Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Derek Mahon’s "Ecclesiastes" is a sardonic reflection on religious puritanism, political rhetoric, and the emotional barrenness that accompanies both. The title refers to the biblical Book of Ecclesiastes, a text famous for its themes of vanity, impermanence, and disillusionment with worldly pursuits. Yet Mahon’s poem does not seek wisdom through existential resignation; rather, it critiques a specific form of self-denial—the rigid, austere mentality that rejects joy, beauty, and human connection in favor of a cold, ascetic certainty.

The poem’s second-person perspective creates a tone of ironic address, as if the speaker is advising—or mocking—a figure who aspires to a life of puritanical righteousness. The opening lines set the tone: “God, you could grow to love it, God-fearing, / God-chosen purist little puritan.” The repetition of “God” is ambiguous; it could be a genuine invocation, an exclamation of exasperation, or a deliberate mimicry of religious fervor. The phrase “purist little puritan” is particularly cutting—condescending yet precise in its depiction of someone who has embraced a bleak, restrictive worldview.

Mahon evokes the grimness of this existence through a series of desolate images: “the dank churches, the empty streets, the shipyard silence, the tied-up swings.” These are images of stasis and abandonment, of places where life has either retreated or been actively suppressed. The “tied-up swings” are especially poignant—they suggest not just physical emptiness but an intentional curtailing of childhood joy. This world, Mahon implies, is not one of profound spiritual enlightenment but one of self-imposed isolation, a deliberate rejection of warmth and connection.

The poem builds on this critique, suggesting that the puritan figure “shelter[s] [his] cold heart from the heat / of the world.” The “heat of the world” could symbolize passion, desire, or engagement with human suffering—all things this persona avoids. The phrase “woman-inquisition” suggests both the fear of female presence and a broader aversion to emotional complexity, while “the bright eyes of children” reinforces the idea of a mentality that cannot tolerate innocence or joy. Instead, the figure Mahon describes embraces a life of rigid discipline: “wear black, drink water, nourish a fierce zeal / with locusts and wild honey.” This ascetic diet—echoing John the Baptist—symbolizes a rejection of earthly pleasures, a desire to strip life down to its most basic, joyless necessities.

Mahon's tone grows increasingly scornful as he depicts the transformation of this puritanical figure into a prophet or demagogue. “Not / feel called upon to understand and forgive / but only to speak with a bleak / afflatus.” The word “afflatus” (meaning divine inspiration) is key—this person does not seek to engage with the world but instead assumes a lofty, untouchable position, delivering pronouncements without compassion. The word “bleak” reinforces the hollowness of this role. The imagery of January rains darkening doorways, sinking into graves, and soaking the landscape suggests that this worldview is not just bleak but funereal, as if this mindset presides over a living death.

As the poem moves toward its climax, Mahon presents a decisive contrast between this puritanical existence and the potential for a different kind of life. “Bury that red / bandana and stick, that banjo.” These objects—the red bandana (perhaps a symbol of youthful rebellion or working-class identity), the banjo (a symbol of music and festivity)—represent spontaneity, creativity, and life’s pleasures. The directive to “bury” them suggests that the persona has chosen to forsake these joys in favor of a self-righteous, controlling role.

In the final lines, Mahon’s satire sharpens as he presents the ultimate consequence of this puritanical transformation: the figure becomes a leader, not through wisdom but through sheer rhetoric and the credulity of his followers. “This is your / country, close one eye and be king.” The image of “closing one eye” suggests willful blindness, an ability to ignore nuance, contradiction, or doubt. The “credulous people” whose “heavy washing / flaps for you in the housing estates” are not portrayed as eager participants in this worldview but as passive, awaiting a leader. The phrase “stand on a corner stiff / with rhetoric, promising nothing under the sun” finalizes Mahon’s condemnation. The leader does not offer solutions, hope, or genuine insight—only empty words, spoken with rigid conviction.

Mahon’s "Ecclesiastes" is a critique of the type of figure who, in rejecting the world’s pleasures and complexities, positions himself as a moral or spiritual authority. It is also a broader satire on the Irish context, where religious and political dogma have often been intertwined. The poem warns of the dangers of self-righteous austerity, suggesting that those who cut themselves off from love, laughter, and understanding do not become wiser or holier—they simply become isolated, embittered, and ultimately hollow.

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