Collected Poems

Rating:
Summary: Get this book! It's worth every cent!
Review: In his native Ireland, connaisseurs regard Mahon's poetry as superior to Seamus Heaney's, and why Mahon's works are so little known is a mystery to me. Maybe it is because he is not interested in the merely picturesque aspects of Ireland, and also because he has broken free of that country at least outwardly. Finally, there is almost always a sense of impending apocalypse in Mahon's poetry, which some people may feel unable to stomach. As a matter of fact, this poetry reminded my of W.G. Sebald's prose. In both cases a wide learning helps the speaker understand the details of a world gone wrong; both Sebald's and Mahon's works seem to be dominated by a feeling of grief.

Colleagues and critics acknowledge Mahon's rank among the finest poets of our time ("work of the highest order" Seamus Heaney; "real mastery" W.S. Mervin). What matters to me, however, is that he is by far my favorite poet now writing in English.

Of course I would like to quote a few lines now to give you an idea of what Mahon's poetry can do, but Mahon's oeuvre is so rich and diverse that the following verses will inevitably give you a wrong impression. Mahon wrote them in the early seventies, when the so-called "Troubles" had torn apart his native Northern Ireland:

"And I step ashore in a fine rain / To a city so changed / By five years of war / I scarcely recognize / The places I grew up in, / The faces that try to explain. // But the hills are still the same / Grey-blue above Belfast. / Perhaps if I'd stayed behind / And lived it bomb by bomb / I might have grown up at last / And learnt what is meant by home."