I’ve
been rereading Wild Reckoning since
quoting from it in my last post - the
anthology inspired by Rachel Carson’s Silent
Spring, edited by Maurice Riordan and John Burnside. It’s a commonplace that a pleasure of poetry
anthologies is discovering poems one would never have read otherwise. A variation on this is the discovery of poems
one would never have considered
reading. This one is by Joseph Campbell. The title is Latin for ‘To the Threshold’.
Ad Limina
The ewes and lambs, loving the far
hillplaces,
Cropping by choice the succulent
tops of heather,
Drinking the pure water of cloudborn
lochlands,
Resting under erratics fostered with
Abel –
Come to my haggard gate, my very
doorstep.
The birds of freest will and
strongest wingbeat,
Sad curlew, garrulous stonechat,
hawk and coaltit,
Haunting lone bog or scalp or broken
ruin,
Poising the rough thrust of air’s
excesses –
Come to my haggard gate, my very
doorstep.
The trout in the river, below the
hanging marllot,
Swift, with ancestral fear of hook
and shadow,
The elvers of cold drain and slough,
remembering
The warm tangles of Caribbee and
Sargasso –
Come to my haggard gate, my very
doorstep.
Even the stoats and rats, who know a
possessor
Of the rare sixth sense, the bardic
insight,
Match, and more, for their devilish
perversions,
And the deer, shyest of shy at
autumn rutting –
Come to my haggard gate, my very
doorstep.
Am I not a lucky man, trusted,
Franciscan,
That these spacious things, gentle
or hostile,
Following God’s urge, denying their
nature,
Harbingers of high thoughts and
fathers of poems –
Come to my haggard gate, my very
doorstep.
It’s
the rhythm that makes this poem, a strong five-beat rhythm that prevails
despite many oddities of stress. It gives
a rugged feel (to go with “haggard”) and sends us lurching through the rough landscape
that’s invoked. Every line thumps to its
end in a trochee. Despite the title
there are few Latinate words. The author
was a Gaelic speaker interested in Irish folklore and I wonder how much the
rhythm and other aspects of this poem take from that.
I’m
up high with the sheep straight off, and the birds, and down with the elvers in
their cold drain. Relishable, now-unthinkable
phrases such as “cloudborn lochlands” and “poising the rough thrust of air’s
excesses” somehow create a space, a landscape in which others such as “sad
curlew” become acceptable. (“Marllot”, by the way, isn’t in the Shorter OED; I
assume it’s a lot of land whose soil is marl.
And I think the Abel reference must be to his job as a shepherd.)
This
magical space seems to dissolve in the last two verses, and I can’t defend the
shy deer or the second last line of the poem. But I like the way that the refrain can be either
a summons or a statement, until the last verse; and the speaker’s wild-man / St
Francis persona. By invoking the various
creatures, “spacious things” in their landscape, he celebrates them all – and draws
the reader in with the beat of the words.
Alongside
all this, I like it that the poem challenges my deeply contemporary tastes and
prejudices.
Joseph Campbell (unatrributed) |
“Prolific
poet and committed republican” is how Joseph Campbell is summarised in his
short page on culturenorthernireland.org.
“His several volumes of poems have not worn well”, says ulsterhistory.co.uk.
He was born in Belfast in 1879, took
part in the Easter rising and was on the Republican side in the Irish civil war,
moved to the US after being interned, and finally “lived in seclusion at a
farmstead in Glencree, Co Wicklow, until his death” in 1944.
Wild Reckoning doesn’t have notes on poets and
doesn’t credit any particular collection for ‘Ad Limina’ or give a date. No link for the anthology, because it’s not
easily available. There are a few used
copies from sellers via Amazon for around £25… and one new copy, for £3,878.39 (plus
£2.80 postage). How on earth…?