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From The Frontier Of Writing
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User Rating: |
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5.6
/10
(23
votes)
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The tightness and the nilness round that space
when the car stops in the road, the troops inspect
its make and number and, as one bends his face
towards your window, you catch sight of more
on a hill beyond, eyeing with intent
down cradled guns that hold you under cover
and everything is pure interrogation
until a rifle motions and you move
with guarded unconcerned acceleration—
a little emptier, a little spent
as always by that quiver in the self,
subjugated, yes, and obedient.
So you drive on to the frontier of writing
where it happens again. The guns on tripods;
the sergeant with his on-off mike repeating
data about you, waiting for the squawk
of clearance; the marksman training down
out of the sun upon you like a hawk.
And suddenly you're through, arraigned yet freed,
as if you'd passed from behind a waterfall
on the black current of a tarmac road
past armor-plated vehicles, out between
the posted soldiers flowing and receding
like tree shadows into the polished windscreen.
Anonymous submission.
Seamus Heaney
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Read poems about / on: car, tree, sun, soldier
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Comments about this poem (From The Frontier Of Writing
by
Seamus Heaney
) |
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comments about this poem (From The Frontier Of Writing by
Seamus Heaney
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Johnny Muir
(6/17/2008 8:03:00 AM) |
Hi, I work for the BBC in Belfast and am working on a documentary to mark Seamus Heaney's 70th birthday. His work is studied (and written about in exams) by people all over the world and I am trying to find out what impact it has them. In this poem he writes about Northern Ireland - yet clearly it could have a resonance to people in conflict situations far beyond here. I would love to hear anyone's comments on what Heaney's poetry means to them. Tell me about individual poems that have made an impact on you and why!
Cheers,
johnny.muir@bbc.co.uk
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Declan McHenry
(11/29/2005 4:11:00 PM) |
Heaney captured it well. A little corner of Northern Ireland that, now, could be almost anywhere.
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