Friday, August 30, 2013

Seamus Heaney; RIP.

It's a very sad day today.

Today we have heard that the great Irish poet Seamus Heaney has died.

Seamus Heaney was the first Irish poet laureate since WB Yeats and the one thing I know about his poems is that they are – as were Yeats' - very accessible; that's the main thing. 

Some poets are so complicated and dense that they require an education in something else in order to be understood.

Heaney's poems, as well as Yeats' – make the reader look for the meaning of the work elsewhere. 

Work that is usually accomplished part time, evening time and slumber time.

Poems come in a flash to lots of poets and some take time to write – some of the great ones, as with some songs, are written in a moment. Seamus Heaney said Digging came to him as he was driving; here's a bit:

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; as snug as a gun.

Under my window a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down . . .

Easy peasy isn't it? You can see what it's about – a bit like the miner father to the poet son, the labourer to the lawyer son and so on.

I have known of Seamus Heaney for years and years and I am sorry to say I am not that much of an expert on his actual poetry - but there again I am not much an expert on anything but I can't let that stop me from saying a word about him on this day. 

You have to envy me though as I have that pleasure to come.

But I will never forget that perfect Derry accent and the reading of his own poetry.

I don't know if you need to come from the British Isles to appreciate his sonnet about the shipping forecast but here is a bit of it:

Dogger. Rockall. Malin, Irish Sea:
Green swift upsurges, North Atlantic flux
Conjured by that strong gale-warning voice.
Collapse into a sibilant penumbra.

This is what sends people to sleep in the British Isles; it is preceded by Sailing By which is a piece of music that has been played in the same spot for fifty years. One can imagine Seamus drifting off to sleep at about 12:50 am – as that is when Sailing By, followed by the shipping forecast, comes on to Radio 4. 

If you are in America just listen to it on the Internet; you should be able to work out the time – 5:50 pm on the west coast – and you may be able to hear the inspiration before Radio 4 turns in to the BBC World Service with their new music – Lilly Bolero long gone.

Seamus Heaney was born in Derry; son of a farmer; Derry part of the so called Northern Ireland but he carried an Irish Passport; green it was till the EU came along when you could see your fellow Irish standing in the queues at the airport flashing their 'greeny' but that has gone and Seamus Heaney has gone now too – just 74 in an age when we are all supposed to be living till 100. RIP.

Seamus Heaney - Sailing Away.

4 comments:

  1. Be advised my passport's green.
    No glass of ours was ever raised
    to toast the Queen.


    A little ditty he penned since we are talking of 'greenies' :-).

    Andrew.

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  2. :-) - I have to say that I have described him as 'the first Irish poet laureate since WB Yeats' and now I think that Samuel Becket came between the two of them; unless Becket is not considered a poet but a dramatist; I notice he won for his 'new forms for the novel and drama' - who knows? Great men great men of letters. Heaney quotes Becket in Paris as saying 'I have waited the whole of my life to be old.' Maybe he meant old and wise.

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  3. A lovely eulogy, Chris, and I'm with you on your appreciation of the style, its clarity, though like you neither have I read much of Heaney. I should. Thanks, and going to share it on my FB page.

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  4. Thanks: there are loads of writers, poets, singers and musicians we should be following; judt don't seem to be able to find the time for all of them.

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