Ciaran Carson (October 9th, 1948 – October 6th, 2019) was born on the Lower Falls Road in Belfast into an Irish-speaking family. His father, William, was a postman and an Irish language enthusiast from whom he inherited his love of Irish, and of traditional music and storytelling. His mother, Mary, also an inspiration for his poems, worked in the linen mills. He spent his early years in Andersontown where he attended Slate Street School and, later, St. Gall’s Primary School. After attending St Mary’s Christian Brothers grammar school in Belfast, he studied English at Queen’s University where Seamus Heaney was one of his tutors and where poets Medbh McGuckian and Paul Muldoon were fellow students. After graduation, he worked as the traditional arts officer of the Arts Council of Northern Ireland from 1975 to 1998 with responsibility for traditional Irish music and literature. Throughout the 1970s and 1980s, he travelled all over Ireland, playing the flute and the tin whistle in public venues, often accompanied by his future wife, Deirdre Shannon – herself a gifted fiddle-player. In 1998 he was appointed a Professor of English at Queen’s University and in 2003 was appointed director of the Seamus Heaney Centre for Poetry at the university.
He was the author of fourteen poetry collections and six prose books including Last Night’s Fun (1996), a book about traditional music where each chapter bears the title of a beloved song; The Star Factory, (1998) a memoir of Belfast which The Chicago Tribune called “a positive, loving, even celebratory evocation, the work of a man determined to live an ordinary urban life, and to clear in it a place for the imagination”; Shamrock Tea, (2001) a novel longlisted for the Booker Prize which, as The Guardian reviwer put it “claims to be a novel but might equally be filed under History, Philosophy, Art, or Myth and Religion”; Fishing for Amber: A Long Story, (2000) which weaves, in an elaborate manner, Irish fairy tales, Ovid’s Metamorphoses and the history of the Dutch golden age into the form of a magical alphabet; a novel The Pen Friend (2009) and a literary thriller set in Paris and Belfast, Exchange Place (2012). His translation of Dante’s Inferno (2002) was awarded the Oxford Weidenfeld Translation Prize and in 2003 he was made an honorary member of the Irish Translators’ and Interpreters’ Association. He also translated Rimbaud into alexandrine lines in his collection In the Light Of (2012) and the lesser-known French writer, Jean Follain, in From Elsewhere (2014) where he accompanied each translation with his own individual response. Unsurprisingly, given his Irish-language background, he also translated the Irish classic The Táin (2007) and Brian Merriman’s classic The Midnight Court (2005).
Ciaran Carson lived in Belfast his whole life. He died of lung cancer on 6 October 2019 at the age of 70, days before the publication of his last collection, Still Life.
THE POETRY OF CIARAN CARSON
Although it has long been superceded by better-known and better-celebrated collections, Ciaran Carson’s first book The New Estate (1976) was, to my mind, a remarkable debut and this first edition with its intriguing woodcuts holds a special place in my collection. A poem like The Bomb Disposal where “The city is a map of the city” prefigures themes that were to be developed, explored and extended throughout subsequent volumes: and a poem like Soot is still, decades on, a memorable and intricate poem. That fascination with maps, a constant throughout his career, is further indulged in his second collection, The Irish for No (1987) where a central section recreates the map of Belfast – the collapsing city – in words. Obliterated streets, bombed-out hotels and demolished facades are recalled and reconstructed in verse. A vibrant and decaying city is celebrated in an explosion of proper nouns. There is a new and frightening maturity at play here as evident in a poem like Campaign. Yet it is in the longer poems, in a style that owes much to the influence of the American poet, C. K. Williams, that Carson was to find his own mature voice. The subsequent collection, Belfast Confetti (1989) which, intriguingly, does not contain that evocative poem Belfast Confetti , further develops the long poem, the nine line poem, the prose poem and, interspersed throughout, a selection of translations of Japanese haiku (see below.) It also begins with a poem about maps, about Belfast, about street names, about directions, about history and, in typical Carson fashion, elides and aligns all together.
Breaking News (2003) is fascinating for the manner in which Carson manages to develop a fragmentary style to convey his typical concerns. That brief and fragmentary style is less successful, to my mind, in later volumes. On the Night Watch (2009) consists of over one hundred and twenty slimmed down, pared down, sonnets dealing with a siege of sickness. It is ingenious but somewhat repetitive. Ever more ingenious, if also repetitive, is the subsequent collection Until Before After (2010) which is about his wife’s hospital stay for a serious illness. The book is divided into three sections (until, before, after) and each poem in each section includes the relevant preposition from the title of that section. Brief poems are also included in his penultimate collection From Elsewhere (2014) a response to the French poet Jean Follain or, as he put it in an introductory note: This book consists of translations of the French poet Jean Follain, faced by “original” poems inspired by these translations: spins or takes on them in other words. Translations of the translations as it were. If many of the translations are a little flat, the translations of the translations, the original poems, some of which are included below, are far more interesting. There are no brief poems is Carson’s last posthumous publication Still Life (2019) but it is a remarkable swan song, one of the best poetry books of the decade, a superb concluding look at life, death and the streets of a Belfast that nourished this remarkable poet throughout his life.
Brief Poems by Ciaran Carson
from THE NEW ESTATE AND OTHER POEMS (1988)
Eaves
Rain in summer –
it is the sound of a thousand cows
Being milked.
In winter
The eaves are heavy with ice,
Their snowy teats drip silence.
from the Welsh
***
Epitaph
Now I am bereft of answers
Your questions have gone astray –
Your roofs are open to the wind,
My roof is but cold clay.
after Dafydd Jones
from BELFAST CONFETTI (1989)
Plains and mountains, skies
all up to their eyes in snow:
nothing to be seen.
-Joso
***
I know the wild geese
ate my barley – yesterday?
Today? Where did they go?
-Yasui
***
These are wild slow days,
echoes trickling in from all
around Kyoto.
-Buson
***
I’ve just put on this
borrowed armour: second hand
cold freezes my bones.
-Buson
***
In Kyoto, still
longing for Kyoto: cuck-
oo’s two timepworn notes.
-Basho
***
Darkness never flows
except down by the river:
shimmering fireflies.
-Chiyo
from BREAKING NEWS (2003)
Belfast
east
beyond the yellow
shipyard cranes
a blackbird whistles
in a whin bush
west
beside the motorway
a black taxi
rusts in a field
of blue thistles
***
Trap
backpack radio
antenna
twitching
rifle
headphones
cocked
I don’t
read you
what the
over
***
Breaking
red alert
car parked
in a red
zone
about to
disintegrate
it’s
oh
so quiet
you can
almost
hear it rust
***
Wire
I met him
in a bar
he shook
my hand
spoke
of coffee-grinders
this
and that
time
and place
by now
he’d lit
a cigarette
he reeked of
explosive
***
Waste Not
birds flock
above the field
near
dark
women with sheaves
attend
the dead
harvesting
gold braid
and buttons
***
Fragment
from a piece of
the Tupperware
lunchbox that hold
the wiring
they could tell
the bombmaker wore
Marigold rubber gloves
***
Campaign
shot
the horses fell
a crow
plucked the eyes
time passed
from a socket
crept
a butterfly
***
Siege
the road
to Sevastopal
is paved
with round-shot
the road
from Sevastapol
with boots
that lack feet
from ON THE NIGHT WATCH (2009)
It Is
never
as late as
you think
you think
you know
the small hours
grow
into decades
measuring
eternity
or dawn
to the chink
chink
of the first bird
***
Snow
that we two
looked at
last year
does it fall
anew
or what is this
a blinding
dazzle
dark & stars
we wonder which
is yin
which yang
what then
what now
***
Rank
divested
of his gear
a soldier
by his neck
tag
all 33
vertebrae
intact
the body
laid out where
he went kaput
a bullet
through
the occipital bone
***
Night after Night
in room
after book-
filled room
upon storey
after storey
I scan spine
after spine
upon shelf
after shelf
trying to locate
a volume
lodged at
the back
of my mind
from UNTIL BEFORE AFTER (2010)
So it is
as when
death draws
nigh death
draws a hush
upon the house
until the one
who is about
to die
cries open
the door
***
Whatever
imponderable
toll time
takes we
cannot tell
the order
of our going
hence until
the next
not even
then
***
It is
as if another city
dark as this one
dwells in this one
as before now that
you hear it through
the helicopter
beat that swells
from where
the city meets
the city
***
Time and
again time
after time to
play in time
as we did with
each other for
the last time
before now that
after without you
I still keep
your time in mind
***
The tag
round your wrist
bore a number
your name
and DOB
two weeks after
two stone less
the day you
came home it
slipped off
no need to snip
from FROM ELSEWHERE (2014)
Reverberation
From time to time
following the rumble of thunder
or a bomb
upon a mantlepiece
a Dresden vase crowded
wIth open-mouthed flowers
trembles about
to topple
over.
***
Then
Fallen from some
unknown tree
the leaf stuck
to the mushroom
trembles
in a moonlit glade
a horseman passes by
vanishes
into the gloom.
***
Revolution
Amid the nosie of gunfire
only the blind man
hears his cane
as he taps his way
through streets thronged with rioters
to the printing press
where they cast bullets
from type.
***
What Light There Is
By night
a flotilla of helicopters
circles above a city
never seen but heard
a noise indistinguishable
from that of the world
beyond its waves
from time to time
pierced by
a lightning stroke
the shriek of a night bird.
***
All poems: ©The Gallery Press.
LINKS
Poetry Foundation page on Ciaran Carson.
The Gallery Press page on Ciaran Carson.
An interview with Ciaran Carson in The New Yorker.
Michael Hinds discusses the poetry of Ciaran Carson in the Dublin Review of Books.
Still Life: a review by David Wheatley.
The Triumph: In memory of Ciaran Carson, a poem by Paul Muldoon.
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