Issue 32: Philip Terry

from DANTE'S PURGATORIO

Canto XVI

The darkness of Hell, or a night voided

Of all its stars, under a barren sky,

A sky overshadowed utterly by cloud,

Never drew such an impenetrable curtain

Across my sight, as that thick smoke which now

Enveloped us.  Add to that the burning sensation

In my eyes in my throat and in my lungs,

An irritation so fierce and sudden that I could

Hardly breathe, and you will understand my panic

As we stepped into the smoke cloud, which was no

Ordinary cloud, I soon realised, but a cloud

Of tear gas, like the British Army used in the Troubles.

Berrigan rummaged in his backpack and handed

Me some ski goggles to protect my eyes,

And I used my sleeve to shield my mouth.

Holding tight to Berrigan’s shoulder, as a

Blind man goes behind his guide, lest he lose his

Way or stumble into some obstacle in his path,

So I went through the acrid, poisonous air,

Listening to my master, who was warning me:

“Watch out!  And cling on tight to me here.

Some of these dudes are dangerous men.”

I could hear voices, some raised, which were all

Heatedly discussing the Peace Process,

And all the sticking points in the Good Friday Agreement,

The same phrases, again and again, emerging

From the darkness, like a furious babble.

“Berrigan, these voices – are they shades I hear?”

I asked.  And he replied: “Yes, you’ve got it man,

They are the voices of former paramilitaries,

Catholics and Protestants alike, and men

From the SAS and the RUC, and they

Are untying the twisted knots of their anger.”

“Who the Hell are you, wee man, whose body cuts through

This tear gas?  You speak of us as if you still belonged

To those who measure time by the ticking of a clock.”

Through burning ears I heard a voice somewhere

That uttered these words.  Berrigan said: “Give him

A straight answer, then ask how we get out of here.”

And so I spoke: “Spirit, undoing the knot of

Anger, to secure the Peace Process, come

Closer, and I will tell you who I am.”

“I’ll come with yeese as far as I’m allowed,” he said,

“They still keep a tight rein on the spirits locked here,

And if we cannot look on each other’s faces,

We can at least hear each other’s words.”

Then I went on: “You guess right, friend, I’m from

The still-living world, still wrapped in the tissues I was

Born into in Belfast, though here I have lost all sense

Of time.  I have travelled through the pains of the Infernal

Campus to arrive here, and now climb this mount.

But tell me who you were before you died,

And tell me too, if you can, is this the way to reach

The passage up?  Your words shall be our guide.”

“I was an Ulsterman, McGuinness was my name,

I knew the worst of that country’s doings, but turned to

The good for which men too seldom put down their guns,”

He said.  Then, after a pause, he added: “The path you’re

On will take you to the stairs, and when you reach the top,

Be sure to put in a good word for me there.”

“You have my word on that,” I said, “but there’s

A question bugging me that I can no longer keep

To myself.  Why is Ireland so fucked up?

You talk about putting down your guns, but why

Are there always some who turn to violence?

I’m thinking mostly of Ireland, but today it’s something

We see across the globe, in Syria, in Ukraine

In Iraq and Afghanistan.  Wherever you look.

What’s the cause of this?  Tell me, so that I can

Take your answer back home with me.  Some say

That history is to blame, that tribal loyalties

Fuck us up from birth, or that some selfish gene

Pits us constantly against our neighbour.

Others say this is no excuse at all, and that

We should take responsibility ourselves.”

He gave a deep sigh, then coughed, uttering

“Jesus Christ!”  Then he went on: “The world is full of

Eejits, and I can see you have spent some time there,

But listen.  I’m not the person to ask about

Genetics or biological determinism, but these things,

Together with the environment in which we are brought up,

While they have some effect on us, to be sure,

Can’t be used as an excuse for what we do.

We all have the power to learn from our mistakes.

History isn’t destiny.  As Joyce said,

It’s the nightmare from which we’re trying to awake.

History, biology, tribal allegiance,

Environment, all these things affect our tendencies,

But they don’t define us – and even if they did

That doesn’t stop us telling right from wrong.

Whatever anyone says to the contrary

We still have free will, which, though it may be

Difficult to exercise at times, can still

Overcome apparently insurmountable

Obstacles – take Northern Ireland, the Peace Process

Has its critics, I know that as well as anybody,

But it still got bitter enemies talking,

And it has led to power sharing, which was

Unthinkable a decade ago.  So,

If the world today looks fucked up to you,

The cause lies in yourselves and there only!

I know this for a fact, I’ve learned it the hard way.

I remember a friend of mine who used to be

In the IRA telling me about the time

He first saw the British Army in Belfast.

He witnessed the soldiers sealing off William Street,

And he was fascinated by all these men

With their helmets and rifles and backpacks.

He was excited by what he saw, and said to

Himself: ‘I am going to be a soldier someday.’

And that’s how he ended up in the IRA.

This was a personal decision, to be sure, but he could

Make it because the fools running the show thought

That armed struggle could lead to a united Ireland.

The leaders of the IRA had every reason

To grumble, but they lacked any historical

Perspective.  What I’m saying is that the

Present state of the world is caused predominantly

By one thing and one thing alone: bad leadership.

And in the 70s there were bad leaders all round.

It’s always been a bad idea to mix

Religion and politics, and it’s a mistake

That Ireland has made time and again.

To give just one example, it was religion,

Not politics, which spelled the end for Parnell.

Mix the two, and society just breaks down along

Sectarian lines, as Belfast knows to its cost.

Under O’Neill’s leadership there was still cause for hope,

He was committed to reform across communities,

But when things turned against him everything

Collapsed: the thugs and the paramilitaries

Roamed the streets unchecked, bringing terror

And torture and rough justice wherever they went.

There were a few good men who, if we’d only

Listened to them, could have put things on a different path.

I’ve mentioned O’Neill, he’s one of them, but I’m

Thinking too of James Craig, and Basil Brooke,

Who once met Sean Lemass to discuss unification.”

“I’ve heard of O’Neill,” I said, “but who are Craig and

Brooke?”  “You’re having me on,” he said, “you say you’re a

Belfast man and you haven’t heard of Jimmy Craig and

Basil Brooke?  Craig was Ulster’s first Prime Minister,

Later he was known as Lord Craigavon, I can’t

Remember if Brooke went under another name –

He was his successor – God be with you!  And now

I must turn back – I see a bright light penetrating

The smoke, this is as far as I can go.”  And he turned,

Not giving me a chance to ask him more.

Philip Terry was born in Belfast, and is a poet and translator.  The Penguin Book of Oulipo, which he edited, was published in Penguin Modern Classics in 2020, and Carcanet published his edition of Jean-Luc Champerret’s The Lascaux Notebooks, the first ever anthology of Ice Age poetry, in 2022.  His version of Dante’s Purgatorio, relocated to Mersea Island in Essex, is forthcoming from Carcanet in October 2024. 

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