Michael Longley's Poem: Ceasefire

Image by Colin Davidson

A couple years ago a friend of mine sent me a YouTube clip of a poetry reading by Michael Longley, Ireland Professor of Poetry from 2007–2010. The subject of the poem revolved around the clandestine meeting between King Priam of Troy and Achilles, the warrior who killed and kept the body of Priam’s son, Hector. For some reason the poem has been on my mind for the last month, and so I thought I would post it here for others to also enjoy.

The poem, Longley states, was inspired by a declaration of an IRA ceasefire in the mid ‘90s. At the time Longley happened to be reading Homer’s Iliad—an epic poem about the conflict between the Achaeans and Trojans. The combination of these events produced Longley’s poem, Ceasefire. 

Here is a very brief backstory. Achilles and Hector battled blade-to-blade and Hector fell. Achilles strapped the corpse to his chariot and ruthlessly drug it through the dust back to camp. Priam, later guided safely by Hermes to Achilles’ tent, woefully pleaded with the warrior to return his son’s body to him. Pope renders a beautiful but solemn plea to Achilles by Priam for his son’s body:

“Think of thy father, and this helpless face behold
See him in me, as helpless and as old!
Though not so wretched: there he yields to me,
The first of men in sovereign misery!
Thus forced to kneel, thus groveling to embrace
The scourge and ruin of my realm and race;
Suppliant my children’s murderer to implore,
And kiss those hands yet reeking with their gore!”

Longley’s poem, written in 1994, is his depiction of the same events recorded in the Iliad. His is a four part poem consisting of three unrhymed quatrains and a powerful concluding rhyming couplet. The poem wants to elicit a sense of empathy on the part of Achilles, his ultimate willingness to concede to Priam’s pleas, and Priam’s willingness to humble himself—even before an enemy—to achieve a higher goal.

I imagine that the notion of mutual self-abasement and even a sympathetic understanding in order to achieve a higher and more noble end was in Longley’s mind when scripting this work out. These dispositions certainly seem a prerequisite to any meaningful ceasefire whether it manifests itself in a contemporary armistice, or whether it does so in a temporary annulment of conflict somewhere near the ancient shores of Troy.

Below is Longley’s poem along with his reading of it. Hope you enjoy them both.
Ceasefire

I

Put in mind of his own father and moved to tears

Achilles took him by the hand and pushed the old king

Gently away, but Priam curled up at his feet and

Wept with him until their sadness filled the building.

II

Taking Hector's corpse into his own hands Achilles

Made sure it was washed and, for the old king's sake,

Laid out in uniform, ready for Priam to carry

Wrapped like a present home to Troy at daybreak.

III

When they had eaten together, it pleased them both

To stare at each other's beauty as lovers might,

Achilles built like a god, Priam good-looking still

And full of conversation, who earlier had sighed:

IV

'I get down on my knees and do what must be done

And kiss Achilles' hand, the killer of my son.'

Warfare in Homer's Iliad

In no manner do I glorify warfare, nor am I a devout pacifist. I have mentioned before that the prospect and reality of warfare both horrifies and fascinates me at the same time. I cannot fathom the fact that we have it in ourselves to utterly vanquish one another by means of brutality that darkly transcends the violence we see in the animal kingdom; and at the same time, the methods and strategic means by which we wage war, the competitive ebb and flow of it, intrigues my imagination. Devoid of any morbid fascinations with warfare, it utterly amazes me every time I read passages from Homer’s Iliad how descriptive and poetically visual he renders the violent acts of combat. One of my all time favorite quotes from the Iliad, as I have mentioned in the past, comes from Book 7, lines 275–281:

“War—I know it well, and the butchery of men

Well I know, shift to the left, shift to the right

My tough tanned shield. That’s what the real drill

Defensive fighting means to me. I know it all

How to charge in the rush of plunging horses—

I know how to stand and fight to the finish

Twist and lunge in the War-god’s deadly dance.”

Inasmuch as Homer’s descriptive passages are concerned, and with regard to the language he uses to make their violent acts visibly accessible, below are a hand full that I found to be especially impressive.

“With that he hurled and Athena drove the shaft and it split the archer’s nose between the eye—it cracked his glistening teeth, the tough bronze cut off his tongue at the roots, smashed his jaw and the point came ripping out beneath his chin. He pitched from his car, armour clanged against him, a glimmering blaze af metal dazzling round his back—the purebreds reared aside, hoofs pawing the air and his life and power slipped away on the wind.”

“Eurypylus, chasing Hypsenor fleeing on before him, flailed with a sword, slashed the Trojan’s shoulder and lopped away the massive bulk of Hypsenor’s arm … the bloody arm dropped to the earth, and red death came plunging down his eyes, and the strong force of fate.”

“… Agamemnon lord of men spilled the giant Odius, chief of the Halizonians off his car—the first to fall, as he veered away the spearhead punched his back between the shoulders, gouging his flesh and jutting out through his rids—he fell with a crash, his armour rang against him.”

“Antilochus winged a rock and smashed his elbow—out of his grip the reigns white with ivory flew and slipped to the ground and tangled in the dust. Antilochus sprang, he plunged a sword in his temple and Mydon, gasping, hurled from his bolted car face first, head and shoulders stuck in the dune for a good long time for the sand was deep—his lucky day—till his own horses trampled him down.”

“Meriones caught him quickly, running him down hard and speared him low in the right buttock—the point pounding under the pelvis, jabbed and pierced the blatter—he dropped to his knees, screaming, death swirling around him.”

The War-God's Deadly Dance

War - I know it well, and the butchery of men
Well I know, shift to the left, shift to the right
My tough tanned shield. That's what the real drill
Defensive fighting means to me. I know it all
How to charge in the rush of plunging horses-
I know how to stand and fight to the finish
Twist and lunge in the War-god's deadly dance.

From the Iliad- Book 7, lines 275-281

I first read these lines in the early 90s. I remember how impressed I was with Homer's use of language, how beautifully strung together words could be, and how I wondered to myself whether I could achieve that kind of depth of expression in my own (prose) writings.

My desire to know and feel and write poetry emerged from a like consideration- this was when, shortly before May of 2008, I read a short passage* from Milton's Paradise Lost ... I found it so incredible a description of Eden's worth that I almost couldn't read prose anymore (indeed, my philosophical studies diminished terribly since that formal acquaintance with Milton and poetry).

From that time on I began to submerge myself in the world of poetry- anything and everything I could learn about or get my hands on! I wanted to know the poets and their poetry; I wanted to know their history; I wanted to learn poetic forms, meters, poetic devises, and every medium utilized by poets to achieve their works ... and so I pursued these, and have since been just as passionate to know everything I can about poetry and those that have taken her hand.

Now whether or not I'm a poet is of little concern to me ... what does concern me, or rather, what moves me is the humble yet powerful desire to express myself creatively. Poetry seems my means.

Do I want to be a Homer or a Milton ... of course not. I only want to be what God intends me to be. Nevertheless, the passion, the Muse that ran furiously through the blood of those poets ... yeah, I want some of that.


*Paradise Lost, Book IV 268 - 275

Not that fair field
Of Enna, where Proserpine gathering flowers,
Herself a fairer flower by gloomy Dis
Was gathered, which cost Ceres all that pain
To seek her through the world; nor that sweet grove
Of Daphne by Orontes, and the inspired
Castalian spring, might with this Paradise
Of Eden strive...