Mare Nostrum

                                  

                                      With my daughter Rebecca outside the Boathouse in Loughshinny 2016.


Mare Nostrum ( 2016 ) was, without any doubt, one of the most interesting and perhaps successful local projects I was ever involved in, and yet, rather curiously, and as is all too common with me, the book remains unpublished!

It is thanks to the County Arts Officer Rory Byrne who put me into contact with Deputy Arts Officer  Sarah O' Neill, both of Fingal Arts, that I was made Writer in Residence for 3 months at Loughshinny Boathouse, see link below, which allowed me the time and space to explore the connection that this beautiful part of the coast had  with the ancient Roman empire.

My research started with Juvenal, who took me to Agricola, who took me to Julius Cesar, who eventually took me to Seamus Heaney, as his translations of Virgil were just published around the same time. My head was full of enthusiasm, so I called Ger Dowling Research Archaeologist with the Discovery Programme and quite possibly one of the most qualified people to discuss the evidence which was discovered at the site in Drumanagh, mainly old Roman coins paid out specifically to Roman legionaries. They found coins from every period from the first century AD, till the fall of the Roman empire in the mid fourth century AD.

So, at even the most conservative estimates, which Ger Dowling was to give me, there was some kind of small Roman military presence on the promontory at Drumanagh to suggest some kind of trading post, which was being protected by the Romans. That was it, that was enough for me. I was off...

I composed the following longish poem after all my research, to the best of my knowledge I am the first contemporary Irish poet/writer to treat the subject of an ancient Roman presence, based on historic evidence, in 'epic' form.

I should like to mention the poets Michael J. Whelan and Daniel Wade who also, after reading my work and hearing me speak about the subject, both responded with their own poetic responses. This is what you live for, as an artist/writer. Dialogue among interested, and interesting, parties. I should also like to thank Denise Reddy and Thomas Brezing for the enthusiasm in this project also.

Finally. I have to mention the fact that I was commissioned along with all of the other writers and artists to participate in the official opening ceremony of the Boathouse at Loughshinny, some time after my residency, to read my rather long poem, printed in its entirety ( for the first time ) below.

Standing upon a portable stage, overlooking the ancient promontory itself, and the collected inhabitants of Loughshinny itself, with the Lord Mayor of Fingal, all the aforementioned Arts Officers present, not forgetting local poets etc. was a very privileged occasion, one which I am not likely to forget.

The poem, if you are still here to read it, is quite graphic in its content, and this of course provoked mixed results. Anyway, for what its worth, I publish the piece in its entirety here. Various parts of the poem appeared in A New Ulster and Levure Litteraire, thanks to the editors Amos Greig and Carmen Francesca Banciu.     

http://fingalarts.ie/fingal-arts-office/studion/loughshinny-boathouse-artists-studio/peter-oneill-residency-loughshinny-boathouse


MARE NOSTRUM

I.

If all of the imagined dead

Were raised and could appear before

You, out on the promontory at

Drumanagh, what would you possibly see?

Standing there on the headland gazing

Out to sea, with the three Martello:

At Sker, before you and Rush, acting like

beacons, signalling to you from the XVIIIIth.

Imagine, while looking at the fishing boats,

The entrance of an ancient Roman warship,

Or possibly two, come from ancient Briton.

And, the arrival of Romans in Hibernia,

As spoken of by Juvenal and

Mentioned, at some length, by Tacitus.

II.

               

Come Muse, pass through me now.

Help me to chart the voyage as you did

For both Strabo and Ptolomy,

So that I too may see the way.

The Darkened cliffs of folded limestone

Embrace Loughshinny in a dizzying

And sweeping horizontality,

The placid waters burnished in the bay.

Below the great womb of cave,

The broken rock from the cliff face

Segmented into hewn, jagged slabs.

Seagull overhead dive and shriek,

The only sound, but for the lapping

Waves, to break the monumental silence.   

III.

Burnished orb illumines placid shield in

Luminance. Aqueous fields

Negotiate in tow with scale, wave,

And the tired, sea-worn hands of men.

Anchoring battleships in the bay,

Unloading century after weapon

Heavy century, relinquishing the

Pure content of men, and cavalry.

Centurion couldn't believe their luck;

Both climate and populace being in

Complete accordance, pax romana!

Yet, we in the legion knew such calm

Could not hold out, and it wouldn't be long

Till we were using sword, and bloody spear.

IV. 

Crow clapped to thunder, a blanket of

Sheer mercury out on the wing.

Its silver balancing on the wave

Westward, reflecting a still life, with fruit.

The murder with hounds after the kill,

Flesh ripped apart on top of the hill.

Breaking through the wood, its growth

Thick with oak, beech and alder.

Quercus, betula et alunas. Servius

Hears the litany of nouns enter,

While his eyes recall bark, leaf and bough.

His leather sandals still wet from the beach;

Jumping ashore up to his knees, the

Pebble splashed like freckles on his skin.

 

V.

The first thing which struck us was the colour

Of the sea. The sheer azure had

Turned a cold jade. Then slate grey.

Before changing again to almost black.

Homer's wine was multi-coloured.

Even the brine didn't taste the same.

This sea was far less salty, almost

Sweet to our palettes. The fish then tasteless.

The land, in contrast, was deeply verdant.

Although, Winter still had a hold in places.

Despite the fact that we had set down for Mars.

It was bitter cold. The men entered quickly.

And, just as quickly set to the beach.

All that we waited for now was the natives. 

VI.

When we were legion, nesting crows

Signalled our departure from the bay,

At Drumanagh. Now to strike out North,

With a determined march, our blood up.

It was the month of Mars, warlike we came,

The blood pumping clearly in our veins.

Our centurion sang a marching song,

Which we returned to let the enemy know.

The Roman eagle had come. And our ranks

Were full of both novice and veteran.

For Servius it was his first campaign.

He marched with equal parts of fear and

Wonder. And when someone cried, “ Aquila!”

We watched it soar high above us, as one.  

VII.

On Charon's skiff we boarded, eight men

In our contubernium set off

From Deva Victrix in LXXXII,

At Agricola's bidding. Mare

Hibernium! Us, but a lone cohort

Set sail to consolidate the

Trading post at Drumanagh promontory,

And to ascertain the strength of the

People there. Our blood was up

With the flush of success during our

Wars in Caledonia. Agricola

Wanted to consolidate our position,

And extend the empire into places unknown.

All in the month of Mars, god of war.

VIII.

mille passum... unmolested, we marched.

Till one of the immunes, an engineer,

Placed the first wooden marker to denote

The first M paces, counting both feet.

Such is how empires begin, people

Forget. Built on the strength and power

Of two small feet, multiplied by D.

All synchronised, and marching in pairs.

Such momentum. Servius looked down

Briefly at his cuneiforms, bare to

The air. The rest of his foot sandal-

Bound. He but a single unit of this

Century. Two hundred feet on the move.

Armour and shield all making a noise.  

 

  

VIIII. The  Ban-Gaisgedaig

My trick in battle was to bewitch men.

Throw back a cape, expose a breast,

While putting a firm foot forward.

It stopped countless in their tracks.

More fool them! For instead of feeling

The gentle warmth of my bosom,

The swift thrust of raw iron would be

Upon them, penetrating to the core.

Flesh ripped, bones crushed. After the

Shock they would scream like skewered

Pig. Then, limp and passive, quickly fall.

Sometimes their privates exposed, members

Erect and wet, having shot their final load.

I then a metaphor, encompassing both sex and death.

X.

we came at them with chariot

driving our horses out from the woods

we had been surveying them all the while

weighed down with armour and belongings

you could see full on terror in their eyes

as soon as we broke out screaming

firing spear and lance at them

I put an iron shaft through one's throat

the full force of a horse behind it

the neck bone snapped in an instant

warm blood spurted every way

soon we were all covered in it

fighting for our very lives

especially us women

XI.

we had so very much to loose

 we knew all about Roman rule

pater familis ...the patriarchy

this war was so very personal

we cut and thrust their flesh for dead

I saw men run screaming and without head

we all knew the price of defeat

slavery and eternal bondage

and so it was a fight to the death

 horse would trample them sword would hack

there was no quarter given none returned

it was Total war our families were in hiding

once you kill your first man it becomes

simple it is but a thing of force and matter

      

XII.

Raucous the letterhead

Ooze the blood of the words,

Bold the typeface its architexture

Inhabiting the coldness of carrion.

Bones of the broken lie scattered.

It's sedimentary quiet now as

Lambay, the screech and kill since

Departed. Would that a corpse

Fall out of the page. A crow perhaps

Swilling an eyeball all bon viveur.

The fleshy wounds no longer felt.

The field of waste moribund.

The cadavers laid out in rigor mortis.

The battle having finally ended.

XIII.

Servius lay out of it the pain engulfed

his arm now throbbing in great waves

      unsupportable endurance he faints

falling in and out of consciousness

he floating aimlessly on this sea

last thought image of the warrior woman

coming at him from out of nowhere

with a sword the great sweeping cut

touching bone all blank then for a time

image of carrion birds corvus slow slow

the woman then lying beside him

sweet bitch from hell he thinks smiling

almost laughing but for the thought pain

 he Servius brought low by a woman

XIV.

The great columns rose skyward.

They were only equalled by the oaks,

Their great trunks, dating hundreds of

Years, rose up to support the clouds.

As a boy, Servius liked to lie

At their base and look up at the sky,

As he did in the country under the trees.

The column were like trees, he thought.

Trees of stone, and the steps leading

Up to them were like stone hills.

He loved to lie at the top of the hill.

Looking up at the clouds passing.

Under the great oak boughs.

All of his thoughts slowly, passing.

XV.

From Ephesus he had come, there with thoughts

Of the Temple of Artemis. Goddess

Of the hunt. To think now that he brought

So low, by this other huntress. Her eyes

Locked into his with still a furious

Hate. Was she dying there beside him?

And what of him, was he dying there too?

Snatches of Virgil entered his mind.

Lines learned while he was at school.

Hinc via, Tarteri quae fert

Acherontis ad undas. He uttered

The lines latinate on the cold air.

She seemed to be looking at him,

This strangely attractive young assassin.

XVI.

consummate fury lying there in the field

murder ricocheting about in the wood

Badb lies there beside Servius

listening to the wanton cries of men

women and even children war then

in all of its horrendous totality

destruction bent all mayhem in the

impossible slaughter her darkest nights

realised hearing the pathetic

pleading of some men begging for mercy

the fever pitch of war turning them

 womanly just as she had become so

brutally masculine without a thought

for the senselessness of the killing

XVII.

No thought of fucking remorse but KILL

if but her eyes could will it she thinks

lying there eyeing up this dying

Roman he spouting Latin on the air

she'd cut the manhood from him like fruit

falling from a bitter bloody tree

pain now engulfs the chill she needs

succour eyes close give up all breath

horrendous aqua... Charon's Skiff

Someone had carved the name out

On the ship while they were in transit

Servius thinks watching the bar bar,

This woman, dying all around, slowly

Dying. He with thoughts of but the tree.

ulmus opaca

In medio ramos annosaque bracchia pandit

ulmus opaca, ingens, quam sedem Somnia vulgo

vana tenere ferunt, foliisque sub omnibus haerent.

multaque praeterea variorum monstra ferarum,

Centauri in foribus stabulant Scyllaeque biformes

et centumgeminus Briareus ac belua Lernae,

horrendum stridens, flammisque armata Chimaera,

Gorgones Harpyiaeque et forma tricorporis umbrae.

corripit hic subita trepidus formidine ferrum

Aeneas, strictamque aciem venientibus offert;

et, ni docta comes tenuis sine corpore vitas

admoneat volitare cava sub imagine formae,

inruat et frustra ferro diverberet umbras.

   

 Virgil, lines 283- 294, Book VI, Aeneid.