John Hewitt: Commentary & Quotations
Commentary
[ top ] Robert Greacen, review of Rhyming Weavers [rep. edn.], in Books Ireland ( Dec. 2004), p.261, quotes Hewitt:Regionalism is based on the conviction that as man is a social being, he must, now that the nation has become an enormously complicated organisation, find some smaller unit to which to give his loyalty. (Q. source.) Greacen quotes Hewitts estimate of the Weaver poets: There is no Robert Burns or John Clare to be discovered here, but the reader will encounter several companionable men and a number of memorabl liines of verse - and adds, Just so. (p.293.)
Sam Hanna Bell, A Banderol [Introduction], in sThe Arts in Ulster (London: Harrap 1951): John Hewitt, who as contributed much to the knowledge of his contemporary as to what they may justly claim in their tradition, reminds us of the crippling and retarding effect that unsettled conditions and the lack of a leisured and appreciative urban community had had on the development of the Ulster artists. His subject is painting, and to a lesser extent, that volatile and muscular art, the drama. (p.14.)
Seamus Heaney, review of Hewitts Collected Poems, 1932-67, in Threshold (Summer 1969), pp.73-77: [...] A number of these poems reveal a quest for personal identity that must strike many of Hewitts fellow-countrymen as a remembrance, involvmg a stubborn determination to belong to the Irishry and yet tenaciously aware of a different origin and cast of mould. A dramatic monologue, The Colony, transmutes the Protestant Planter experience into a Roman situation where the citizens of the colony are on the verge of turning native: [Quotes A Colony; 75]. [/ ...] The continuous process in Hewitts work has been one of coming to terms, of measuring the self against circumstances. Very roughly, the pattern shows an early period when he examines himself against his native community; then, after his shift to England in 1957, he sets his lonely present against a rooted past, in terms of a lost community and family; and finally, his sensibility surrenders to an inundation by the far but half-remembered world of Greece. [...] This is an accumulation of honesty and craft, with its beautifully pointed moments of definition and its inevitable realizations of development.Perhaps John Hewitts attention to the craft of poetry in his earlier period, his devotion to the couplet, the sonnet, the blank verse, the intense and muted lyric, could be regarded as a mask for what he wished to be - true, rooted, within a tradition. Shouldered out of his island on to The Mainland and knowing that if he sails back he will find it rich in all but what he sought, he is evolving into a man without a mask. The verse has become free, the statements grope towards something irreducible: / Hand over hand eagerly I crawl back to uncertainty. [76] That is the kind of authority without dogma that poet stand for and John Hewitts collection will be cherished for what has been familiar to us - poems like The Owl and Hedgehog - and for those accurate, painful quests towards self-knowledge that at once rebuke and reward us. (p.77, end; for longer version, see RICORSO Library - attached.)
Seamus Heaney, The Frontiers of Writing [Oxford Poetry Lecture, 23 Nov. 1993], in The Redress of Poetry (London: Faber & Faber 1995): Then, beginning in the 1930s and 1940s, John Hewitt attempted to write into the imaginative record the Ulster Planters sense of difference and entitlement by deliberately recognising and affirming the colonial nature of the Ulster Protestant experience. ... Hewitts move was original and epoch-making, a significant extension of the imagining faculty into the domain of politics, but it could not wholly reconcile the Unionist mystique of Britishness with the Irish nationalist sense of the priority of the Gaelic inheritance. [...] Hewitts regionalism suited the feeling of possession and independence of the empowered Protestants with their own Parliament and fail-safe majority at Stormont more than it could ever suit the sense of dispossession and political marginalisation of [195] the Catholics. The poet was personally a man of the deepest tolerance and sympathy, principled in his sense of diversity, passionate for social justice, but in his imaginings he could not include the Irish dimension in anything other than in an underprivileged way. The pre-eminence, as he saw it, of the British intellectual tradition, the obscurantism as he saw it, of the Roman Catholic church and the logic of his colonial trope which naturally validated the culture of the colonising power over that of the native - all this meant that he stood his ground in the North as a resolute democrat, with a vision of the just society based on regional loyalties, but a vision that was slightly Nelson-eyed, as it were, more capable of seeing over the water than over the border. ... the fact that Gaelic was a dying language was enough for Hewitt to absolve himself of any imaginative obligation to the Gaelic order. [196; ...; cont.]
Derek Mahon, An Honest Ulsterman, review of Ancestral Voices: Selected Prose of John Hewitt (ed. Tom Clyde) quotes Hewitt as follows: He must be a rooted man. He [sic] must carry the native tang of his idiom like the native dust on his sleeve; otherwise he is an airy internationalist, thistle-down, a twig on a stream ... he must know where he comes from and where he is; otherwise how can he tell where he wishes to go? - and offers the comment: This is a bit tough on thistledown; and, speaking as a twig in a stream, I feel theres a certain harshness, a dogmatism, at work there. What of the free-floating imagination, Keatss negative capability, Yeatss lonely impulse of delight[]? Literature, surely, is more than a branch of ethics. What about humour, mischief, wickedness? Send us war in our time, O Lord! [quoting Mitchel]. / Human nature cries out for more than ethical prescriptions, and it may have been his severe refusal to accept this which laid, and still lays, him open to charges of worthiness and dullness. Besides, what is all this about the Ulster writer. What about the Munster writer, the East Anglian writer, the Scottish writer? ... I fail to see why his chosen region should have been Ulster rather than Ireland as a whole: a point on which we stuck more than once, myself sitting forward in my chair, himself puffing pugnaciously at his pipe. [... &c.] (The Irish Times, 2 Jan. 1988; rep. in Journalism: Selected Prose 1970-1995, Dublin: Gallery Press 1996, pp.92-94; p.94.)
[ top ] Barra Ó Séaghdha, reviewing Jonn Brown, ed., In the Chair: Interviews with Poets from the North of Ireland (Salmon 2002), writes: John Hewitt worked hard to make the ground more fertile and manage to sustain his own talent to the end of his life. However, there was an unresolved tension between the internationalist, critical pull of his Marxist politics and the unionist inflection of his regionalism. A memo quoted in the Northern Ireland chapter of Lionel Pilkingtons recent and scandalously unreviewed and almost unfindable Theatre and the State in Twentieth Century Ireland indicates how culture was envisioned by the Council for the Encouragement of Music and the Arts in the 40s and 50s: The question of control is of paramount importance ... and I do not see any difficulty in arriving at a formula whereby it can be assured that control will always be invested in what may be termed the right hands. In the context of such official thinking, and with Northern Ireland itself only 20 years old, to defer analysis of the relationship between cultural region (Ulster or Northern IrelanC and political unit (Northern Ireland) was ultimately to give comfort to Stormont notions of culture: the kind that insisted that the British national anthem should be played at the beginning rather than at the end of cultural events, for example. It would be difficult for Hewitt to galvanise the cultural energies of both political communities around tactically blurred principles. Roy McFadden, one of the few active poets who remained in Belfast, was initially drawn to Hewitts regionalism: There was common ground there, but I feel that Hewitt made a dogma of regionalism to the point of dishing up minor poets for consideration on the basis of their birth in Ahoghill, or their qualifications in lint-pulling. Hewitts move to Coventry, after one battle too many with official pettiness, seemed to signal the failure of a generations hopes. (Ask Me Another One, in Magill, July 2002, p.20-21; p.20.) Terence Brown, ‘John Hewitt and Memory: A Reflection, in Irish Studies in Brazil, ed. Munira H. Mutran & Laura P. Z. Izarra (Associação Editorial Humanitas 2005), pp.175-84: Brown engages with the question whether Hewitt is a poet of memory, and if so, whether in the atavistic sense predicated on a (here unspoken) association with nationalist identity and sense of loss. ‘Hewitt was always a poet who took for granted that bearing in mind the dead was part of a poets duty. Although he asserted of himself “I have no ghosts. / My dead are safely dead” (Coll. Poems, p.42) a considerable portion of his poetry, if not haunted, is certainly aware of the dead and his responsibility to them and conscious of their presence in his imagination. (p.176.) ‘Obituary verse in Hewitt may be a duty accepted and discharged by the poet as responsible citizen; but there is also evidence that the poet was in fact imaginatively absorbed by death itself. […] As Hewitts editor, Frank Ormsby[,] remarks: “Hewitt depicts the approach and arrival of death as piteous, clumsy, aimless, crude and lonely, and is not disposed to be comforted by visions of an afterlife.” (Coll. Poems, p.lxxi.) For Hewitt, death truly seems to be the end of things. His is a secular consciousness for which death is cruel in its defining finality. (p.177.) [Cont.]
[ top ] Quotations
[ top ] Poetry Native ... as any: Native in [his] thoughts as any [here]; Not his that gaunt mask. Fools comparison / No Florence his sick town. / Yet ther was exile once after a defeat, / and years spent walking through an alien place / among bland strangers kinder than his kin / and then there was return - / as some translated poet wrote- / to this betraying, violent city / irremediably home. (John Hewitt, cover poem quoted in brochure for John Hewitt International Summer School [The City and its Creators] 1994.)
[ top ] My own kind: I write for my own kind / I do not pitch my voice / that every phrase be heard / by those that have no choice: / their quality of mind / must be withdrawn and still, / as moth that answers moth / across a roaring hill. (Quoted in Intro. to Gerald Dawe and Edna Longley, eds., Across a Roaring Hill, The Protestant Imagination in Modern Ireland (1985), p.i.
The Glens: Groined by deep glens and walled along the west/ by the bare hilltops and the tufted moors,/ this rim of arable that ends in foam/ has but to drop a leaf or snap a branch/ and my hand twitches with the leaping verse/ as hazel twig will wrench the straining wrists/ for untapped jet that thrusts beneath the sod. // Not these my people, of a vainer faith/ and a more violent lineage. My dead/ lie in the steepled hillock of Kilmore / in a fat country rich with bloom and fruit./ My days, the busy days I owe the world,/ are bound to paved unerring roads and rooms/ heavy with talk of politics and art./ I cannot spare more than a common phrase/ of crops and weather when I pace these lanes/ and pause at hedge gap spying on their skill,/ so may fences stretch between our minds. // I fear their creed as we have always feared / the lifted hand between the mind and truth./ I know their savage history of wrong/ and would at moments lend an eager voice,/ if voice avail, to set that tally straight. // And yet no other corner in this land/ offers in shape and colour all I need/ for sight to torch the mind with living light.
[ top ] Ireland: We are not native here or anywhere. / We were the keltic wave that broke over Europe, / and ran up this bleak beach among these stones: / but when the tide ebbed, were left stranded here / in crevices and ledge-protected pools. The Modelled Head: and I am left with these alternatives, / to find a new mask for what I wish to be, / or try to be a man without a mask, / resolved not to grow neutral, growing old. (quoted with foregoing Seamus Heaney, review of Hewitts Collected Poems, 1932-67, in Threshold, Summer 1969, pp.73-77; p.75.)
The whole mosaic: Give us instead / the whole mosaic, the tesserae, / that we may judge if a period indeed / has a pattern and is not merely / a handful of coloured stones in the dust. (Cited in Eve Patten, Introduction, Returning to Ourselves: John Hewitt Summer School Papers (1995) [rev. Books Ireland, Dec. 1995, p.322.].) An Ulsterman: Kelt, Briton, Roman, Saxon, Dane and Scot, / time and this island tied the crazy knot. (Ulsterman) This is my country. If my people came / came England here four centuries ago, / the only trace thats left is in my name. (Cited with other lines in P. J. Kavanagh, Voices in Ireland, 1994, p.17-18; and again in Kavanagh, Bywords, Times Literary Supplement, 2 Aug. 1996, p.16, where he calls the poet the least bruited, in England, anyway]. Also, [I] suppressed the fancy, smiled a cynic thought, / turned clicking heel on marble and went out. / Not this my fathers faith, their walls are bare; / their comforts all within, if anywhere. / I haad gone there a vacant hour to pass, / to see the sculpture and admire the glass, / but left as I had come, a Protestant, / and all unconscious of my yawning want; / too much intent on what to criticise / to give my heart the room to realise / that which endures the tides of time so long / cannot be always absolutely wrong .... (Idem; verses on going into a Catholic church when, tempted to light a candle.) Walking in the country ...: Once walking in the country of my kindred / Up the steep road to where the tower-topped mound / Still hoards their bones, that showery August day / I walked clean out of Europe into peace [...] (Quoted in Benedict Kiely, Drink to the Bird, London: Methuen 1991, p.166.)
[ top ] Prose The Peace League, in The New Northman, 11:3 (Autumn 1934), pp.20-23: Hewitt launched the Belfast Peace League in student magazine called The New Northman (1934) in which he wrote: Do you realize it?- Wars in the air; and will be from the air. There will be no diplomatic courtesies about 200 m.p.h. airplanes. No formal declarations and demands. Just a lever release, so - and a town blown to the wwinds as the lungs of a thousand civilians retch into bloddy phlegm. (Quoted in Amy Smith, The far-off hills of the imagination: W. R. Rodgers and the Second World War, in Irish University Review, 2016, pp.209-32, p.312.)
My tradition is basically the freer elements in Xtianitythe deists, the Drennans, the John Tolands. They are my people, not the John Knoxes, the Calvins; further, people should be free to do anything that doesnt harm other people or nature (Quoted in Damien Gorman, Religion and Non belief, Part One, Living Without God, in Irish News, 25 Nov. 1986, p.6; cutting in John Hewitt Collection at Univ. of Ulster.
Mother-tongue: My mother tongue is English, instrument and tool of my thought and expression; John Ball, the diggers, the Levellers, the Chartists, Paine, Cobbett, Morris, a strong thread in the fabric of my philosophy, I learned about in English history ... I also draw upon an English literary tradition which includes Marvell, Crabbe, Wordsworth, Clare [...]. (Ancestral Voices, 1987, p.148; cited in Edna Longley, Defending Irelands Soul: Protestant Writers and Irish nationalism after Independence, in The Living Stream: Literature and Revisionism in Ireland, Newcastle-Upon-Tyne: Bloodaxe 1994, p.147.)
Rhyming Weavers -I: (Ulster Poets 1800-1870, MA [QUB], 1951]: In summary it may be asserted then, that Robert Burns, writing a speech the same as, or closely kin to their own, taught them to do better what they should have done anyway, that the Ulster bards were no mere derivatives but existed in their own right, within a sub-region of the same folk culture. ( p.102; cited in Terence Brown, Northern Voices, 1975, pp.8-9.)
[ top ] Speaking to his people?: Yet they [my poems] are quoted in The Irish Times but not in the Belfast Telegraph. I am not speaking to my people. They are public utterances but they ar taken up by a more distant audience than that for which they are intended ... But linked with this is the important fact of the total lack of literary interest amongst Unionists of the North, the lack of a fixed literary tradition. (Interview among papers in Hewitt Collection; cited by Patrick Walsh, draft DPhil, UUC 1995.)
Belfast Art Gallery: It must become an instrument of general culture, a lively and efficient agent acting upon the total community, and participating in the emotional and imaginative experiences of that area, drawing its strength from levels wherein the region is strongest, but resolute to counterbalance accidental emphases and to modify regional deficiencies. (Belfasts Art Gallery, in The Studio, Jan. 1947; cited in Terence Brown, Northern Voices, 1975, p.92.).
No rootless exile: By means I have never been able to understand, The Democrat became the monthly organ of the Connolly club, a Communist-inspired Irish Association in London, and continues to this day. It seems to me now an altogether deplorable production, its pages well padded with the words of sentimental Irish songs...Wildly wrong in its interpretation of Irish affairs, foolishly supporting the reactionary IRA, lacking in frankness, blatantly opportunist, it has nothing to do with what we intended. Further: Yet when, on the fringes of an open-air meeting in an English city, a young man with a thick brogue invites me to buy a copy, I always experience a momentary thrill of emotion for those far away days of the Left Book Club, The Popular Front, Aid for Spain, the snug in the Brown Horse, and take my copy and, turning its pages, rage at the betrayal of our dream. ([Q. title,] quoted in Edna Longley, Progressive Bookmen: Left-wing Politics and Ulster Protestant Writers, in The Living Stream: Literature and Revisionism in Ireland, Newcastle-Upon-Tyne: Bloodaxe 1994, p.115). [Qry titles colonist and exile .]
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