{"id":30377,"date":"2010-11-24T07:18:10","date_gmt":"2010-11-24T12:18:10","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/?p=30377"},"modified":"2020-11-16T09:22:14","modified_gmt":"2020-11-16T14:22:14","slug":"the-penguin-book-of-contemporary-irish-poetry-richard-ryan","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/?p=30377","title":{"rendered":"The Books: The Penguin Book of Contemporary Irish Poetry<\/i>: Richard Ryan"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Daily Book Excerpt: Poetry<\/p>\n

Next book on the shelf is The Penguin Book of Contemporary Irish Poetry<\/a>\"\"<\/i>, edited by Peter Fallon & Derek Mahon. <\/p>\n

\n“His poetry has technical sophistication and true feeling. It’s lucid and it has clarity and is sharply observed,” – Brendan Kennelly on fellow Irish poet Richard Ryan<\/p>\n

\n\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

\nThe word “interesting” doesn’t even come close to describing Richard Ryan’s life. He was born in Dublin and he went to UCD. While there, he contributed poems to Saint Stephen<\/i>, the literary magazine, but his area of study and focus was economics, ethics and politics. He was one of the founders of Claddagh Records, a label that specializes in traditional Irish music. The second album released by Claddagh was by The Chieftains. He graduated from UCD in 1967 and had his first volume of poetry published in 1970. He also got a Master’s Degree in Anglo-Irish literature, and began teaching. He taught and lectured widely in the United States. It was a peripatetic life. He may have been to more states than I have. He was a visiting professor in Minneapolis in the early 70s, right around the time he started publishing his poetry. He taught creative writing classes all over America. He was also an editor of The Spectator<\/i>. Dude was busy. While in Minnesota, he spent two summers living on an Indian reservation and then returned to Ireland. Richard Ryan lives in the wide world. In 1973, he joined the Irish Department of Foreign Affairs. Which then began the next phase of his life (on fast-forward). He was the Irish ambassador to Korea, Spain and Japan. He speaks many languages, including Old Norse, for God’s sake. He did a lot of translating. He translated one of Yeats’ plays into Japanese, and then produced a production of it which toured all over Japan. I love this guy’s wide interests. But we’re not done yet. Not by a long shot. In the 80s, he was the political counsellor at the Irish embassy in London, where he wheeled and dealed, wined and dined the Torys into backing the Anglo-Irish Agreement. Read any biography or autobiography of the players of that time, and Richard Ryan’s name comes up. In the 90s, he won a seat on the United Nations Security Council. Known for his wining and dining, as always, he treated his fellow ambassadors to Riverdance<\/i> when it premiered on Broadway, and also hosts nights of Irish culture, with music and poetry readings. Way back in the day at UCD, he majored in politics while also publishing poems left and right. That two-pronged interest continued. He is loved by some, not liked by others. His love of wine\/conversation\/entertaining\/art is seen as “too much” by some more conservative elements, but he is generally well-respected. In 2001, he became the President of the United Nations Security Council – clearly a frightening and tense time. The bearded Dublin poet had come a long way. He is now the Irish ambassador to the Netherlands. <\/p>\n

So. That’s the bare bones of this crazy life. <\/p>\n

I am not familiar with a lot of his poetry, and there are only a couple included in the Penguin edition. They are lovely. They have a keen of sadness in them, a sense of foreboding. Perhaps, with his love of politics, and his comfort in that brash world of political maneuvering, it is hard to be an idealist. It is hard to stay in an ivory tower of abstractions. The poem I chose today certainly has that eerie sense of coming doom to it, an awareness of the presence of death, of unwelcome memories. I know that there are Irish poets who think that he could have been a giant name in the poetry world if he had continued on the poet’s path. That was not meant to be. He seems to have had the life he was meant to have. I’m fascinated by him.<\/p>\n

This is one of his early poems. It describes a wintry night in Minneapolis. It is haunting, especially that last image, which gives me goosebumps. This is a personal poem, a subjective experience: “I saw, I felt, I thought” – but there’s something else, something shadowy, flickering at the edges. He’s wonderful.<\/p>\n

Winter in Minneapolis<\/big>
\nfor Eoin McKiernan<\/i><\/p>\n

From my high window I can watch
\nthe freeways coiling on their strange
\nstilts to where the city glows
\nthrough rain like a new planet.<\/p>\n

Tonight the radio speaks
\nof snow and in the waste plots
\nbelow trees stiffen,
\nfrost wrinkles the pools.<\/p>\n

Through high dark air
\nthe apartment buildings,
\nlike computer panels, begin
\nagain to transmit their faint signals –<\/p>\n

for they are there now, freed one and all
\nfrom the far windy towns, the thin
\nbright girls compounded of heat,
\nmovement, and a few portable needs.<\/p>\n

But I have no calls to make tonight,
\nfor we are all strangers here
\nwho have only the night to share –
\nstereos, soft lights, and small alarm clocks:<\/p>\n

of our photograph albums, our far
\ntowns, and our silences we do not speak;
\nwisely we have learned to respect
\nthe locked door and unanswered telephone.<\/p>\n

I turn from my window and pause a moment
\nin darkness. My bed and desk
\nbarely visible, clean paper
\nwaits in its neat circle of light …<\/p>\n

I wait; and slowly they appear, singly,
\nlike apparitions. They stand all round me
\non metal bridges and in the wet streets,
\ntheir long hair blowing, and they will not go.<\/p>\n