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Although celebrated by the likes of Michael D. Higgins, Terence Brown and Gerald Dawe, his work is often overlooked in favour of others that he would have deemed (unfairly in some cases) as “pee the bed poets”. Growing up in Hell’s Kitchen before moving back to Belfast ensured he did not suffer fools gladly.
Published in 1986, Missa Terribilis (a reference to the feast of Peter and Paul) is a howl of despair emanating from the darkest, loneliest forest imaginable. By this stage, the conflict had been going on for 20 years, it had been over 10 years since the murder of friend/poet Gerard McLaughlin and Fiacc’s alcohol intake wasn’t healthy. Hence the whole mood is one of bleak anger.
Consider the following poem, ‘A Slight Hitch’ (layout as per book):
“We wanted to think it was the quarry,
But the pigeons roared with the white
Smoke, black smoke and the ghost
-faced boy broadcaster,
Fresh from the scene, broke down
Into quivering lips and wild
Tears (can you imagine, and him
‘Live’ on the TV screen!),
Had to be quickly replaced
So that the news could be announced
In the usual cold, acid
And dignified way by the
Northern Ireland British
Broadcasting Corporation.”
Notice how the tone manages to encompass cynicism, sympathy, weariness and mock horror at the same time to create something so caustic? It’s quite impressive and the myriad of emotions help lift it beyond what could have been (in other hands) a simple polemic piece?
As a diversion, ‘The United Ireland of the Seventies/A Qui Tollis’ (dedicated to Henry McDonald) depicts a world where
“Behind backstreets of Belfast, bombings
And killings go on to maim
Today and tomorrow’s flint
-eyed ‘killer kids’, emerging
from brick-wall wombs with
Blood-drained faces, while, to the death
Choking on their own vomit from the booze,
The terrible great worry in Dublin is
Whether or not to legalise
The Wearing of the Sheath.”
By suggesting that nothing would change in a united Ireland, he (perhaps inadvertently) invokes Connolly’s line about hosting the green flag over Dublin Castle wouldn’t change anything unless there was the will to do so. It’s also worth wondering if this is where Robert McLiam Wilson stole his “description” of our own Mackers.
Adopting different voices and splicing elements of black humour throughout, Missa Terribilis still has a visceral power after nearly 40 years because of how unflinching it is in its depiction of violence and hatred. The imagery is hard to shift from the mind but, crucially, there is defiance running through the book which lifts it beyond the realm of confessional or polemic poetry.
With the recent launch of a new anthology, as well as his work being translated into Irish for the first time, this is the time to celebrate an underappreciated (and quietly influential) Belfast writer.
Padraic Fiacc, 1986, Missa Terribilis, Blackstaff Press. ISBN-13: 0-856403601
⏩ Christopher Owens was a reviewer for Metal Ireland and finds time to study the history and inherent contradictions of Ireland. He is currently the TPQ Friday columnist.
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