Throughout my study of Mahon’s poetry, I was struck by how important explorations of people

and places were to him. His poetic style can be considered quite detached as he rarely divulges
personal details or experiences. Instead, his poetry focuses on detailed portraits of memorable
characters and insightful analyses of a wide variety of landscapes.

“After the Titanic” is another of Mahon’s poems that paints a portrait of an unexpected figure.
Here, Mahon adopts the persona of Bruce Ismay, President of the White Star Line, who
survived the Titanic tragedy which claimed so many lives. Ismay was vilified at a subsequent
hearing into the disaster and isolated himself from society. Mahon achieves a remarkable feat in
this poem. He gives an authentic voice to Ismay without allowing the poem to become an apology
or justification for his behaviour. In his opening statement, Ismay claims, “I sank as far that
night as any hero.” Mahon’s skilful manipulation of language means that this rings hollow. Ismay
didn’t sink at all– this is the reason he has been shunned. Later in the poem, the sinking of the
ship is memorably evoked
through onomatopoeic and alliterative phrases: “a pandemonium of prams, pianos, sideboards,
winches, boilers bursting and shredded ragtime.” The literal sinking of the boat is compared to
Ismay’s personal sinking in the penultimate line, “My poor soul screams out in the starlight, hear
breaks loose and rolls down like a stone.” Again, Mahon undermines Ismay’s version of events.
Any man still employing a gardener, as we learn in the middle section of the poem, does not
deserve to be considered in the same light as those who perished in an icy sea. His suggestion
that he is suffering as much does not carry any weight. By the time I read Ismay’s final word,
“Include me in your lamentations,” I had lost all sympathy for him and could see him only as a
delusional, self-obsessed
coward. Mahon has managed to give voice to a character while retaining control of our response
to the poem. This is achieved in part by his repeated use of I and my throughout the poem and
the almost complete disregard for genuine victims. Ismay’s selfishness is the abiding legacy of
the poem.

A very different historical character is explored in“Antarctica”. Captain Oates has long been
acknowledged as a paragon of courageous
selflessness. Mahon wisely uses Oates’ immortal line, “I am just going outside and may be some
time,” as the opening line of the poem, thus setting the tone for this memorial poem. Mahon’s
style is in particular evidence through the use of the villanelle form. As already mentioned, with
the exception of “Ecclesiastes”, most of Mahon’s poems are arranged in quite traditional, formal
ways. A villanelle is an extremely rigid form that limits both stanza length and rhyme options.
Despite these limitations, Mahon has constructed a poem that reads naturally and does not seem
forced. The strict formalities echo the limitations faced by the explorers on Scott’s expedition,
where Oates felt he had no option left but to sacrifice himself for the good of the team. His
overwhelming self-sacrifice is crystallised in the line, “At the heart of the ridiculous, the
sublime.” This line is repeated three times throughout the poem, forming a refrain. It is through
this refrain that we get our best understanding of Oates. To say, “I am just going outside,”
when sheltering from an Antarctic blizzard in a tent is, on the surface, ridiculous. However, his
true intention, and the self-effacing and prosaic way he announced it – protecting his
team-mates from having to acknowledge it – is truly sublime and the kind of act very few of us
would have the character for. I found it fascinating how Mahon was able to capture the
personality of two very different characters, neither of
whom he had any personal knowledge of, while still focusing on complex poetic forms and
thought-provoking images.

“Grandfather” represents a slight change in Mahon’s portrait poems. This time, it is a

much-loved family member to whom we are introduced. However, very little of Mahon’s own self
is revealed, in keeping with much of his other poetry. Again, a formal structure is used – the
sonnet –although, as with “Antarctica”, the structure enhances rather than overpowers the
content of the poem. The octet is quite literal. Mahon’s grandfather worked in the famous
Harland and Wolff shipyard in Belfast, but was “brought in on a stretcher”,
“wounded but humorous” after a workplace accident. The implication is that although “he soon
recovered” physically, mentally he reverted “to the landscape of a childhood.” Mahon’s skill at
capturing a personality in a few choice phrases is displayed in the second half of the octet
where we learn the grandfather is “up at six” “banging round the house like a four-year-old.” In
the sestet, a more nuanced analysis takes place. Mahon suggests, subtly as is always his way,
that the grandfather is alert to more than he admits. He is “as cute as they come” and has
“shrewd eyes”. The alliteration and assonance in these phrases helped to instil them in my mind
and greatly added to my understanding of the elderly man. It is in the final line of the poem
that Mahon brings together form and content to perfectly sum up his grandfather. “Nothing
escapes him; he escapes us all.” This is the only line in the poem that forms a complete sentence.
Between this, and its prominent position, it is clearly set out as the final word. It reinforces the
notion of voluntary senility that Mahon has been playing with in the sestet. The grandfather has
retreated into childlike behaviour as a way of avoiding his advancing years. With remarkably few
words, Mahon has given us a rich and multi-faceted portrait of a thought-provoking character.

different location is discussed in “Day Trip to Donegal”. The images of sunny days by the
seaside conjured by the title are misleading. Mahon uses the coastal area to begin a meditation
on the power of the sea. Donegal is described in painterly terms. We are told that “the nearby
hills were a deeper green than anywhere in the world”. The contentment felt in these lines is
almost immediately retracted, however, when Mahon notes that the hills made “the grave grey
of the sea the grimmer.” This strong alliteration and assonance puts great emphasis on the
darker aspects of the scenery, and prepares us for the image of the sea he will create through
the poem. The second stanza forms a snapshot of local life. Again, a certain melancholy is
evident. The freshly caught fish writhe “in attitudes of agony and heartbreak”.I wondered if
Mahon was suggesting that the native people of the area are suffering similar heartbreak?

The remaining three stanzas focus on the return from Donegal and the impression it has made
on Mahon. Although the sea receded “down each muddy lane” as they “changed down into
suburbs”, Mahon finds he cannot disconnect himself from the draw of the ocean: “That night
the slow sea washed against my head.” This is not a calming experience. There is a “threat to
villages of landfall” and in the final stanza Mahon becomes almost overwhelmed by a feeling of
isolation. He dreamt he “was alone far out to sea” and cursed his “constant failure to take due
forethought for this.” In the final line, the wind and rain are described as “vindictive”. This is a
remarkable way to conclude a poem that began as a day trip to the seaside. Mahon has again
displayed his ability to use an everyday landscape as a means to discuss complex ideas.

Mahon’s poetry is characterised by a sense of detachment and an unwillingness to speak from a

particularly personal point of view. Instead, he focuses on capturing, through his skilful use of
images and word-combinations, a variety of fascinating people and places. Occasionally, we can
glean glimpses of his personal attitudes, but the poems never become confessional. I personally
found this somewhat refreshing after being immersed in the extremely confessional work of
Sylvia Plath. I enjoyed experiencing a poet who was as comfortable writing about a long-dead
explorer as a day trip he had taken himself.