Quotes: Seamus Heaney

 

Seamus Heaney

Seamus Heaney is one of my favorite Irish poets. He won the Nobel prize in 1995, "for works of lyrical beauty and ethical depth, which exalt everyday miracles and the living past."

Here are two of his famous quotes.

"The main thing is to write for the joy of it. Cultivate a work-lust that imagines its haven like your hands at night dreaming the sun in the sunspot of a breast. You are fasted now, light-headed, dangerous. Take off from here."

"Strange is the huge nothing that we fear!" 

Another Of My Favorite Poets: Seamus Heaney from Ireland

"Bogland"

by Seamus Heaney

We have no prairies 

To slice a big sun at evening-- 

Everywhere the eye concedes to 

Encrouching horizon, 

Is wooed into the cyclops' eye 

Of a tarn. Our unfenced country 

Is bog that keeps crusting 

Between the sights of the sun. 

They've taken the skeleton 

Of the Great Irish Elk 

Out of the peat, set it up 

An astounding crate full of air. 

Butter sunk under 

More than a hundred years 

Was recovered salty and white. 

The ground itself is kind, black butter 

Melting and opening underfoot, 

Missing its last definition 

By millions of years. 

They'll never dig coal here, 

Only the waterlogged trunks 

Of great firs, soft as pulp. 

Our pioneers keep striking 

Inwards and downwards, 

Every layer they strip 

Seems camped on before. 

The bogholes might be Atlantic seepage. 

The wet centre is bottomless. 

POETRY

I wrote this poem as I was traveling north of Galway in an area called the Burren.  The guide that I traveled with was very unique.  His stories deep, mystical, funny, and heartfelt.  His speech rhythmic and lyrical often repeating phrases twice in succession.  It was a trip that I'll never forget!

(Dusseault)

Her Magical Irish Sweater

Irish green landscapes glide tangibly by

In whimsical, melancholy shades and tones

Casting deep knowledge

Of old magic

Throughout my heart and life

Winter wind and rain cleanse and expand the creative soul

With a Burren of bare, harsh, minutely diverse flawlessness

Sharing ages and eons

Of billions of

Possibilities unknown

And alongside this exquisite reverie

I seem to feel the eyes and soul

Of a heart and love

So fine and true

As to bond and create

A sensual being

Of mind and body

A transformation

Of us, we two

Extending tactilely, visually, lovingly

Surrounding and holding her close

Touching first the garment

The braided, luxuriant wool

That lay on her skin

Keeping us negligibly apart,

Yet not

Her Irish sweater

A magical sweater

A mother lamb's gift

Enfolding her heart and dreams

Around love

Wrapping passions and life and mind

Into a womanly luxuriant package

Of deeply entwined

Fibers of wool

Seamlessly, without pause

As the kilometers flow by

As the limestone pads

Become reality

And permeate the day,

Along with myst and legend,

She and I

Find ourselves without concern

Touching, exploring, intermingling

Amidst the soft, slick, sensual fibers

Of her magical sweater

From that small, brilliant segment of time

Birds, plants, rocks, wind, sky, and rain

No longer exist beyond us

Environment and our singular forms fuse

Enduring without separation,

Without time

Among those fibers of luscious animal fleece

Our nerves and synapse explode and fire

Cinematizing thoughts, memories, and perceptions

As actuality, solubility, and existence itself

Alter our perception and mutate us

To a new dimension

Rock hewn fields

Her hands

Drops of rain

Our lips

Castles dripping with dew

A deep embrace

Ancient caves of limestone

Pulsing sweat and pleasure

Birds ebbing and coursing in flight

Bodies moving singly in union, in rhythm

Cliffs dizzily cascading vertically to the ocean

Eyes piercing, glazing and locking passionately

The ocean's power explodes against rock with magnificent spray and foam

Bodies lock and join in creational joy and dynamic flame

And dynamic flame

Quiet

Quiet

Rest

Becalmed,

Tranquil,

Silent

Becalmed

It's evening on the Burren's edge

The sunset rests the sea

While winds and rain and light subside

A lighthouse sits with me

A curved-winged gull paints segments

And arcs from shore to sky

But nature's there and I am here again

A window shades my eyes

It's winter as it should be

The world seems properly in place

But something's missing

Something's gone

And I cannot find its face

And then without the knowing

Or comprehending why

The digits on my left hand

Seek out the reason why

I force my eyes to look there

Where hand now knows the why

The magic of my love is gone

And emptiness abides

Yet where so close

She was with me

A soft, cream sweater lay

A textured present

That I know

I chose for her this day

I gazed at it in wonder

Thoughts churned and filled my head

My life and hers

Felt real to me

But a sweater sits instead

Oh, could this Irish sweater

With magic powers perform

A miracle

Transporting her

Back from ethereal form

The burren knows the answer

The Cliffs of Moher can say

The winds along the coastline

Can guide me on my way

The gulls can trace it in the sky

The rocks can teach the art

But only this fine sweater

Has the power

To unlock her Irish heart

Copyright © Bob Stegner 2005

Image of Sweater:

Dusseault, Lisa. Aran Jumper. Digital image. Wikipedia. Wikipedia, 19 Aug. 2003 Web. 09 Dec. 2013.

Poetry

Moods, feelings, life' events, small moments, itches.  All of these create a spark inside, a memory, that sometimes comes out as a poem.

Two poems below:  Lunar Magic and The Coffeehouse.

Lunar Magic

A speck of luminescence

Spreading rays of calm

Across the dark earth

Across our eyes

Soft radiance

Bouncing from leaf to leaf

Pushing shadows

Into the deep of night

A song of hope

A melody in the dark of night

Causing eyes to gaze up

Causing lips to curl and smile

A grand dot

Punctuating a dark canvas

Splashing quiet and white

From horizon to horizon

The skies pupil

Oscillating with the seasons

Grabbing earth’s oceans

Moving the tides

Lunar Magic

Playing tricks on our minds

Changing and creating

An enchanted, mysterious night

Copyright © Bob Stegner 2004

The Coffeehouse

Seasons pass

Footsteps linger

Transient molecules

Of flavor

Float airborne

To comfort, soothe

And call us to

The coffeehouse

Countless souls can’t resist

Can’t stop inching

Toward the threshold

Of the round, brown, exhilarating

Aromatic signals

Emanating from within

Voices, melodies, and eagerness

Delicately create atmosphere

A place of calm

A sensual reunion

An energetic, enigmatic, olfactory

Home

Concoctions flourish

Within waves of recipes

While sweet confections

And old loving memories

Are handed out

At the glass counter

Of delight

A table

A spot by the window

By her, near him

A smile of openness

Of possibility

Pass and flow

Among the willing

A cup’s finger hole

Points the way to grasp

And lift the round liquid

With ready lips and palette prepared

For flavors of expanding light

Changed perspective

Enhanced intellect

And brightened humor

As time ebbs quietly

To the syncopated rhythm

Of music and language

Lips move

Pages turn

Eyes glance

And black and white photographs

On wine-colored walls gaze back

And create - the Coffeehouse

Copyright © Bob Stegner 2006

Poetry

I write poetry for many reasons.  I love words, the sound and feel of them as they roll off my tongue or through my mind.  I write to express emotions and to create pictures of places, moments, people, and experiences.  When I feel something deeply, the words can flow quickly, but of course, sometimes not.  I close my eyes, see the image and write.  I play with the words and phrases and let them dance until the dance is smooth and complete.

Two of my favorite poets are the Irish poet Seamus Heaney for the quality and earthiness of his work and Mary Oliver for the beautiful pictures that she paints.  Emily Dickinson and Robert Frost also move me deeply, along with many more.

I'm going to place four poems in this post.  Some are short, some longer.  The first two come from my love of Ireland.  The River Corrib is written on top of a picture that I took when I was in Galway. To read the poem, please click on the picture. The second comes from my experience in a small cafe in Kinsale - On the Corner.  The third is very short and comes from traveling - The Beautiful Maiden, and the fourth is entitled Of Desire.

The River Corrib

Click on the image below to see a larger view of the poem.

Copyright © Bob Stegner 2013

"On the Corner"

On the corner

In a glass encased rowdiness

Of spirit and light

Infused with sweet, round aromas

That fill the empty place

In me

I notice shards of leaves

Dangling and breathing moisture

In an atmosphere

That clouds the windows

Yet fills the room

Of clatter and craic

With a human warmth and comfort

On the corner

Mid-day arrives and slips by

With an accelerated time-lapse

Of the comings and goings

Of lives

Turned still-life

In a moment

Floating precariously

On the corner

It's now

At this table

Feeling part

Of the bread and tea

And meat and relish

Of the sugared delights

Of meringue and lemon and cream

Mixed with hours of labor

That called me here...

That I realize

In some small way

How this place

Has carried me home

For the season

Though I'm here

On the corner

In Kinsale

12/18/07

Kinsale, Ireland

In a small lunch cafe

Copyright © Bob Stegner 2013

Beautiful Maiden

Cast upon a world unknown and strange

I bounced on the rails of travel and adventure

Pushing myself, exploring, wondering, laughing

Intertwining my life each day with those

I meet along the way

06/22/13

Copyright © Bob Stegner 2013

Of Desire

It begins

On a sunny day

Within a speck of time

At a place of convergence

As two mortals cross paths

And ignite the genesis

The melodic harmony

The evolution

Of Desire

From moments

To seconds

To minutes

To hours...

Soft looks and laughs

Eager smiles and words

Merge and fuse

With touch or unintended caresses

That Linger

And intermingle

And sow the seeds

Of Desire

Hearts hoard memories

And fantasies form and flourish

From the warmth and humor and joy

That fuel and fan

The embers 

Of lust and inquisitive delight

With the chemical

The biological

The physical embrace

The fascination

Of Desire

But then...

It dawns

From all the bits and pieces of days

And hours

And minutes

And seconds

And moments...

It arises and shines

From a look, a sign, a stroke, a word

Catapulting and focusing

The conscious fire

Of Desire

Eyes blaze

Hearts flare

Passion heightens

Lips collide

Neurons fire

Bodies join and entwine

As the embers burn and flash

Crimson, yellow, green, blue, and indigo

In the inferno

Of Desire

That moment

Can singe

And fade

And simply drift away

And dissipate

Like a storm

To a breeze in the night

Or…

That moment

Can spread

And linger

And last

And thrive

In an amalgamation

Of all that was shared

Intensifying and nurturing

Desire's birth and existence

Forever

The magic,

The secret

Of the eternal flame

Of passion

The lasting power

Of Desire

Is rooted

And owned solely

Within the creators

The interwoven pair

Who alone possess

In that moment

The key...

As they look into each other's eyes

And sense in their hearts

The emerging coalescence

The undeniable rich tapestry

Of Time

And Friendship

Of Passion

And Desire

All sewn and meshed

Organically together

With the enduring strength

And the exquisite, warm beauty

Of Love

Bob Stegner

07/06/2009

Copyright © Bob Stegner 2009