“The most important Irish poet since Yeats”, Heaney’s books accounted for two thirds of the sales of all living poets in the UK during his final years. The recipient of the 1995 Nobel Prize in Literature, this gifted storyteller was undoubtedly “the greatest poet” of our age. “The squat pen rests. I’ll dig with it”.
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Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney
Late August, given heavy rain and sun
For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
Among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
Like thickened wine: summer’s blood was in it
Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
Picking.
So sorry Seamus that the Lord has now picked you……. will miss your wonderful mind…..Rest in Peace.
Gerry O’Malley, County Clare, Ireland.
And what a loss. Reading Beowulf had my heart racing as if I were riding into battle with them all. RIP
I cried when I read this. I didn’t know Seamus Heaney had died. His poetry was so earthy, so in touch with the sod, so peaty, and so boggy. I loved it.