Seamus Heaney (1939-2013)

[johncorrigan]

Seamus' birthday today. I was reading 'Electric Light' when I was out in the Hebrides this past week and was once again moved by this poem. I have often thought through the years about lost conversations I had with friends in the long ago...and, of course, Seamus covers it better than anyone.

The Gaeltacht

I wish, mon vieux, that you and Barlo and I
Were back in Rossguill, on the Atlantic Drive,
And that it was again nineteen-sixty
And Barlo was alive

And Paddy Joe and Chips Rafferty and Dicky
Were there talking Irish, for I believe
in that case Aiobheann Marren and Margaret Conway
And M. and M. and Deirdrie Morton and Niamh

Would be there as well. And it would be great too
If we could see ourselves, if the people we are now
Could hear what we were saying, and if this sonnet

In imitation of Dante's, where he's set free
In a boat with Lapo and Guido, with their girlfriends in it,
Could be the wildtrack of our gabble above the sea.

Seamus Heaney

[Padraig]

Seamus' birthday today. I was reading 'Electric Light' when I was out in the Hebrides this past week and was once again moved by this poem. I have often thought through the years about lost conversations I had with friends in the long ago...and, of course, Seamus covers it better than anyone.

The Gaeltacht

I wish, mon vieux, that you and Barlo and I
Were back in Rossguill, on the Atlantic Drive,
And that it was again ninetween-sixty
And Barlo was alive

And Paddy Joe and Chips Rafferty and Dicky
Were there talking Irish, for I believe
in that case Aiobheann Marren and Margaret Conway
And M. and M. and Deirdrie Morton and Niamh

Would be there as well. And it would be great too
If we could see ourselves, if the people we are now
Could hear what we were saying, and if this sonnet

In imitation of Dante's, where he's set free
In a boat with Lapo and Guido, with their girlfriends in it,
Could be the wildtrack of our gabble above the sea.

Seamus Heaney

There's little to add to this, John. Heaney simply says it so well. I bought The Divine Comedy on the strength of getting to know a bit about Lapo and Guido, who in the poem were 'mon vieux' and Heaney himself, I believe. I did not know any of the girls, but I can tell you that 'mon vieux' and Paddy Joe died some years ago, and Dicky died only last year. There are one or two survivors of them. All those young men and women in the poem belonged to the Irish-speaking enthusiasts long before the language became an issue. I knew many of them though I was an outsider then and only came to the language quite recently. They all went to the Donegal Gaeltacht during the summer holidays to improve their Irish, and to socialise with like minded people and the native speakers. Heaney obviously drew those days into his soul and, with Barlo as trigger, could bring them back to remind himself and us of youthful and passing joys. He got you too, John.

[DracoM]

[johncorrigan]

There's little to add to this, John. Heaney simply says it so well. I bought The Divine Comedy on the strength of getting to know a bit about Lapo and Guido, who in the poem were 'mon vieux' and Heaney himself, I believe. I did not know any of the girls, but I can tell you that 'mon vieux' and Paddy Joe died some years ago, and Dicky died only last year. There are one or two survivors of them. All those young men and women in the poem belonged to the Irish-speaking enthusiasts long before the language became an issue. I knew many of them though I was an outsider then and only came to the language quite recently. They all went to the Donegal Gaeltacht during the summer holidays to improve their Irish, and to socialise with like minded people and the native speakers. Heaney obviously drew those days into his soul and, with Barlo as trigger, could bring them back to remind himself and us of youthful and passing joys. He got you too, John.

He sure did, Padraig. Thanks for your terrific post which adds even more to the power of Heaney's words.

By the way, I notice that on the eve of his birthday the new PEN Heaney prize for poetry was launched which will aim to recognise outstanding poetry with a focus on social engagement.
https://www.rte.ie/news/ireland/2024...0English%20PEN.

[johncorrigan]

Here's the link to a review of 'The Letters of Seamus Heaney' from the London Review of Books'.

https://www.lrb.co.uk/the-paper/v46/n08/john-kerrigan/wobbly-i-am

[Padraig]

In memoriam Seamus Heaney

d 30 August 2013

The Riverbank Field
after Virgil, Aeneid, vi, 704 -15, 748 - 51

Ask me to translate what Loeb gives as
'In a retired vale. .. a sequestered grove'
And I'll confound the Lethe in Moyola

By coming through Back Park down from Grove Hill
Across Long Rigs to the riverbank -
Which way, by happy chance, will take me past

The domo placidas, 'those peaceful homes'
Of Upper Broagh. Moths then on evening water
It would have to be, not bees in sunlight,

Midge veils instead of lily beds; but stet
To all the rest: the willow leaves
Elysian-silvered, the grass so fully fledged

And unimprinted it can't not conjure thoughts
Of passing spirit troops, anima, quibus altera fato
Corpora debentur, 'spirits' that is,

'To whom second bodies are owed by fate'.
And now to continue, as enjoined to often,
'In my own words':

'All these presences
Once they have rolled time's wheel a thousand years
Are summoned here to drink the river water
So that memories of this underworld are shed
And soul is longing to dwell in flesh and blood
Under the dome of the sky'.


Seamus Heaney Human Chain 2010

[johncorrigan]

An Ulster Twilight

The bare bulb, a scatter of nails,
Shelved timber, glinting chisels:
In a shed of corrugated iron
Eric Dawson stoops to his plane
At five o'clock on a Christmas Eve.
Carpenter's pencil next, the spoke-shave,
Fretsaw, auger, rasp and awl,
A rub with a rag of linseed oil.
A mile away it was taking shape,
The hulk of a toy battleship,
As waterbuckets iced and frost
Hardened the quiet on roof and post.
Where is he now?
There were fifteen years between us two
That night I strained to hear the bells
Of a sleigh of the mind and heard him pedal
Into our lane, get off at the gable,
Steady his Raleigh bicycle
Against the whitewash, stand to make sure
The house was quiet, knock at the door
And hand his parcel to a peering woman:
`I suppose you thought I was never coming.'
Eric, tonight I saw it all
Like shadows on your workshop wall,
Smelled wood shavings under the bench,
Weighed the cold steel monkey-wrench
In my soft hand, then stood at the road
To watch your wavering tail-light fade
And knew that if we met again
In an Ulster twilight we would begin
And end whatever we might say
In a speech all toys and carpentry,
A doorstep courtesy to shun
Your father's uniform and gun,
But -- now that I have said it out --
Maybe none the worse for that.

Seamus Heaney