Michael Longley cradles his life’s accomplishments in his arms. His companion, Edna Longley, an esteemed academic and critic, proposed the title ‘Ash Keys’ for this new anthology of poems, as she finds the poem endearing and perceives them as emblems of verses drifting in the wind aiming to seek their audience. Michael Longley was fond of the suggestion since it echoed a similar essence with ‘Gorse Fires,’ his most prominent assemblage, and importantly, a title should serve as a beacon for a poem or a book. Furthermore, it navigates his own existence. ‘Ash Keys: New Selected Poems’, a book, to be unveiled on the 85th birthday of the poet on July 27th, collates poetry spanning over five decades, starting from ‘No Continuing City’ in 1969 to ‘The Slain Birds’ in 2022.
“This is a culmination. The corpus I truly believe in,” Longley comments and subsequently chuckles at his choice of words. He intends to highlight the elements that impassioned him — the western part of Ireland, nature, animals, affection, sex, politics, the Holocaust, and the First World War. His aim was to encapsulate all these elements to uphold his inclinations.
Each aspect of these and more are depicted in this gracefully slender book, as well as in the room we occupy. The walls are enveloped with bookcases, a notable characteristic of the house; so much so, it concerns him about the stability of the upper levels. Everything around him has been infiltrated by his fervours, be it discoveries from nature, photographs of his seven grandchildren, or the artwork adorning the walls; the handiwork of his daughter Sarah, whom he considers a prodigy.
He has spent a major part of his life within proximity to his birthplace, claiming, “I adore Belfast. I am fond of the Lisburn Road.” Conversely, he has also embraced other affections and locations. This includes Carrigskeewaun, in Co Mayo, the spiritual landscape that has been a long-standing muse for his poetry, and Trinity College Dublin, where his journey as an undergraduate transpired.
His eyes sparkle with excitement as he narrates his journey of discovering southern Ireland, through his experiences at Trinity, exploration of Dublin, and his first visit to Carrigskeewaun in 1970, perceiving the untouched beauty of the land amidst the horrors of the Troubles period.
His maiden encounter with Carrigskeewaun, viewed from a bend in the road, still manages to take his breath away, similar to the way one would gaze at a beloved woman. He confesses that, upon taking in that view, he felt no desire to leave or venture elsewhere.
Trinity was an unexpected delight, its metropolitan setting accessible to cafes, pubs, and bookshops a thrilling experience for him. His keen interest in literature let him to cast aside his classical studies in favour of writing poetry, filling notebooks with what he modestly refers to as ‘substandard’ poems.
During this time, he noticed a woman for the first time, who would later become his wife. She was spotted from a window overseeing the university’s main quad, her striking black hair capturing his attention as she passed by. His companion identified her as Edna Broderick, a likely candidate for the top scholarship. Her intellectual prowess and raven-black hair left a memorable imprint on him; he admits a lifelong fascination with intelligent women, often feeling inferior on comparing himself.
Their relationship became romantic around 1960 and they tied the knot in 1964. Her presence has been his constant. Even though some may perceive Edna as intimidating, she has an exceptional sense of humour keeping him entertained daily, often at his expense. He mentions not being able to forge a friendship, let alone being in love, with someone lacking a sense of humour.
Richard and Connie Longley, both natives of London, relocated to Belfast due to Richard’s career. Their son received his education from the Royal Belfast Academical Institution, also known as Inst, a fair-minded institution founded by William Drennan, a key figure in the United Irishmen. However, the curriculum lacked any focus on Irish history or culture, making it just as likely they could have been in Wolverhampton.
The overarching divisions between Catholics and Protestants ruled the society, with both the ruling unionists and the Catholic Church advocating for separate education. This resulted in Longley growing up with no Catholic friends from Northern Ireland. His journey of self-discovery began as he formed friendships with the likes of Seamus Heaney and his fiancée, Marie Devlin, who also did not have any Protestant associates.
This period, during the late 60s to early 70s was challenging for Longley, often leaving him feeling like he had to apologise as the lone liberal Protestant. These experiences led to him understanding his Irish identity, and he now proudly identifies as an Irish poet. He’s consistently supported Irish teams since his teenage years, remaining resolute even when they play against England.
The English identity given to him by his parents, who moved to Belfast in 1927, remains alongside his Irish identity. His parents were very fond of Ireland but never quite discarded their English accents. His father, a veteran of the Battle of the Somme and recipient of the Military Cross, is a daily thought for Longley. Despite his fondness for Ireland, his father was a Tory affiliate from the working class. Longley recalls the excitement of his father when Winston Churchill made a political comeback in 1951, despite his lack of comprehension.
“Irish identity is something I feel profoundly. My comprehension of life is founded on the knowledge I’ve garnered from Ireland – a denial of the Britannic side would surely lead my spirit into decay. My experiences at Trinity and exploring the west of Ireland have significantly shaped me.
The signing of the Belfast Agreement in 1998 instilled in me a unique sense of joy. This pivotal moment allowed me to embrace my British heritage fully and, more vitally, my Irish identity – permitting myself to neither, or both, if I so chose.
My initial ventures into the world of published poetry began in the student magazines of Trinity. One of my embryonic works, The Flying Fish, was published in 1962, which was the first time I received monetary compensation for my work – a modest cheque for £5.
I once critiqued a debut collection of poems in 1966 by a promising young poet from Ulster. The collection was titled ‘Death of a Naturalist’, and the poet behind it was Seamus Heaney.
Derek Mahon had been a good friend since our Trinity days, and my relationship with Heaney deepened when my wife, Edna, secured employment at Queen’s University, prompting our return to Belfast. The rapport between Seamus and myself was immediate and firm.
Heaney, Derek and myself soon came to be recognized as the ‘Belfast Group’ of poets, although at that time, we had a vague inkling of the significance that lay in our companionship. Our phase was more about unearthing suitable language, nurturing friendships and building our future careers – we didn’t think of ourselves in the way the media categorised us as Northern poets”, Longley reminisces, interspersing the conversation with laughter.
Longley highlights the levity they shared, saying, “Derek was quite the comic. The adulation showered on Seamus was, in essence, rather comical considering we were a bunch of young, ribald, hilarious individuals. Most of our time was spent in laughter – we weren’t preoccupied with feigned profundity.”.
Reflecting on the charged climate of the 1960s, Longley reminisces about the complexities of personal development and creative expression among his peers, Heaney, Mahon and Simmons. During this period of self-discovery, they found themselves simultaneously supporting and challenging each other, all while the turbulent surroundings deteriorated.
Longley remembers a particularly poignant moment in 1969, when he and Mahon were caught amidst the chaos and destruction on Falls Road. The savage intensity of the environment shocked him and, ironically, it was accentuated by the international media coverage, casting a disturbing light on their writing.
Despite the turmoil, he stresses the importance of maintaining restraint when dealing with sensitive matters, cautioning against the temptation to exploit the suffering of their compatriots. The focus, he believed, should not be on capitalising on current events, but rather on allowing experiences to marinate deeply before transmuting them into art, something that requires patience.
To further illustrate his point, he cites Emily Dickinson, a favourite poet who lived through the American Civil War. Despite the conspicuous absence of direct references to the war in her work, the tension akin to those times is palpable in the subtext.
Longley then uses the metaphor of a whirlpool to explain his creative process. The image of Tate’s Avenue filled with UVF flags recently made him realise that the tension still prevails. He acknowledges the rich cultural fusion, a mixture of Irish, Scottish, English, and Anglo-Irish influences, that both enriches and complicates their work. This whirlpool of cultures helps foster creativity, manifesting as poems and paintings on the surface, while underneath lies a dark abyss leading to violence.
Following the Provisional IRA ceasefire in 1994, Longley composed his most notable poem, Ceasefire, which was first released in this press. Drawing from the Iliad for inspiration, it envisions Priam, the king of Troy, who is forced to beg Achilles, the Greek fighter, for his son Hector’s remains.
Longley talks about the magic that unfolds when individuals dine together. “There’s a contemporary quality to the episode in the Iliad. All of Achilles’s suppressed gentler attributes emerge when Priam, the aged king, beseeches him on his knees and it tremendously impacts the moment. They are left emotionally drained by the end and Achilles suggests they sit down and share a meal. This reminds me of the Belfast Agreement,” he says.
The poem and the ceasefire that ignited it are celebrating their 30th anniversary this year. “We are gradually making progress,” says Longley, “A lot of patience and cooperation will be needed and it’s crucial for everyone to be calm, listen, understand one another, and never fail to remember the victims and their families.”
Longley recently attended a poetry recital at Hillsborough Castle with Northern Ireland’s top leaders, Michelle O’Neill and Emma Little-Pengelly. “The obvious fondness they shared filled me with hope,” he said.
Longley admits, “I’m not particularly drawn to constitutional debates… I reside on a united island.” For him, the paramount and urgent political concern is the globe’s future. “Our survival depends on our ability to unite as dwellers of the Earth. We must learn to respect, revere, and make room for the other inhabitants of the planet. Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet,” he quotes Gerard Manley Hopkins as saying.
He holds the belief that Northern Ireland is gradually and peacefully making progress into the future. People have stopped shouting at one another and have started to use first names and exchange smiles, subtle yet significant steps.
In the same way, Belfast has a cheerful disposition. In his opinion, there’s no place quite as welcoming to poetry as Northern Ireland, an exhilarating literary hotspot. Despite its small size, Belfast thrives amid its cultural collision during both peaceful and wartime.
This lit-enthusiastic city now has a heritage of poetry and friendships. Belfast is not just known for its intelligent humour but also for its ability to keep arrogance in check.
Some of his best memories and “major blessings” have been his friendships with fellow enthusiasts and poets, particularly with Raymond Piper, David Cabot, Michael Viney, Mahon and Heaney. On the last interaction with Heaney’s wife, Marie, he was referred to as the ‘last man standing’, to which he sarcastically agreed, citing ‘survivor guilt’.
After his latest book, ‘Ash Keys’, he plans to take it slow with his writing. Even with his 85th birthday approaching, he jests that the early celebrations are just in case he doesn’t make it to his 90th.
But of course, wouldn’t his 90th celebrations then be larger? To this, he responds in a typical, humble Belfast manner joking, “The cheering will be deafening.”
Taking inspiration from a poem, ‘Keeping Going’ by Seamus, he affirms that he is indeed doing just that. He still has much to express, unwavering in his creative pursuit. The work, Ash Keys: New Selected Poems, will be available through Jonathan Cape, starting Thursday, July 25th.