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Seamus Heaney, Requiescat in Pace.

31 August 2013

The Irish poet, Seamus Heaney died this week. Surely his poetry will be remembered long after him.

 

Personal Helicon

 

As a child, they could not keep me from wells
And old pumps with buckets and windlasses.
I loved the dark drop, the trapped sky, the smells
Of waterweed, fungus and dank moss.

One, in a brickyard, with a rotted board top.
I savoured the rich crash when a bucket
Plummeted down at the end of a rope.
So deep you saw no reflection in it.

A shallow one under a dry stone ditch
Fructified like any aquarium.
When you dragged out long roots from the soft mulch
A white face hovered over the bottom.

Others had echoes, gave back your own call
With a clean new music in it. And one
Was scaresome, for there, out of ferns and tall
Foxgloves, a rat slapped across my reflection.

Now, to pry into roots, to finger slime,
To stare, big-eyed Narcissus, into some spring
Is beneath all adult dignity. I rhyme
To see myself, to set the darkness echoing.

Seamus Heaney

More here, and here, and here.

Seamus Heaney

One Comment leave one →
  1. 31 August 2013 11:19 am

    There are poets as yet unborn who will read this piece. Well picked, thank you.

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