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.'

War Poet Wilfred Owen: A Remembrance Tale

Siegfried Sassoon was the first of the World War I poets that I came to study, but when I discover Wilfred Owen and his poetry I was blown away! He's an incredible writer, employing some of the most vivid and sometimes shocking imagery that I've ever read in a poet.

With that said, and it goes without saying, it pleased me to no end to come across this hour-long documentary about him. If World War I intrigues you, or if you like reading the poetry of poets that endured the unendurable environment and psychological that warfare brings, I absolutely, absolutely recommend checking this documentary out.

Neruda's Death ... Questioned

Chilean poet, Neruda ... murdered? If true, how terrible ...

A Creeley Reading

Robert Creeley, a Beat poet who founded the Black Mountain Poets, was born this day in 1926. He’s a poet that I’ve come to appreciate a great deal. I came across this video just today- pretty interesting, has a sort of Twilight zone feel to it, but shows his creative imagination at work. Happy birthday buddy ...

Nature's First Green is Gold

Remember the movie The Outsiders? If you haven't watched it you're missing out on an excellent early 80s classic. It's about the inevitable clash between two rival gangs, the inadvertent killing of one of their members, the self-exilation of the two young boys who committed the killing, and their need to reconcile the wrong done.

I was thinking of the film recently and remembered there was a scene in the movie where a Robert Frost poem was quoted (I love it when poets are quoted or referred to in movies- philosophers too). The poem, called Nothing Gold Can Stay, was written by Frost in 1923 and was added to his most prized collection of poetry, New Hampshire. It's simple, yet radically profound, one of his shortest poems, and his only one done in trimeter. Check it out.

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Nature's first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

Remember that! They set this scene up so perfectly that it even aligned with the point of Frost's poem; namely, that the manifestation of purity and beauty sadly persists with us too short a time.

Poetic Gold, My Friends

Oh my .... I just hit a goldmine: twenty-two lectures on John Milton, his Paradise Lost, and his Paradise Regained!

I've Seen Things

For those of you who have not seen Blade Runner, I highly suggest you do so (it’s a great movie with deep philosophical concerns that revolve around the question of identity and our need to persist). For those of you who have seen it, do you remember this scene (a scene that, for me at any rate, is very poetic, very profound):



"I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched c-beams glitter in the dark near the Tanhauser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain … time to die."

God's World- a Millay Poem

God's World

O world, I cannot hold thee close enough!
Thy winds, thy wide grey skies!
Thy mists, that roll and rise!
Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag
And all but cry with colour! That gaunt crag
To crush! To lift the lean of that black bluff!
World, World, I cannot get thee close enough!

Long have I known a glory in it all,
But never knew I this;
Here such a passion is
As stretcheth me apart,—Lord, I do fear
Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year;
My soul is all but out of me,—let fall
No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.



Of the Poem:

I first read this poem last year. It was so powerful a message that I remember exactly- down to the singular most detail of the day- where I was when I read it.

The reason it moved me so deeply is because I've long understood and known the overwhelming presence of Beauty that exists in the world. It's everywhere, crushing in all around me to the point that I feel unable to talk or move or think ... I see it in the trees, I smell it in the air, I feel it permeate dark summer nights. Beauty's everywhere. Everywhere!

It's a mystifying aspect of existence I know all too well, and it sits perpetually by just waiting for me to pause and acknowledge it, and the second I do- every time without fail!- it breaks in on me with the force of a sacred deluge, and inundates everything I am to the point of irreversible rapture ...

I believe this is the point of Millay's poem: Beauty's overwhelming glory made manifest in this humble world. In the first stanza she can't seem to get enough of it, but by the end of the second stanza she doubts whether she can take in anymore of its incredible glory: My soul is all but out of me, she says, and continues:

let fall
No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.

Should another autumn leaf fall or bird sing she feels she'll loose herself entirely in the beauty of it.

When I read this poem I’m reminded of William Wordsworth’s Composed Upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802, and how amazed he was that there are those in the world who hardly recognize the beauty that surrounds them:

Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty

I’m also reminds of a beautiful quote from a scene out of American Beauty:

“It was one of those days when it's a minute away from snowing and there's this electricity in the air, you can almost hear it. And this bag was, like, dancing with me. Like a little kid begging me to play with it. For fifteen minutes. And that's the day I knew there was this entire life behind things, and... this incredibly benevolent force, that wanted me to know there was no reason to be afraid, ever. Video's a poor excuse. But it helps me remember... and I need to remember... Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world I feel like I can't take it, like my heart's going to cave in.”

With that I’d like to say Happy Birthday to this poet, whose date of birth was on February 22, 1892 … Happy Birthday, Edna St. Vincent Millay. We'll see you on the other side.


*****

Poetic Parameters:

Rhyme Scheme: abbccaa (per stanza)

Meter: Mixed- Lines 1 and 4 through 7 are done in pentameter (i.e. five metric feet), while lines 2 and 3 consist of three metric feet (or trimeter)

Stanza: Septet (i.e. 7 lines)

What Will Your Verse Be

Dead Poet's Society is a great movie (and I thought so long before my own introduction to poetry's beauty).

In retrospect, there are scenes within this movie that have moved me to a deeper sensitivity to creativity's expression, and it is for this reason that my heart leaps in my chest when I come across a soul moved by the arts (whether it be music, painting, writing, photography, whatever).

This blog's introductory quote is taken from that movie and remains indelibly scribed on my heart.

In the movie, and immediately after the scene where that quote takes place, Robin Williams' character continues with another profound and inspirational quote from Walt Whitman:

To make video fullscreen click the expanding arrows in the media player.

Old Long Since

Auld Lang Syne is a Scottish dialect poem written by Robert Burns, one of Scotland's finest poets. The literal transliteration of the title (auld lang syne) is "old long since" (which roughly means "days gone by").

The poem was inspired by an old folk song, and possibly influenced by a ballad written by James Watson in 1711. Upon its completion in 1788, Burns submitted it to the Scots Musical Museum with heavy emphasis on its oral and antiquated origin.

The poem, which begins with the question as to whether or not old time should be forgotten, has become a celebratory song in most English speaking countries. In America, for example, it is sung as a New Year comes into existence, and the ‘Old Year’ recedes.

****

Auld Lang Syne

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
and days of auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll take a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne

We twa hae run aboot the braes
And pou'd the gowans fine;
we've wander'd mony a weary foot
Sin' auld lang syne

We two hae paidled i' the burn,
Frae mornin' sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roar'd
Sin' auld lang syne

And here's a hand, my trusty friend,
And gie's a hand o' thine;
We'll take a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
and days of auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll take a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne


****

Since the publication of Burns’ poem and the selection of music that was to attend it, many versions of the song have since come into being (notwithstanding, the common theme has remained the same). Below is a version- a pretty version- of that old Scottish folk song passed down to us here as we exit a decade, and enter a new one.

Have a happy and safe New Year.

Lake of Fire (Nirvana)

I love it when I come across song lyrics that clearly have a poetic structure. I’ve said this before, and I’ll reiterate it here: the song writer may or may not have intended it to be so, but to read the lyrics as poetry and to then hear the song performed is almost always interesting (I should just say always).

A few blogs back I focused briefly on some song lyrics written by the artist Sting that I felt carried a poetic import. Listening to these lyrics sung, especially in the acoustic version, was for me an utter delight. Now I can’t be certain he intended these lyrics to take on the form of poetic meter, but his reliance on a metronome seems clear enough.

In the comments area of that blog I posted a brief note pertaining to a song done by Kurt Cobain, the late lead singer of one of my favorite rock groups, Nirvana. The song is called Lake of Fire. An observation was made there by me:

Most of Kurt Cobain’s written lyrics (from my perspective) seem a little more chaotic than free verse poetry, but when he does intend a poetic form it’s usually very visible. Take as an example his song: Lake of Fire.

Lake of Fire

Where do bad folks go when they die?
They don't go to heaven where the angels fly
They go to the lake of fire and fry
Won't see em again 'till the fourth of July

I knew a lady who came from Duluth
She got bit by a dog with a rabid tooth
She went to her grave just a little too soon
And she flew away howling on the yellow moon

Where do bad folks go when they die?
They don't go to heaven where the angels fly
They go down to the lake of fire and fry
Won't see em again 'till the fourth of July

Now the people cry and the people moan
And they look for a dry place to call their home
And try to find some place to rest their bones
While the angels and the devils try to make them their own

Where do bad folks go when they die?
They don't go to heaven where the angels fly
They go down to the lake of fire and fry
Won't see em again 'till the fourth of July

Again, I can’t claim certainty here, but if Cobain didn’t intend a poetic meter in these lyrics (which I personally find hard to believe), then he was consciously or unconsciously dependent upon it for symmetry.

I thought it would be nice (and cool) to post those lyrics here along with his performance of them.

Now I don’t expect everyone to love the song, but I do urge anyone to first read the lyrics and then watch the video (I find it very interesting to compare one’s initial take on the lyrics- as poetry- to the performance of the song itself). Let me know what you think- anybody.

As a side note, as the case was with Sting’s performance, watch Cobain as he sings the song … you might like or dislike this particular piece, but you can’t deny the reflective passion he delivers with it.

Shape of My Heart (by Gordon Sumner)

In many cases lyrical expression accompanied by music is poetry spoken. The beauty of it- when one perceives the piece as poetically intended- is that the song ceases to be a song, that the musical aspect recedes into an oblivion that’s divine, and that what was initially set out in the form of stanzas matures into something that almost transcends what we typically deem to be poetry in its written form.

Not all musicians do this, or intend this: but when it is intended, when it is done, the results are astounding. I always feel a blatant sense of privilege when I happen upon a song whose original birthplace was in the heart of poetry as we know it: it reveals a maturity of poetry that a great deal of people have often failed to recognize (if not downright dismiss).

There’s a song preformed by the artist Sting that reminds me of this point. Its technical structure is free verse (of which- admittedly- I’m not entirely a fan); but the beauty it imbibes, the beauty it wants to express, is clearly done so along poetic parameters. The song, whose lyrics are below, is called Shape of My Heart. Below is an acoustic rendition of it performed by Sting in the form of a video. You should check it out, and check out the lyrics as well. I would love to hear what you think they mean.





Shape of My Heart

He deals the cards as a meditation
And those he plays never suspect
He doesn't play for the money he wins
He doesn't play for respect
He deals the crads to find the answer
The sacred geometry of chance
The hidden loaw of a probable outcome
The numbers lead a dance

I know that the spades are swords of a soldier
I know that the clubs are weapons of war
I know that diamonds mean money for this art
But that's not the shape of my heart

He may play the jack of diamonds
He may lay the queen of spades
He may conceal a king in his hand
While the memory of it fades

I know that the spades are swords of a soldier
I know that the clubs are weapons of war
I know that diamonds mean money for this art
But that's not the shape of my heart

And if I told you that I loved you
You'd maybe think there's something wrong
I'm not a man of too many faces
The mask I wear is one
Those who speak know nothing
And find out to their cost
Like those who curse their luck in too many places
And those who fear are lost

I know that the spades are swords of a soldier
I know that the clubs are weapons of war
I know that diamonds mean money for this art
But that's not the shape of my heart

My Tribute to Jackson

The resolution of this video below could be better, but the power behind the lyrics (which are simple repetitions with extreme depth), the choreography and manifest plot of the story, coupled with the idea of heroic vigilantism, all combine to mark the impeccable prowess of an artist whose talent is eternally beyond reproach.

Of particular interest (to me) is what occurs at 5:35 in this video. Clearly riddled with mystical overtones and musical cues from West Side Story, Jackson deliberately invites us into the almost religious passion that permeated the deepest recesses of his soul- then bam!, right back to the story. Utter beauty. Utter talent. Utterly unspeakable.

Please, watch the whole video and see what it is to be an artist, a legend. I’d love to hear your insight on this video.

Click on the box in the inner, lower right corner to enjoy the video in full screen.

Oscar Brown Jr.: This Beach

I would rather not ruin what Oscar Brown Jr. intends to transmit here by a pre-commentary narrative. Suffice it to say that this is to-date my favorite oration by a poet.

Aside from the obvious, I’ll forego any ‘tags’ that might clue any listener on to the meaning behind his awesome poem: This Beach.

Click the box for better full-screen veiw.

My question to any viewer is this: What's this poem about?

BTW: It has nothing whatsoever to do about race or ethnicity.