Seamus Heaney

(8 PM – promoted by TheMomCat)

Seamus died on Friday.  I honestly enjoyed his translation of Beowulf, wherein he welded the monkey wrenches of English together.  I don’t have time to find his grave words from the introduction of that text, wherein he describes the vague menace at the border “from Grendel,” but it’s a beautiful figure of speech relevant to our time. I don’t give a fig whether or not he was greater than Yeats.  How would I know?   But this was truly a great one, from 2002, both didactic and beautiful:


First he was shivering on the shore in skins

Or hunkering behind shell-middens in a cave.

Then he took up oars, put tackle on a mast,

And steered himself by the stars through gales.

Once upon a time from the womb of earth

The gods were born and he bowed down

To worship them. Then he walked tall

From temple to agora, talking against himself.

The wind is no more swift or mysterious

Than his mind and words; he has mastered thinking,

Roofed his house against hail and rain,

And worked out laws for living together.

Homemaker, thought-taker, measure of all things,

He survives every danger except death

And will yield to nothing else. Nothing

Else, good or evil, is beyond him.

When truth is the treadle of his loom

And justice the shuttle, all due honor

Will come his way. But let him once

Overbear or overstep

What the city allows, treat law

As something he can decide for himself –

Then let this marvel of the world remember:

When he comes begging we will turn our backs.

–Seamus Heaney

Seamus Heaney is dead, amidst the countless dying generations of fish, flesh, and fowl, and the mercury sank again in the mouth of a dying day.

best wishes.

1 comment

  1. Compound F

    the rest of you have terrible taste in poetry!  Egads!  I have yet to build my “safe-room” against you ruffians, so have at it while you can.

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