Charting an Uncertain Flight Path: Irish Writers and the Question of Nation, Identity, and Literature

Abstract

THE COMPAnATIST CHARTING AN UNCERTAIN FLIGHT PATH: IRISH WRITERS AND THE QUESTION OF NATION, IDENTITY, AND LITERATURE Michael R. Molino Recently, Seamus Heaney published a poem dedicated to the British poet Donald Davie, with whom Heaney has had a long-term, public correspondence on such topics as the abiding influence of tradition, the debilitating impact ofcolonialism, and the indelible mark ofone'spatria. Heaney's poem, entitled "The Flight Path," continues a preoccupation with transitions, passageways, and movement through space that has recurred in much of his later poetry. The poem, divided into eight numbered sections, directly addresses Davie only in one short, acerbic section in which the exchanges and barbs between the two poets receive a quick and intolerant précis: 'Tour 'Ireland of the Bombers.' Your yes and no/ And praises and dispraises and poems to me./ Your Royal Navy Days. Your TCD./ England your England. Low Church. High ground. Heigho!" (5). This less than collégial sentiment has its roots in Davie's earlier claim that what some disparagingly call British colonialism is in fact "the utilitarian logic of 'the greatest good of the greatest number'" and that the people who employ this logic speak not the "language ofthe master race but the language of international philanthropy, the language of 'concerned' and enlightened liberalism, of social engineering" ("Poet: Patriot: Interpreter" 34).' The rest of"The Flight Path" explores the problem facing many postcolonial writers—that is, the seemingly inevitable dichotomy of us us. them, oppressor us. oppressed, Irish vs. British. Such a dichotomy retains the old hierarchy in which one of the two sides takes precedence over the other, leading to paralysis as vestiges ofold antagonisms and identities codify. Moving past this dichotomy forces writers to discover some "liminal space"—some form of "transculturation" or "contact zone" between cultures, to borrow Mary Louise Pratt's terms—that is not based either upon the dichotomy of colonizer/colonized or upon the exclusionary ideologies propounded by resurgent nationalists. Heaney has been concerned with such liminal spaces for a good portion of his career—exploring in the process, for example, the way language, dialect, and word-play undermine exclusive senses of self and nation typically articulated in both colonial and nationalist discourses.3 Continuing with this preoccupation, Heaney begins "The Flight Path" with the image ofa paper boat folded and produced as ifby magic by his father's hand, a fragile vessel that holds out the prospect of some kind ofjourney or passageway: The first fold first, then more foldovers drawn Tighter and neater every time until Vol. 20 (1996): 41 IRISH WRITERS: NATION, IDENTITY & LITERATURE The whole ofthe paper got itselfreduced To a pleated square he'd take up by two corners And hold like a promise he had the power to break But never did. A dove rose in my breast Whenever my father's hands came clean apart With a paper boat between them, ark in air, The lines of it as taut as a pegged tent; High-sided, splayed, the little pyramid At the center every bit as hollow As a part ofme that sank because it knew The whole thing would go soggy once you launched it. (5) The image ofthe boat created by the father's hand offers the hope of safe passage, an ark carrying all through the storm. Likewise, the dove of peace, the voice of God descending upon Christ as he begins his calling with baptism, suggests more than just hope, but the potential for lasting spiritual reconciliation—all based upon a promise that could be but never would be broken. But even the young child realizes that this small ark will take on water, become saturated, and ultimately fail in its voyage when put to the test. In subsequent sections, Heaney demonstrates through example why the young chüd foresaw the future ofthat boat so accurately. The stories that follow in sections four and five, for example, reveal the trap that a writer even of Heaney's stature cannot escape. The stories are introduced with a terse statement delivered in the disinterested tone of legal discourse, as if the poet must defend himself before a tribunal: "The following for the record...