Heaney's poems?

[WaRm-IcE]

Hello every body , I'm back!
with a Q about Mr Heaney! :nod:

Does any one knows what are the poems that contain or give SEAMUS HEANEY's view of what ART is for him or how he does define POETRY in certain imagery>>>>> like his first poem DIGGING'???he puts it clearly that poetry or the role of art in general is a kind of excavation and digging for finds hidden things that grants tha present and the future its continuity. He refers to the process of writing poetry as an archeological process!
can find anny one that knows other poems that clarifies this or other notions of the poet either it is found implicitly or explicity in his poems?

thanx :cool:

[mono]

Hello, Warm-Ice, welcome to the forum.
Unfortunately, I do not feel too familiar with a lot of Seamus Heaney's poetry, but I did a bit of browsing, and could not find too much, I admit (mainly because I have read only little of his work).
This poem, 'Casualty,' has a few mentions of his poetry, but I do not know if it will help:

Casualty

I

He would drink by himself
And raise a weathered thumb
Towards the high shelf,
Calling another rum
And blackcurrant, without
Having to raise his voice,
Or order a quick stout
By a lifting of the eyes
And a discreet dumb-show
Of pulling off the top;
At closing time would go
In waders and peaked cap
Into the showery dark,
A dole-kept breadwinner
But a natural for work.
I loved his whole manner,
Sure-footed but too sly,
His deadpan sidling tact,
His fisherman's quick eye
And turned observant back.

Incomprehensible
To him, my other life.
Sometimes on the high stool,
Too busy with his knife
At a tobacco plug
And not meeting my eye,
In the pause after a slug
He mentioned poetry.
We would be on our own
And, always politic
And shy of condescension,
I would manage by some trick
To switch the talk to eels
Or lore of the horse and cart
Or the Provisionals.

But my tentative art
His turned back watches too:
He was blown to bits
Out drinking in a curfew
Others obeyed, three nights
After they shot dead
The thirteen men in Derry.
PARAS THIRTEEN, the walls said,
BOGSIDE NIL. That Wednesday
Everyone held
His breath and trembled.

II

It was a day of cold
Raw silence, wind-blown
Surplice and soutane:
Rained-on, flower-laden
Coffin after coffin
Seemed to float from the door
Of the packed cathedral
Like blossoms on slow water.
The common funeral
Unrolled its swaddling band,
Lapping, tightening
Till we were braced and bound
Like brothers in a ring.

But he would not be held
At home by his own crowd
Whatever threats were phoned,
Whatever black flags waved.
I see him as he turned
In that bombed offending place,
Remorse fused with terror
In his still knowable face,
His cornered outfaced stare
Blinding in the flash.

He had gone miles away
For he drank like a fish
Nightly, naturally
Swimming towards the lure
Of warm lit-up places,
The blurred mesh and murmur
Drifting among glasses
In the gregarious smoke.
How culpable was he
That last night when he broke
Our tribe's complicity?
'Now, you're supposed to be
An educated man,'
I hear him say. 'Puzzle me
The right answer to that one.'

III

I missed his funeral,
Those quiet walkers
And sideways talkers
Shoaling out of his lane
To the respectable
Purring of the hearse...
They move in equal pace
With the habitual
Slow consolation
Of a dawdling engine,
The line lifted, hand
Over fist, cold sunshine
On the water, the land
Banked under fog: that morning
I was taken in his boat,
The screw purling, turning
Indolent fathoms white,
I tasted freedom with him.
To get out early, haul
Steadily off the bottom,
Dispraise the catch, and smile
As you find a rhythm
Working you, slow mile by mile,
Into your proper haunt
Somewhere, well out, beyond...

Dawn-sniffing revenant,
Plodder through midnight rain,
Question me again.
Ugh, I apologize, as I could only find this, among many skimmed poems. Can anyone else help? :)

[Nightshade]

ok this is just to remind me to answer this thread when I get back from work this evening Im pretty sure I still have my GCSE notes on heaney and art.

:D

[WaRm-IcE]

O thanx Mono 4 ur effort I appreciate that http://www.postsmile.com/img/emotions/82.gif


smily Nightshade thank u too>>>> http://www.postsmile.com/img/emotions/97.gif

I appreciate any kind of help from you friends !!

waiting...http://www.postsmile.com/img/emotions/113.gif

[Mrs. Dalloway]

I think in Digging he's talking about his father's / grandpa's job like a traditional job. He admires that and he also tries keeping those traditions by writing instead of digging.

[Niamh]

Hello every body , I'm back!
with a Q about Mr Heaney! :nod:

Does any one knows what are the poems that contain or give SEAMUS HEANEY's view of what ART is for him or how he does define POETRY in certain imagery>>>>> like his first poem DIGGING'???he puts it clearly that poetry or the role of art in general is a kind of excavation and digging for finds hidden things that grants tha present and the future its continuity. He refers to the process of writing poetry as an archeological process!
can find anny one that knows other poems that clarifies this or other notions of the poet either it is found implicitly or explicity in his poems?

thanx :cool:

Did you try 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.

[dramasnot6]

Would anybody be interested if i started a discussion thread on Heaney?

[Niamh]

its a very good idea. I'm sure a few people would join in.:thumbs_up

[quasimodo1]

The Nobel Prize in Literature 1995"for works of lyrical beauty and ethical depth, which exalt everyday miracles and the living past"

[quasimodo1]

http://almaz.com/nobel/literature/1995a.html A warehouse of great information about this poet. quasimodo1

[dramasnot6]

I didn't know that! Thanks quasi!

[Niamh]

Heaney was our 4th nobel prize winner for lit. and is well deserving!

[Mrs. Dalloway]

Heaney was our 4th nobel prize winner for lit. and is well deserving!

Are you Irish, Niamh? :thumbs_up :D

[Niamh]

Are you Irish, Niamh? :thumbs_up :D

Yeah i'm Irish. Born and raised in Dublin.:p

[quasimodo1]

Poetry by Seamus Heaney

Lightenings viii
The annals say: when the monks of Clonmacnoise
Were all at prayers inside the oratory
A ship appeared above them in the air.

The anchor dragged along behind so deep
It hooked itself into the altar rails
And then, as the big hull rocked to a standstill,

A crewman shinned and grappled down the rope
And struggled to release it. But in vain.
'This man can't bear our life here and will drown,'

The abbot said, 'unless we help him.' So
They did, the freed ship sailed, and the man climbed back
Out of the marvellous as he had known it.



Seamus Heaney – Selected Poems by Seamus Heaney
From "Seeing Things", 1991