Forty Years and Forty Nights: Tomas O’Leary’s
In the
Wellspring of the Ear: New and Selected Poems
article
by Michael T. Steffen
One of
the values of a collection of “new and selected poems,” in most cases featuring
the new poems at the front of the book, involves this intrigue, tracing
recurrent images and themes from the new poems back through the former ones.
Defeat and (bad pun with a drum roll and crash of cymbals) the feet (prominent
in the accents of an Irish lyricist), this haunts the muse of Tomas O’Leary
from the outset of the new book, In the Wellspring of the Ear (Lynx House
Press, 2015). For O’Leary characteristically adept at managing disappointments,
this first poem “House on the High Road” surprises and nearly troubles the
reader with tones of supplication, genuine remorse, and a plea of innocence on
behalf of the offering of words which, it is suggested, have breathed on the
first domino of a reaction that has gone awry (“the red treasure/Again on my
hands…the dogs burn for my own blood”). Were it not for language, and the
concentrated expressions of poetry, this grace of a medium for arbitration…
my intention
I swear was words only
A reasoned package to deliver her…
The
concentration delivering a phrase as fertile as “to deliver her” with its
possibilities—of a physical birth, from a spiritual dilemma, or as the content
of the parcel itself ?
The
“her” evoked first in the book and juxtaposed with the poet’s trek of humility—
High Lady low road
—remains
otherwise unspecified, and harkens back to a poem from a previous collection,
placed in section III of the new selected, “Love’s Virgin,” a tour-de-force of
brevity and choice, making its margins and silence resonant. This earlier
expression asserts the poet’s confidence with paradoxical terminology
(magnified in “emerald of slime”) for the ambiguous experiences with
inspiration, which James Joyce’s young Dedalus identified in the hot and cold
faucets of the hotel room sink, James Merrill as the “up and down” journeys of
the ski slopes. “Praise Death!” O’Leary exclaims, then more softly,
but leave a candle by
for Love:
Love’s Virgin, in her cove, keeps
costly love,
laying an altar cloth of emerald
slime
over the sacrificial face of time…
The
determined trochaic meter and chiming couplets are the phonic inheritance, or
Wellspring of the Ear, particularly of the folk of the isle of song and music.
As
anybody who has had the pleasure of meeting and talking with him would attest,
Tomas O’Leary’s manner and speech come across with enough Irish as to have you
wonder that he was in fact raised in Somerville—by Irish immigrants. While
sincere and gentle, O’Leary is full of character and wry humor tempering his
playful, musical bearing, as one of the new poems describes his father:
A genius of blather, a serious man
to boot…
“My
Father, My Sons” is a wonderful meditation on generations, preceding and
ongoing, with a hint of the poet’s awareness of mortality in time that has
passed, yet with the odd gift of memory that revives and retains his father’s
speech:
He died it seems almost forever ago,
yet here he is to tell me this:
“Sure eternity doesn’t take but a
day,
and day turns to day, and nothing
ever missed…
and in
the evocation of his sons and their inheritance of the genetic/cultural
wellspring, with a marvelous fairy-tale-like image of the deflected passage
from father to sons:
My sons, alive and well, have never
met
the old man who was father to their
old man,
the mythic fish who barely missed
their net.
He’s theirs, though, surely as he’s
mine.
Yeats
is unmistakably present in O’Leary’s diction; though it is Yeats only in that
Yeats widely embraced and appropriated the poetry of his nation’s speech, much
as Whitman did for 19th century America. It is admirable and astonishing that
O’Leary resists falling too mechanically into the stamped lyrical pattern very
often, though the tetrameter (four-beat) line autographs his verse even in the
poems lined in freer forms.
A good
deal of the notes taken down for this article won’t have space here. The reader
is left with much to discover, new and reorganized and presented anew. O’Leary
is seasoned, wise with his allowance of scope about his subjects yet subtly
poignant where he intends to be (notably in “Portrait of Alvarez” and “The
Pleasures of Mourning,” a relentless go at the decorum and delicacies of a
funeral wake). It will be one of the best collections from
a Cambridge
poet in 2015.
Tomas
O’Leary will appear with Greg Delanty to read at the second annual Seamus
Heaney Tribute, part of the Hastings Room Reading Series, on Wednesday August
26, 2015
at 7:00
pm, First Church Congregationalist, 11 Garden Street near Harvard Square.
In the
Wellspring of the Ear: New and Selected Poems/ISBN: 978-089924-143-2
by
Tomas O’Leary / is on sale for $19.95 / Lynx House Press Spokane, WA / www.lynxhousepress.org