Paul Muldoon was born in 1951 in County Armagh, Northern Ireland, and educated in Armagh and at the Queen’s University of Belfast. From 1973 to 1986 he worked in Belfast as a radio and television producer for the British Broadcasting Corporation. Since 1987 he has lived in the United States, where he is now Howard G. B. Clark ’21 Professor in the Humanities at Princeton University. In 1999 he was elected Professor of Poetry at the University of Oxford. Paul Muldoon’s main collections of poetry are New Weather (1973), Mules (1977), Why Brownlee Left (1980), Quoof (1983), Meeting The British (1987), Madoc: A Mystery (1990), The Annals of Chile (1994), Hay (1998), Poems 1968-1998 (2001) and Moy Sand and Gravel (2002), for which he won the 2003 Pulitzer Prize.
A Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature and the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, Paul Muldoon was given an American Academy of Arts and Letters award in literature for 1996. Other recent awards are the 1994 T. S. Eliot Prize, the 1997 Irish Times Poetry Prize, the 2003 Griffin International Prize for Excellence in Poetry, and the 2004 Shakespeare Prize. He has been described by The Times Literary Supplement as “the most significant English-language poet born since the second World War.”
Joseph Avery stranded just above Niagara Falls. Daguerreotype by Platt Babbitt
I.
ALL night long they heard in the houses beside the shore,
Heard, or seemed to hear, through the multitudinous roar,
Out of the hell of the rapids as ‘t were a lost soul’s cries, —
Heard and could not believe; and the morning mocked their eyes,
Showing, where wildest and fiercest the waters leaped up and ran
Raving round him and past, the visage of a man
Clinging, or seeming to cling, to the trunk of a tree that, caught
Fast in the rocks below, scarce out of the surges raught.
Was it a life, could it be, to yon slender hope that clung ?
Shrill, above all the tumult the answering terror rung.
II.
Under the weltering rapids a boat from the bridge is drowned,
Over the rocks the lines of another are tangled and wound ;
And the long, fateful hours of the morning have wasted soon,
As it had been in some blessed trance, and now it is noon.
Hurry, now with the raft ! But O, build it strong and stanch,
And to the lines and treacherous rocks look well as you launch!
Over the foamy tops of the waves, and their foam-sprent sides,
Over the hidden reefs, and through the embattled tides,
Onward rushes the raft, with many a lurch and leap,
Lord ! if it strike him loose from the hold he scarce can keep !
No ! through all peril unharmed, it reaches him harmless at last,
And to its proven strength he lashes his weakness fast.
Now, for the shore ! But steady, steady, my men, and slow ;
Taut, now, the quivering lines ; now slack ; and so, let her go !
Thronging the shores around stand the pitying multitude ;
Wan as his own are their looks, and a nightmare seems to brood
Heavy upon them, and heavy the silence hangs on all,
Save for the rapids’ plunge, and the thunder of the fall.
But on a sudden thrills from the people still and pale,
Chorussing his unheard despair, a desperate wail :
Caught on a lurking point of rock it sways and swings,
Sport of the pitiless waters, the raft to which he clings.
III.
All the long afternoon it idly swings and sways ;
And on the shore the crowd lifts up its hands and prays :
Lifts to heaven and wrings the hands so helpless to save,
Prays for the mercy of God on him whom the rock and the wave
Battle for, fettered betwixt them, and who, amidst their strife,
Struggles to help his helpers, and fights so hard for his life, —
Tugging at rope and at reef, while men weep and women swoon.
Priceless second by second, so wastes the afternoon,
And it is sunset now ; and another boat and the last
Down to him from the bridge through the rapids has safely passed.
IV.
Wild through the crowd comes flying a man that nothing can stay,
Maddening against the gate that is locked athwart his way.
“No ! we keep the bridge for them that can help him. You,
Tell us, who are you ? ” “His brother ! ” “God help you both ! Pass through.”
Wild, with wide arms of imploring he calls aloud to him,
Unto the face of his brother, scarce seen in the distance dim ;
But in the roar of the rapids his fluttering words are lost
As in a wind of autumn the leaves of autumn are tossed.
And from the bridge he sees his brother sever the rope
Holding him to the raft, and rise secure in his hope ;
Sees all as in a dream the terrible pageantry, —
Populous shores, the woods, the sky, the birds flying free ;
Sees, then, the form, — that, spent with effort and fasting and fear,
Flings itself feebly and fails of the boat that is lying so near, —
Caught in the long-baffled clutch of the rapids, and rolled and hurled
Headlong on to the cataract’s brink, and out of the world.
Source: William Dean Howells. Poems. Boston: J. R. Osgood and Company, 1873
Also published in Myron T. Pritchard, (comp.) Poetry of Niagara. Boston: Lothrop Publishing Co., 1901.
Also published in Johnson, Richard L. (ed). Niagara: Its History, Incidents and Poetry. Washington: Walter Neale General Book Publisher, 1898
Peace and perpetual quiet are around, Upon the erect and dusky file of stems, Sustaining yon far roof, expelling sound, Through which the sky sparkles (a rain of gems Lost in the forest’s depth of shade), the sun At times doth shoot an arrow of pure gold, Flecking majestic trunks with hues of dun, Veining their barks with silver, and betraying Secret initials tied in true love knots; Of hearts no longer through green alleys straying, But stifled in the world’s distasteful grots. The silence in monastic, save in spots Where heaves a glimmer of uncertain light, And rich wild tones enchant the woodland night.
Source: Myron T. Pritchard, comp. Poetry of Niagara. Boston: Lothrop Publishing, 1901.
Also published in Johnson, Richard L. (ed). Niagara: Its History, Incidents and Poetry. Washington: Walter Neale General Book Publisher, 1898.
BORIS GLIKMAN is a writer, poet and philosopher from Melbourne, Australia. The biggest
influences on his writing are dreams, Kafka and Borges. His stories, poems
and non-fiction articles have been published in various online and print
publications, as well as being featured on national radio and other radio programs. His writings can be found on his blog:https://bozlich.wordpress.com/
‡‡‡‡Lo Niagara! down the depth profound Plunges thy broad and mighty gleaming flood, Fed by vast lakes, in symbol union bound. On Table Rock, now fall’n, in youth I stood Gazing on all the scene in rapt’rous mood. There, at my level, the majestic stream O’er long curv’d cliff, with ample plentitude, Begins its stoop in reg’lar bending gleam; Then falls till shape is lost in foam and misty steam.
‡‡‡‡ Perched on thin leaf of overhanging rock, I venture to the edge and look below; I see the eddying depth; and feel the shock, The shore all trembling at the earthquake blow. Ah, what if sudden dizziness should grow, As, at Passaic cliff, in her who fell? Or what if shock my foothold ledge o’erthrow, And to abyss I sink with loosen’d shell? The solitary fate no tongue could tell.
‡‡‡‡ But though no brother man with me did stand, Yet God was there who scooped the basin wide And poured the flood out from his hollow hand, Yet God was there, whose voice on ev’ry side Issued in thunders from the angry tide, Yet God was there, the cloud-built arch to rear, With mingled hues of beauteous brightness dyed, Symbol once caused o’er wider flood t’appear, Blest pledge of earth’s escape from destiny severe.
‡‡‡‡ Stand here, mortal presumptuous! and say — While ear is stunn’d with torrent’s ceaseless roar, And solid rocks do tremble with dismay — Cannot God’s hand the flood of vengeance pour, To sweep the proud, where they will boast no more? Let warring tribes this voice of thunder hear, And hush their rage, lest whirlpool wrath devour! Christian! the bow of promise shines forth clear, And thou mayst smile secure, when earth shall quake with fear.
Written in 1856.
Source: Myron T. Pritchard, comp. Poetry of Niagara. Boston: Lothrop Publishing Co., 1901
