a relatively ambiguous character belonging with the minority group of middle-age, yet still he has a repulsion of everything that implies it, probably because he connects it with his own vulnerability. Somehow he projects that vulnerability with his son Peter, who manages to be a young yet civilized character in the story. Donal is a problematic character for the weakness he projects, and this is the sad aspect about him; he is looking for relief of what he pretends to be utopia. Uncomfortable and exposed, his reaction is to become as aggressive as he can to achieve the type of masculinity that fills any voids he has. It is sad because he has the potential to be a perfectly independent individual on his own without the need to put himself in danger for self-assurance. He could have led the best career for example, choosing to advance and be an explorer. But he prefers to play on the safe-side of sociality, in defense of something he feels is out there gaping.


Lacking confidence and identifying himself with reference to others –his children in this case- allows us to view Donal as an inferior part of a minority group; he’s a father, he lost his feeling of life as if it was escaping, he’s getting old and he’s aware and attentive to that, he quit school early and therefore his job isn’t exactly what he had aspired for, and his three older boys weren’t his anymore. He doesn’t want to accept this visualization of monotony and rejection of the system if he is not the ‘father’ at times. Consequently, we find a bold projection of hegemonic masculinity at the end of the story. It might be totally absurd of his persona; nonetheless, it forms his defense mechanism inasmuch as way of combating that connection with middle-age monotony.
It is being himself is what Donal evidently avoids repeatedly through his verbal and bodily language, it is having to answer and to be speaking as a first person about himself and opening up to the world with his fears, insecurities and everything that constitutes him, even if it renders him into an other sometimes, as Levians suggests:


“Having to answer. The birth of language in responsibility. Having to speak, having to say /, being in the first person. Being me, precisely; but from then on, in the affirmation of its being me, having to answer for its right to be.”[12]


Bullfighting is written by one of the legendary contemporary Irish authors who supplies us every so often with a valuable text, and the story explores many horizons that are yet to evolve in the modern Dublin post-independence. The personas in the story appeal to masculinity firstly through my research, but to humanity superlatively and vitally. I always remind myself how it’s essential to not criticize a certain gender or sex based on those mere orientations in a text; it is humanity that we criticize, with all its negative tendencies, and granted by an already middle-aged cup of hope!






[1] Segal, Lynne. Changing Men: Masculinities in Context. Theory and Society”, Vol. 22, No. 5, 1993, p. 630. JSTOR. Web. www.jstor.org/stable/657987. Accessed 12 Dec 2016.

[2] Connell, R and James W. Messerschmidt. Hegemonic Masculinity: Rethinking the Concept. “Gender and Society”, Vol. 19, No. 6, 2005. p.838. SAGE PUBLICATIONS. Web. www.journals.sagepub.com/doi/pdf/10.1177/0891243205278639. Accessed 10 Dec 2016.

[3] For more read: Coltrane, Scott and Neal Hickman. The Rhetoric of Rights and Needs: Moral Discourse in the Reform of Child Custody and Child Support Laws. “Social Problems”, Vol. 39, No. 4, 1992, pp. 400–420. JSTOR. Web. www.jstor.org/stable/3097018. Accessed 10 Jan 2017.

[4] All my quotations of the short story are from:
Doyle, Roddy. Bullfighting. “Viking”, 2011. Print.
[5] “Corrida” in Spanish stands for the Bullfight as a show taking place in the bullring.

[6] Connell, R and James W. Messerschmidt. Hegemonic Masculinity: Rethinking the Concept. “Gender and Society”, Vol. 19, No. 6, 2005. p.833. SAGE PUBLICATIONS. Web. www.journals.sagepub.com/doi/pdf/10.1177/0891243205278639. Accessed 10 Dec 2016.
[7] A custom celebration in the Valencian autonomous community of Spain, consisting of setting fire to flammable balls tied to the bull’s horns.
[8]. Levinas, Emmanuel. Alterity and Transcendence. Translated by Michael B Smith. “The Athlone Press”. 1999. Print. Preface P. xxii
[9] From Ch.8, The Mermaids' Lagoon”:
Byron, May C. G, Shirley Hughes, and J M. Barrie. J.m. Barrie's Peter Pan and Wendy. “Sevenoaks: Knight Books”. 1993. Print.

[10] Check out: Long-Innes, C. Power, Meaning and Persuasion in Freud's "The Wolf-Man": A Response to Stanley Fish. "Minnesota Review”, Vol. 34 No. 1, 1990, pp. 118-134. Project MUSE, Web. www.muse.jhu.edu/article/429203/pdf. Accessed 8 Jan 2017.
[11] Connell, R and James W. Messerschmidt. Hegemonic Masculinity: Rethinking the Concept. “Gender and Society”, Vol. 19, No. 6, 2005. p.839. SAGE PUBLICATIONS. Web. www.journals.sagepub.com/doi/pdf/10.1177/0891243205278639. Accessed 10 Dec 2016.
[12] Levinas, Emmanuel. Alterity and Transcendence. Translated by Michael B Smith. “The Athlone Press”. 1999. Print. P.22.

Saturday, November 19, 2016


EILÉAN NÍ CHUILLEANÁIN: FORMAT, TACTICS, AND PERSONAL NIMBLENESS


NADIA QARAQRA, 
18, Nov 2016




I
n ten days exactly from today, poetry will celebrate the 74th birthday of a great Irish canon; Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin, who like fine wine, only grows better with time. Wishing her much more years of production of brilliant poetry and happiness with her family. The thought of a strong and expressive female poet married to another, brought me back to Sylvia Plath every time. I could read the heartache and feel the distress; that was in the past, before I knew Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin; The sensitively impervious, the securely firm, the female Irish hand just as we know it. In this article, I‘ll be analyzing six of her poems; each pair belongs to a different poetry collection.



Abstract could be the de facto manifesto of any poetry collection Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin puts together, a typical poet with rejection of closure. She plays us with her expressive language, she magnetizes us in her lines as late as her kingdom of thought with its settings of action, subsequently she abandons us, just as we create a soft spot for those words and rhymes and ideas, she leaves off; with our eyes wide open. Another Ní Chuilleanáin tactic is to draw from a legendary tale or a known story and start in the middle, with pronouns referring to characters that haven’t been introduced to us. Superb phenomena of a poet she is.


As one might think, this kind of a strong poet might be a rebel against the church, traditions or attitudes in Ireland; she surprisingly has a set of red limits and gives the benefit of the doubt even when she tackles a misfortune. She does not glorify faith or the church per say, but neither does she criticize unmercifully. Our poet is an imagist; her poetry is rich with images and metaphors of nuns in untraditional scenes.


While her vocabulary ranges from pure traditional Irish terminology of special historical incidents to common and simplified expressions; her language remains designedly obscure yet expressive, leaving the reader with thirst for more.


I will be analyzing as much as one could possibly analyze in Ní Chuilleanáin’s poetry without going away from the straight and narrow- two poems of the last three poetry collections she has
published, to try and achieve a general understanding of her format, tactics, and the personal nimbleness she submits to the reader.



“The Boys of Bluehillis the latest collection of poetry by Ní Chuilleanáin, published last year. This was definitely a different set of poems composed by an accumulation of equanimity.
Her mysterious themes are clearer by time; A Ní Chuilleanáin reader can moderately expose what occurs in her mind by reaching this book, a Ní Chuilleanáin reader, knows that she will deprive her/him from the joy of a full story supplied with the final relief of knowing that this poem has reached it’s destination, the characters are fulfilled, and there are no more words that can fit in for the reader to grasp finer. Rather, this reader is premeditatedly left godforsaken into iniquity.



Judgment day
For once, here’s a subject where no corner is left For a cat or a lion, there’s no shelf
For a parked cardinal’s hat, no neat
Stack of wood for winter, no tools
Tidy on their hooks.
Nobody calmly
Pouring wine or hoisting a weighty barrel,
Not even a window or a door to admit
Light from a garden or a bare yard

Only rising bodies and falling, and odd blown scraps, Or bolts unrolling, of colored cloth,
Wide falls or skimped ends.

Is this where they were bound, they robed Processions of my childhood that wound past Open doors with hallstands, area gates. Narrow entries, wisely departing cats?
Away from every angle, every weight
Sinking into our lives like the mark
Of a body in a bed? To this great quarrel where Nothing is real, only the teeth and the bite
And the cascading remnants
That curtain away all that has passed?



This poem is a field of action, a decisive poem that has caught my attention of the last collection. As always, from the beginning of the poem you are grasped in the trap Ní Chuilleanáin has built up for you, you enter a wholly different atmosphere, you’re haunted by her idea of the judgment day and her animal metaphors referring to a reality of traumas and soreness. An important note here would be that Ní Chuilleanáin, even when describing the most horrific scenes, never lets you enter a depressed stage of fear and horror. She remains romantic in her language, she remains realist in her points of stress, and she remains optimistically dark when tackling the darkest spaces. She never glorifies the dark, rather powerfully describes it bluntly. No drama, just the art language allows her.

The first stanza brings up the details of the last day on earth as Ní Chuilleanáin sees it, clear language and metaphors of
animals and the dead souls rising above. There is no future, there is no stacked up wood’ for winter and it all comes down to those last moments. Ní Chuilleanáin succeeds in allowing the reader into her world of finale, embracing the intensity and tautness. The yards are bare; there is no way out, no doors, no windows. Hefty vigorous imagery is presented by the end of the stanza with the ‘unrolling’ of the bolts.

The second stanza, as explained earlier, does not bring up any redemption. We are left in that world of finale the poet had carefully knit for us to find the way out ourselves.

This space for the imaginative powers of the reader, this interactive style of mingling the reader with her in the poetical scheme; is part of what makes our poet discerning and stand out
from other Irish poets we’re familiar with, Eavan Boland for example, who uses all that poetry offers to get the story crystal clear and the point pure and edgy to the reader.

The second archaic stanza is opened up personified with agitation. Who were they that stole the ‘processions’ of the speaker’s childhood? A sense of surprise is maintained throughout the poem, this creature is feeling alone and robbed, why were the cats escaping, wisely? Because this must be the end.
In this battle only the teeth and the bite survive and make a difference, while shambles and remains stay alive as a witness of ‘all that has passed’.

This poem gave voice to all the children of war around the world. As this is a recent collection of poetry; this is also a contemporary case on which most writers and poets are expressing stances. Children’s dreams and possessions are being taken away from them everyday, although remains do not curtain away all that has passed, remains remind the world of this injustice and horrible wars that are being waged against children worldwide.




Youthis another poem from this collection that tackles the confusion of time; I find it more of a deep and honest monologue that draws from a personal experience:



Youth
I might go back to the place
Where I was young. This wide terminal city --And
I’ve lived so much longer here-
Fills up with corners; I turn,
All I have done combines to excavate
A channeled maze where I am escaping home.

When I had to walk past their house
On the way to the hospital I looked Straight ahead, I spent the day Avoiding the windows, while
Wheels unwound the corridors.
Going home past the philanthropic flats

I saw where the baked red frieze unwinds
The date in flourished numbers,
A cloak of soot sealing it

It does not want to be looked at:
The floating curls melt away; the flowing hands Curve, do not grasp, not quite;

The paid line
Almost lost quivers, there still,
As a child going off down a hill
Turns at the curve of a crescent,
Dissolving in light, in the view
From where her aunt sits marking her piebald
Galleys on her porch: turns again, and shouts goodbye.




The poem mingles time, place and escape to form the theme of death; as laid out in the first stanza. Cities and countries, locations and addresses, are meaningless, there merely stops that we stumble upon in our lives. The speaker conveys her lengthy age away from home. She might go back home. Home usually signifies salvation and refuge, native land and memories, but for her, it was a mere ‘wide and terminal’ city. The house of her youth isn’t hers; she calls it ‘their’ house. As she is in the hospital she refers to the room she’s entering as her home. It might be hers, and she might be visiting who means ‘home’ for her. The rest of the rooms are philanthropists’. A very strong and independent character is conveyed through the lines of Ní Chuilleanáin, not taking a favor from anyone, proud and powerful. Looking ‘straight ahead’, with no fear whatsoever.

Death is presented by the end of the last stanza in reckoning details and memorable metaphors; the speaker is actively numb, witnessing this death. The digital lines of the heart rate is covered with ‘soot’, melting its curls by and by, until it lays there ‘still’, as the dead ‘dissolves’ in light, and the soul shouts; Goodbye.




Sunfishis a poetry collection published in 2009. The winner of the 2010 International Griffin Poetry Prize is what brought the lights back to this poet as it received many great reviews and had a special impact on the Irish and English reader.



The door, among other poem like ‘you never saw a bed- end in a protestant fence” or ”the polio epidemicwas one of my favorite poems in Sunfish”. Here it goes:



The Door
When the door opened the lively conversation Beyond it paused very briefly and then pushed on; They were sounds of departure, a railway station, Everyone talking with such hurried animation The voices could hardly be told apart until one
Rang in a sudden silence: ‘the word when, that’s where you start’ –
Then they all shouted goodbye, the trains began to tug and slide;
Joyfully they called while the railways pulled them apart And the door discreetly closed and turned from a celestial arch
Into merely a door, leaving us cold in the outside.




This vorticist poem presenting mass voices and images brings up more than anything; Departure, with all its connotation and denotation is presented in those two short stanzas. Feelings and voices jump out of the text and reach out to you. We have all been there, this rapid alteration form the joyful and lively conversations into the outside, the cold and lonely outside. Human nature of dealing with goodbyes, our body languages and animations conspire to curtain our feelings of breaking apart. Until somebody announces that it’s time, we maintain our calls ‘joyfully’, with our hearts sometimes still outside, in the cold wind, the door closes. And as happy and joyful a door can be for us, it could close up in our faces, and hide away our dreams as we rush after. At the end, this is just a door, Ní Chuilleanáin implies, giving us exactly that portion of hope we needed to close up those wounds and make us feel better about tomorrow. What you leave today might get back to you tomorrow. A door, no matter what it has behind, is just a door, if we have the right keys, we can always find the way inside.





Come Back
Although there is no paper yet, no ink
There is already the hand
That moves, needing to write
Words never shouted from balconies of rock Into the concave hills

To one far away.
If the railway does not exist yet, there is, even Now, a nostril to recognize
The smells of fatigue and arrival,
An ear cocked for the slow beginning, Deliberated, of movement, wheels rolling.

If the telephone has not been invented
By anyone, still the woman in the scratchy shirt, Strapped to her bed, on a dark evening,
With rain beginning outside, is sending Impulses that sound and stop and ask
Again and again for help, from the one
Who is far away, slowly
Beginning her day’s work,
Or, perhaps, from one already in his grave.



Passion; in the title, in between the lines of the first stanza, in the vocabulary, in the language and standpoint; passion and missing, a retrospect of a past person; is what this poem is about.

Although the speaker believes in the power of words, yet still acknowledges the fact that words do not fly, feelings do. Before messages and letters, people still had feelings that passionately flew to their far beloveds. But we can always write when we need help, they can always read and answer. The speaker brings up the ache of a question that echoes in our minds even after finishing the poem, what if we needed the help of a dead beloved, and the hug of our cherished deceased precious? What do we do?

We do; Write. Because words are not mere words, they’re an accumulation of beliefs and sentiments and valid sincerities.

This poem is a great glorification of words, of literature, of poetry, by a great writer, poet, and human.





Selection of poemsby Ní Chuilleanáin was one of her first most popular collections of poetry published by Wake Forest University Press in 2009.



Again, to the theme of death with the brilliant piece of art:


At My Aunt Blánaid’s Cremation:
In the last dark sidechapel
The faces in the dome
Are bending down like nurses Who lift, and fix, and straighten
The bed that’s always waiting, The last place you’ll lie down.
But your face looks away now, And we on your behalf
Recall how lights and voices And bottles and wake glasses Were lined up like the cousins In a bleached photograph.
We carry this back to the city
Since the past is all we know

We remember the snake called Patrick, Warm in his Aran sleeves
The past keeps warm, although
It knits up all our griefs:
A cold start in our lives.



Death is inevitable, expected, and boring at times; not in Ní
Chuilleanáin’s poetry. She always finds a way to be creative about death between real incidents and imaginative language, between metaphors and actuality.

The poem opens up drawing the scene for us, with the chapel and the deathbed, and people in the rotunda facing aunt
Blánaid, while she faces somewhere else now.

She compares where the aunt is now, to people in consolation commemorating her with drinks and photos. As death takes away someone we care about and cherish, it announces a new start for each and every one of us, the speaker explains.

Highlighting the idea of ‘as someone dies something begins’. Although cold and harsh, it is still a beginning; as always, with her full-half-of-the-glass kind of approach, Ní Chuilleanáin finds the lightest approach and the closest to heart, the optimist emulation in taking a leaf of someone else’s book buoyantly.




Wash
Wash man out of the earth; sheer off
The human shell.
Twenty
feet down there’s close cold earth 
So clean.
Wash the man out of the woman:
The strange sweat from her skin, the ashes from her hair. 

Stretch her to dry in the sun
The blue marks on her breast will fade.
Woman and world not yet
Clean as the cat
Leaping to the windowsill with a fish in her teeth; 

Her flat curious eyes reflect the squalid room,
 She begins to wash the water from the fish.


As you begin reading this poem, you start thinking it is a rage against humanity, but as the second stanza comes in, you know it is a new feminist view, the long awaited female Irish poet stance on woman’s relation to man. Is it that hard for a woman to ‘wash’ a man out of her body and system?
Sexual connotation of suffering continue in the filthy room the woman is in; metaphors range from cat to fish and the question if her and the world can be united, if the world actually is at her side. A cold pragmatic take on who a woman is, and her attitudes towards the world and men. The fish is what the woman is trying to clean; she and the world have to be as ‘clean as a cat’. Fragile is this woman; seeking termination, and cleanliness of all that she feels squalid in this life, most of all; men.




A collective analysis of the latest three collections of poetry by Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin is never enough, I have only discussed two poems of each collection she has published lately, but this dame deserves much more than just an analysis. May this well keep running like lightening, and may this hand persist on sparking off legendary words of wisdom, always.




Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin