Liam
Administrator
Moira MacEntee (Irish: Máire Mhac an tSaoi) is, according to many, "the leading Irish-language poet of the twentieth century." She was born in 1922, the same year that Ireland declared its independence, which means that she is currently the same age, in a manner of speaking, as her country (that is, nearing 100!): a fact that she jokingly refers to in the title of her autobiography, The Same Age as the State (2003).
Throughout her long life Moira MacEntee worked as translator (mostly from French and Classical Irish), lawyer (she was the first Irish woman to be called to the bar), and lexicographer. She served in the Irish diplomatic corps on three continents (Europe, Africa, North America), and later worked at the United Nations. But in Ireland, she is still best known for her poetry, written almost exclusively in Irish.
Her father, Seán MacEntee (1889-1984) was a famous Irish nationalist (taking part in the Easter Rising of 1916) and later politician. He was notably bitter about Irish interfaith violence during the Troubles (1960s-1990s), and even sent a letter to the Irish Times in 1970, part of which read: "I see no cause for rejoicing that Irishmen once again are killing other Irishmen on the streets of Belfast." Later, his daughter will incorporate this line into one of her own poems.
As opposed to her male counterparts (Seán Ó Ríordáin, Máirtín Ó Direáin, Cathal Ó Searcaigh*, etc), MacEntee's poetry eschews formal innovation or experimentation; her poems are clear, and precise, and easy to understand.
I just finished the gorgeously designed, dual-language collection of her poems from the O'Brien Press: The Miraculous Parish / An Paróiste Míorúilteach (2012), which is a "Selected Poems" volume of sorts, with the English translations (in beautiful dark pink) running side by side with the Irish originals (in standard black). The book was also released in paperback by the Wake Forest University Press.
Perhaps I'm a bit spoiled by all the modernist poetry I read but, although I found MacEntee's poems quite delightful, they ultimately came across as perhaps a little too "simple" for my tastes. I would definitely recommend her poetry to those who wish to acquaint themselves with 20th century Irish-language literature; however, don't expect too much (if any) innovation/ornamentation/experimentation. The best word to describe her poems is "earthy," as in "down-to-earth."
Out of all the poems, the one I like best is Sorrow Lifts From Me ("Cian á thógaint díom"), written after the passing of MacEntee's husband Conor Cruise O'Brien (1917-2008). In it, the speaker remembers the years that she shared with the man she loved (and continues to love) before coming to the conclusion that he is, after all, alive in her memory. She thereby defeats death (though not at all like Donne in "Death Be Not Proud") by restoring the dead man's life through the power of art and memory.
I can post the original Irish text below if anyone is interested in taking a look; meanwhile, here is the English translation by Peter Sirr.
Sorrow Lifts From Me
More than anything, it's your mind I feel the loss of now.
The love between the sheets has had its day
But the bond of mind, which never fades
Is what tears me, is the wound that never heals.
How many years exactly since we parted
Before this brightening kindled like a waking dream?
I can't remember, and will not count them, but
Give thanks for the moment and not question its peace.
The sweetness of our company came back to me in the dream,
The chime of your pleasure still sounds in the room,
Our joy spread round us like the air.
Even if no button is undone, just to be alive together.
This is the lie: your fair head withered in clay.
And the truth? The clear vision in the brightening day.
***
*We have a thread on Ó Searcaigh here.
Throughout her long life Moira MacEntee worked as translator (mostly from French and Classical Irish), lawyer (she was the first Irish woman to be called to the bar), and lexicographer. She served in the Irish diplomatic corps on three continents (Europe, Africa, North America), and later worked at the United Nations. But in Ireland, she is still best known for her poetry, written almost exclusively in Irish.
Her father, Seán MacEntee (1889-1984) was a famous Irish nationalist (taking part in the Easter Rising of 1916) and later politician. He was notably bitter about Irish interfaith violence during the Troubles (1960s-1990s), and even sent a letter to the Irish Times in 1970, part of which read: "I see no cause for rejoicing that Irishmen once again are killing other Irishmen on the streets of Belfast." Later, his daughter will incorporate this line into one of her own poems.
As opposed to her male counterparts (Seán Ó Ríordáin, Máirtín Ó Direáin, Cathal Ó Searcaigh*, etc), MacEntee's poetry eschews formal innovation or experimentation; her poems are clear, and precise, and easy to understand.
I just finished the gorgeously designed, dual-language collection of her poems from the O'Brien Press: The Miraculous Parish / An Paróiste Míorúilteach (2012), which is a "Selected Poems" volume of sorts, with the English translations (in beautiful dark pink) running side by side with the Irish originals (in standard black). The book was also released in paperback by the Wake Forest University Press.
Perhaps I'm a bit spoiled by all the modernist poetry I read but, although I found MacEntee's poems quite delightful, they ultimately came across as perhaps a little too "simple" for my tastes. I would definitely recommend her poetry to those who wish to acquaint themselves with 20th century Irish-language literature; however, don't expect too much (if any) innovation/ornamentation/experimentation. The best word to describe her poems is "earthy," as in "down-to-earth."
Out of all the poems, the one I like best is Sorrow Lifts From Me ("Cian á thógaint díom"), written after the passing of MacEntee's husband Conor Cruise O'Brien (1917-2008). In it, the speaker remembers the years that she shared with the man she loved (and continues to love) before coming to the conclusion that he is, after all, alive in her memory. She thereby defeats death (though not at all like Donne in "Death Be Not Proud") by restoring the dead man's life through the power of art and memory.
I can post the original Irish text below if anyone is interested in taking a look; meanwhile, here is the English translation by Peter Sirr.
Sorrow Lifts From Me
More than anything, it's your mind I feel the loss of now.
The love between the sheets has had its day
But the bond of mind, which never fades
Is what tears me, is the wound that never heals.
How many years exactly since we parted
Before this brightening kindled like a waking dream?
I can't remember, and will not count them, but
Give thanks for the moment and not question its peace.
The sweetness of our company came back to me in the dream,
The chime of your pleasure still sounds in the room,
Our joy spread round us like the air.
Even if no button is undone, just to be alive together.
This is the lie: your fair head withered in clay.
And the truth? The clear vision in the brightening day.
***
*We have a thread on Ó Searcaigh here.