Seamus Heaney, 'Personal Helicon'

[duathir.livejournal.com]

Personal Helicon

As a child, they could not keep me from wells
And old pumps with buckets and windlasses.
I loved the dark drop, the trapped sky, the smells
Of waterweed, fungus and dank moss.

One, in a brickyard, with a rotted board top.
I savoured the rich crash when a bucket
Plummeted down at the end of a rope.
So deep you saw no reflection in it.

A shallow one under a dry stone ditch
Fructified like any aquarium.
When you dragged out long roots from the soft mulch
A white face hovered over the bottom.

Others had echoes, gave back your own call
With a clean new music in it. And one
Was scaresome, for there, out of ferns and tall
Foxgloves, a rat slapped across my reflection.

Now, to pry into roots, to finger slime,
To stare, big-eyed Narcissus, into some spring
Is beneath all adult dignity. I rhyme
To see myself, to set the darkness echoing.

by Seamus Heaney

Comments

[veijukka.livejournal.com]

Oh, I relate to this poem so much! Thank you for posting.

[rawr-balrog.livejournal.com]

Have you ever read Heaney's prose? It's gorgeous. You can really sense his poetry in it.

[ryntha-doghare.livejournal.com]

I love this.