Seamus Heaney has died


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Thread: Seamus Heaney has died

  1. #1

    Seamus Heaney has died

    Another of the greats has left us - RIP Seamus Heaney.
    A man in possession of a wooden spoon must be in want of a pot to stir.

  2. #2
    I am amazed that the death of Seamus Heaney has elicited no comment at all.
    A man in possession of a wooden spoon must be in want of a pot to stir.

  3. #3
    The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
    Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
    Through living roots awaken in my head.
    But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.
    Between my finger and my thumb
    The squat pen rests.
    I’ll dig with it.


    This is what we do, yes? We dig with our squat pen, so to speak.
    There is no life I know
    To compare with pure imagination.
    Living there you’ll be free
    If you truly wish to be.~ Willy Wonka

  4. #4
    St Kevin and the Blackbird

    And then there was St Kevin and the blackbird.
    The saint is kneeling, arms stretched out, inside
    His cell, but the cell is narrow, so

    One turned-up palm is out the window, stiff
    As a crossbeam, when a blackbird lands
    And lays in it and settles down to nest.

    Kevin feels the warm eggs, the small breast, the tucked
    Neat head and claws and, finding himself linked
    Into the network of eternal life,

    Is moved to pity: now he must hold his hand
    Like a branch out in the sun and rain for weeks
    Until the young are hatched and fledged and flown.

    *

    And since the whole thing’s imagined anyhow,
    Imagine being Kevin. Which is he?
    Self-forgetful or in agony all the time

    From neck on out down through his hurting forearms?
    Are his fingers sleeping? Does he still feel his knees?
    Or has the shut-eyed blank of underearth

    Crept up through him? Is there distance in his head?
    Alone and mirrored clear in love’s deep river,
    ‘To labour and not to seek reward,’ he prays,

    A prayer his body makes entirely
    For he has forgotten self, forgotten bird
    And on the riverbank forgotten the river’s name.

    * One of my favouritte Heaney poems. I have love his work since the late 70's. If you haven't already track down his selected prose book Finders Keepers. Read North... He was a great. RIP Seamus Heaney

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