Hi every one, What do you think of these two poems as seperate pieces and in relation to one another, I am studying Heaney and think he's great. I like to just discuss with people rather than to read critical work too much, bit more freedom. So if anyone would like to comment, criticise and state your opinion, go for it!
Punishment .......... Exposure
I can feel the tug __.__ It is December in Wicklow:
of the halter at the nape . Alders dripping, birches
of her neck, the wind . Inheriting the last light,
on her naked front. . The ash tree cold to look at.
It blows her nipples __.__ A comet that was lost
to amber beads, __.__ Should be visible at sunset,
it shakes the frail rigging . Those million tons of light
of her ribs. . Like a glimmer of haws and rose-hips,
I can see her drowned __.__ And I sometimes see a falling star.
body in the bog, __.__ If I could come on meteorite!
the weighing stone, . Instead I walk through damp leaves,
the floating rods and boughs. . Husks, the spent flukes of autumn,
Under which at first __.__ Imagining a hero
she was a barked sapling __.__ On some muddy compound,
that is dug up . His gift like a slingstone
oak-bone, brain-firkin: . Whirled for the desperate.
her shaved head __.__ How did I end up like this?
like a stubble of black corn, __.__ I often think of my friends'
her blindfold a soiled bandage, . Beautiful prismatic counselling
her noose a rin . And the anvil brains of some who hate me
to store __.__ As I sit weighing and weighing
the memories of love. __.__ My responsible tristia.
Little adulteress, . For what? For the ear? For the people?
before they punished you . For what is said behind-backs?
you were flaxen-haried, __.__ Rain comes down through the alders,
undernourished, and your __.__ Its low conductive voices
tar-black dace was beautiful. . Mutter about let-downs and erosions
My poor scapegoat, . And yet each drop recalls
I almost love you __.__ The diamond absolutes.
but would have cast, I know, __.__ I am neither internee nor informer;
the stones of silence. . An inner émigré, grown long-haired
I am the artful voyeur . And thoughtful; a wood-kerne
of your brain's exposed __.__ Escaped from the massacre,
and darkened combs, __.__ Taking protective colouring
your muscles' webbing . From bole and bark, feeling
and all your numbered bones: . Every wind that blows;
I who have stood dumb __.__ Who, blowing up these sparks
when your betraying sisters, __.__ For their meagre heat, have missed
cauled in tar, . The once-in-a-lifetime portent,
wept by the railings, . The comet's pulsing rose.
who would connive
in civilized outrage
yet understand the exact
and tribal, intimate revenge.
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