‘Clearances that suddenly stood open…’
Seamus Heaney died three years ago today and the world lost one of its greatest poets.
In memory of his passing, here is one of my favourite passages from his poem Clearances.
When all the others were away at Mass
I was all hers as we peeled potatoes.
They broke the silence, let fall one by one
Like solder weeping off the soldering iron:
Cold comforts set between us, things to share
Gleaming in a bucket of clean water.
And again let fall. Little pleasant splashes
From each other’s work would bring us to our senses.
So while the parish priest at her bedside
Went hammer and tongs at the prayers for the dying
And some were responding and some crying
I remembered her head bent towards my head,
Her breath in mine, our fluent dipping knives—
Never closer the whole rest of our lives.
Irish Literature clearances irish literature poetry seamus heaney
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I will miss that foremost Irish poet. I remember studying his translation of Beowulf at university–that’s when I first knew about him. He will be missed…
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He will indeed Miguel.
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Wonderful Cathy, thanks for sharing. I can’t believe it’s 3 years already. He left so much wonderful work behind, thankfully.
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I know, such an incredible voice. This poem brings me to tears every time.
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His poetry lives on and will continue to do so for many generations, I am sure. Thanks for sharing this.
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Thanks for reminding us.
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He is one of my favorite poets; his poems exhibit a rare talent and his subject matter was unique as well.
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Reblogged this on Richmond Hill Reading @ The Roebuck and commented:
As the holiday season comes to an end, a short piece by the incomparable Seamus Heaney. (one of our first posts – Nov 2013 – is 5 wide-ranging essays on his work)
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I need to read more Heaney. I need to read more poetry in general! This was lovely.
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Thanks Laila!
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I adore Heaney; he is one of the only contemporary poets that I read and enjoyed. Look for his book of poems entitled Bottoming Out.
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Thank you!
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You’ve chosen one of my favourite Heaney poems. It has such understated language and yet the imagery is vivid.
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It’s a real beauty isn’t it?
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Bye-Child
He was discovered in the henhouse
where she had confined him. He was
incapable of saying anything.
When the lamp glowed,
A yolk of light
In their back window,
The child in the outhouse
Put his eye to a chink–
Little henhouse boy,
Sharp-faced as new moons
Remembered, your photo still
Glimpsed like a rodent
On the floor of my mind,
Little moon man,
Kennelled and faithful
At the foot of the yard,
Your frail shape, luminous,
Weightless, is stirring the dust,
The cobwebs, old droppings
Under the roosts
And dry smells from scraps
She put through your trapdoor
Morning and evening.
After those footsteps, silence;
Vigils, solitudes, fasts,
Unchristened tears,
A puzzled love of the light.
But now you speak at last
With a remote mime
Of something beyond patience,
Your gaping wordless proof
Of lunar distances
Travelled beyond love.
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Wonderful.
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Lovely. I don’t know his poems, so this is a real treat!
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Glad you enjoyed it!
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