Heaney, Seamus (Vol. 14)
Heaney, Seamus 1939–
Heaney is an award-winning Northern Irish poet. Although most of his poetry is set in Northern Ireland, it is only recently that Heaney has considered its political turmoil in his writing. Many critics consider him the best poet now writing in Ireland. (See also CLC, Vols. 5, 7, and Contemporary Authors, Vols. 85-88.)
Geographically [Heaney's] landscape [in Wintering Out] is still the Irish countryside, past or present….
Sometimes the countryside is seen, dramatically, through the eyes of others, not very human others and one of them an outright mermaid, who returns to the sea wrapped in the smoke-reeks, straw-musts and films of mildew from the thatch of her lover's house…. As to metaphorical landscapes, there is little in this book, apart from the prefatory poem, which deals specifically with the present troubles, but of course 'specifically' is the operative word, and even if it were not, what Heaney chooses to tell us is his own business.
The tenacity with which Heaney, superficially the most urbane and least urban of modern poets, clings to his chosen rural setting is certainly not at this stage due to any limitation of actual experience. It comes perhaps from the spirit which makes compilers of anthologies for children still include such a vast majority of poems about the countryside…. The scenery of Wintering Out is predictable—misty and waterlogged and exhausting, with very black darkness—and its motifs are recognisable and recurrent: half-doors, cobblestones, swinging lanterns. It is an orderly realm of cause and effect. Desirably or undesirably, one thing leads to another…. There is none of the relief of surrealism, as when Ted Hughes's cat is found sitting outside the front door when his murderer...
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William H. Pritchard
I've admired Seamus Heaney's work, but have preserved my distance from it: almost no human beings, but grainily humble perceptions in terse lines. There are some further capable poems in this mode in … [North]; yet I confess to being more interested in the group of poems from the book's Part II. There, because he has been pressed to, Heaney writes about being a poet in Ulster in time of The Troubles. "What ever you Say Say Nothing," one of these poems has it; Heaney's way is the way of an Irish poet writing sixty years after Yeats's "Easter, 1916" or "Meditations in Time of Civil War." He carries it off with both dignity and gallows humor; in fact I hadn't fully realized until these poems showed me, how sly and expert is the presence of their poet…. I found the relative talkiness of these concluding poems, their reach towards some kind of social sophistication and manner—even put to the purposes of more elaborately saying "nothing"—an attractive new direction I hope Heaney will keep on taking. (pp. 457-58)
William H. Pritchard, "More Poetry Matters," in The Hudson Review (copyright © 1976 by The Hudson Review, Inc.; reprinted by permission), Vol. XXIX, No. 3, Autumn, 1976, pp. 453-63.∗
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North is the latest collection of verse by Ireland's most significant living poet. The theme is Ireland, but in a new regional and particularly temporal sense. North works less as bleak geographical than as bleaker historical force: from the Vikings of Dublin to the retributive Ulstermen wreaking atrocities in the present…. Ritual brings on and legitimizes the round of punishings. Individual and tribal deaths surface in this secret and retentive landscape, where the poet steps "through origins" "kinned by hieroglyphic peat" and reverses Yeat's line: "This centre holds."
More than coherence of place, there's coherence of action. Action is the key to Heaney's poetics. "'Description is revelation,'" yes. But this means here the imaginative retrieval of place, objects and people, and then the naming of these and their movement toward expression. This must be the direction for the modern lyric, away from the reflexive indulgence of "poets who sing like Onan." There is the personal…. And there's the glorious spectacle of the poet's faculties employing a vocabulary of richly restorative sensual and especially temporal particulars in archeology, topography, physiognomy….
Kenneth McRobbie, "World Literature in Review: 'North'," in World Literature Today (copyright 1977 by the University of Oklahoma Press), Vol. 51, No. 3, Summer, 1977, p. 446.
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North is Seamus Heaney's fourth book of poems. Death of a Naturalist was his first, a fully achieved book, followed by a second volume—so often observed in young poets—which was hasty and inferior, Door into Dark; followed in Heaney's case by an excellent third volume, Wintering Out, and now by North which is the best of all. One has the sense in Heaney that politics is forced upon him by the combination of nationality and circumstance…. Circumstance invades this volume…. The second and final section of this book [is politically inspired]. It is good poetry—and there is not a single poem among them that ranks with Heaney's best. It's a poetry written out of social necessity. No man or woman in Northern Ireland at this time could avoid social statement without loss of humanity.
But when mad Ireland teases Heaney into the truest poetry, in North it is confrontation with the long dead which provides us the favor. Heaney writes of the bog people [in "The Grauballe Man"], corpses preserved in the humus of Ireland…. Here in the short lines, sentences elegantly broken across them, contemporary man touches down at an ancient source. In the title poem he makes the same motion downward through to the "longship's swimming tongue," which weds him present and past to poet's journey and task. (pp. 156-58)
Donald Hall, "The Nation of Poets," in...
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ARTHUR E. McGUINNESS
"Kinship" and "Funeral Rites," two poems in Seamus Heaney's latest volume North (1975), suggest a theme that recurs in many of his poems, namely, the importance of connection in human experience, the personal and social value of a cultural matrix within which behavior can have intelligibility. (p. 71)
Heaney's first two volumes, Death of a Naturalist (1966) and Door into the Dark (1969), are almost totally concerned with farming and domestic life in the rural area of Northern Ireland where he grew up. Profoundly aware of the traditions that once gave meaning to rural Irish life—the land, the rhythms of farming and fishing, family customs, the mysteries of nature and love—he is equally aware that rural Ireland has nearly lost its customary life. Many of the poems in Death of a Naturalist and Door into the Dark look back longingly to the old ways. Heaney's more recent volumes, Wintering Out (1972) and North (1975) both broaden and deepen his subjects. Aware of the need to develop his own imagination on the one hand and conscious of being part of a violent and ungovernable society on the other, he looks for answers in the bogland, in the goddess-mother whose "wet centre is bottomless" ("Bogland"). His imagination is stimulated by traces of the ancient Irish language he finds embedded in bogland placenames that have survived the imposition of English. These words may enable one to make...
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Heaney has plenty of magic in his poetry: that moving on from the first unusual word, the right placing of which is probably in the gift of every poet, to a second one which clinches the insight, and thence to the confirming vision which makes the poem memorable.
You can see this in the first poem in [Field Work], entitled 'Oysters.' Clearly, such a mundane subject is going to be made to yield dividends in seriousness, even solemnity. He says his tongue was 'a filling estuary' and that he tasted 'the salty Pleiades.' In the next stanza the sigh of ocean is given the adjective 'philandering'; the poem moves to celebrate friendship in oyster-eating and a further stanza recalls the privileged Romans who carried oysters over the Alps 'packed deep in hay and snow.' The final stanza picks up that touch of philandering, and turns away from poetry and freedom to an unplaced disquiet which is countered only by his resolution to eat the day and be quickened 'into verb, pure verb.'
The poem has a sense of an ending, but what does the vision perpend? Heaney pleases critics because he is at once accurately plain and resoundingly obscure. He is lyrical and pastoral, yet the lights of great city quarrels flicker over his horizon. Ambivalence and a sort of archaism run through the book. Nevertheless, it strikes me as a finer performance than 'North,' which was such a chilly standing-about in the niches of the Pantheon....
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Seamus Heaney's new volume is Field Work, containing poems written since North in 1976. North was a superb volume; I suppose Field Work is even better, though it is possible that I merely hear more of his voice as I come to know him better…. Heaney's land is Ireland …; but what Ireland? He is a northerner who lives in the south; he writes the English inherited from centuries of oppression, sweetened by the excellence of earlier Anglo-Irish poetry. These conflicts make for energy, I suspect. If Heaney is the best Irish poet since Yeats, a sentiment often expressed, it is less known that there are half a dozen other living Irishmen who could run for the title without fear of disgrace.
Heaney's subjects in Field Work range from troubles in Ireland to skunks in California, but his geographical spread never suggests the tourist. The voice speaks of love with an astonishing and wholly captivating tenderness. It speaks as well of violence, desire and memory, and it speaks with deliberate intelligence—willful, diligent and playful. For all the qualities I list, the most important is song, the tune Heaney sings which is poetry's tune, resolutions of cherished language. (p. 473)
Donald Hall, "The Music of What Happens," in The Nation (copyright 1979 by the Nation Associates, Inc.), Vol. 229, No. 15, November 10, 1979, pp. 472-73.∗...
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Seamus Heaney … has learned his trade so well that it is now a second nature wonderfully responsive to his first. And the proof is in "Field Work," a superb book, the most eloquent and far-reaching book he has written, a perennial poetry offered at a time when many of us have despaired of seeing such a thing.
Heaney published his first book of poems, "Death of a Naturalist," in 1966. It was a book of promise, and of promises made mostly to his father, family, race and country. A local book, in the sense that our household gods are local…. In his second book, "Door Into the Dark" (1969), the dark is a blacksmith's forge, to begin with, and then the other forms of darkness that shadow the security of earth, time and the seasons. One poem speaks of "the smells of ordinariness." The art of poetry is likened to other arts, including thatching and smithery. In a few poems the young poet's veins bulge more than the occasion warrants, but mostly the rhetoric is true, well-earned. The poet in these two books is walking the land, training his eyes, getting the measure of things right. Landscapes are tactfully moralized, pressed to disclose values and meanings so gracefully reasonable that they hardly need pressure at all, only a few of Heaney's "time-turned words."
"Bogland," the last poem in "Door Into the Dark," made a new promise, that Heaney would go further, dig more deeply into Ireland's past…. In his next book,...
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