Rules
of Engagement
Michael
J.Whelan
Doire
Press, 2019
(79
pages)
Michael Whelan’s second collection of poetry revisits
old themes familiar to readers of Peacekeeper ( Doire Press,
2016). This should come as no surprise, as Whelan has not changed jobs in the
last three years. He is still a member of the Irish Defence Forces, stationed
out at Baldonnell Aerodrome where he is Keeper of the Irish Air Corps Military
Aviation Museum & Collection. Baldonnell Aerodrome features a lot in Rules
of Engagement. It acts as a locus for the poet to engage with the world. As
in the poem Seeds of Imagination.
The
love chase of the blackbirds
swoops
at high velocity
through
the twin-tails of the vampire jet,
between
the wings of the Wright- flyer
and
around the ears of tourists
who
come to view
the
history of aviation,
The irony is not lost on Corporal Whelan while he
watches the pair of birds, caught up in their amorous flight, as they make
their nests in a Leonidas engine, a great 693 lb monster which was used to
power Bristol Bulldog biplanes during the interwar years. Indeed birds are a
recurring motif in the collection, depending on their species they can evoke peace,
as in the aforementioned poem, or war. Take the poem Sparrowhawk, for
example.
The
bones of a dead thing,
a
skeletal crow
lay
spread-eagled on the tailwing
of
an old airplane
just
inside the museum hangar door,
picked
clean,
no
blood,
no
scattered feathers
though
I discover them later
in
other places,
no
flesh except for the head.
These are the kind of introspective poems written by a
man in mid-years, though from the vantage point of one who has seen active
military service, and so has seen things that no ordinary citizen is privy to
see.
I
wondered what predator had done this
and
then I felt the raptor swoop down,
touch
my skull with his lethal talons,
watched
it rise up on broad wings,
weave
in and out, up and down
between
the roof rafters and trusses
to
rest on a high perch,
where
it eyed my fascination.
Reading the poems in Rules of Engagement one is
made very aware that the poet, who is also a historian, is very aware of the tradition
that he belongs to. The names appear in the titles of some of the poems: Gallipoli,
After the Great War, Patriot, Wilfred Owen’s Grave…graves figure a lot
in the collection. As one would expect. And one can sense the deep frustration
of the poet in some of the pieces. And in others the touch of history, such as
in the short yet moving poem Golgotha dedicated to the First World War
poet Siegfried Sassoon.
At
once I knew the resurrection
then
far away the thudding of the guns.
In
the clockwork of that battle
a
silhouette came to me
bearing
beams of timber across his breast,
walking
with words of love
along
the broken trench
to
lay upon the floor of my Golgotha.
I
know you, I said in the midst of the strafe,
Yes,
you know me, he replied,
like
war we have known each other forever.
Michael Whelan comes from a Christian tradition, so Christian
imagery, as above, with ideas of brotherly love sit, as they must, rather
contrastingly among the rather arbitrary violence and senseless barbarity that
goes on around the poet who, while he observes the behaviour of the birds
within the apparent calm and peaceful world of Baldonnell, must also reckon with
the horrific scenes which still assail him and which he witnessed so many years
ago while on active duty with the United Nations policing war zones in both
Kosovo and the Lebanon. Take the poem One Free Exposure, for example.
Even
now through the magnified rifle sights
the
grey silhouettes seem so far away,
or
maybe I want them to be,
the
timber humans show themselves
briefly
in the crosshairs,
each
one about to be engulfed in a halo.
I
cock my weapon and wait.
The
damp ground saturates my elbows and knees,
a
false reality, my face drips in the hazy air
as
I close a cold eye, first pressure on the trigger finger,
all
this drill, all this preparation.
I
once closed an eye on a girl in a white
has/chem[1] suit from a thousand yards
as
she plotted the dimensions of the war crime.
It
was raining that day too. She had blood and guts,
lots
of it, heart and brains and a notebook and pen.
Muck
crept over her legs. I could follow thoughts processing
through
her body – synaptic, impulse, energy, dismay.
I
wanted to help but was glad in the end I didn’t have her skills
or
permission to cross that ground, to still see those sights
she
knew were coming, the faces she discovered
with
both eyes wide open.
This poem is pivotal, it seems to me, as it highlights
properly the poet’s dilemma; how to live with the horror, which has parallels
in nature, and yet try to adhere to one’s Christian beliefs? I am reminded of
the plight of Caravaggio, there was another who painted, almost uniquely scenes
from both the Old and New Testament, placing himself at times in the great
canvases, such as The Betrayal of Christ which hangs in the National
Gallery of Ireland, his face illuminated, as he observes the horror, while he
holds up the light!
With Rules of Engagement, Michael J.Whelan remains consistent in
both theme and treatment of subject matter as in his debut collection Peacekeeper,
and although the memories of what he witnessed all those years are more
chronologically distant to him, the memories are just as corrosive and
haunting. Whelan, in this respect, is a man alone, at least certainly in his
native Ireland. To hear him reading aloud these poems is always a deeply felt
experience, as it is clear that the memories of certain past events are extremely
painful for him to endure. In this, his writing, like all great art, burns as a
lasting testament to his enduring will and power. A lesser man, or poet or
artist, would have become hideously embittered, many years ago. Not so Michael
J.Whelan. He is a wonderful presence to have on the contemporary poetry scene,
for he follows a long standing literary tradition of which he is, although
perhaps a little awe-struck by at times, a worthy contributor.
On a more personal note, I consider myself most
fortunate to know him as a friend.
May his pen never falter.
Peter O’Neill
No comments:
Post a Comment