Seamus Heaney

Rookie (April 13,1939 - August 30, 2013 / Castledàwson, County Londonderry)

Seamus Heaney Poems

1. ‘When all the others were away at Mass' 7/23/2015
2. Oysters 12/16/2014
3. Villanelle For An Anniversary 2/9/2015
4. The Perch 12/28/2011
5. Tankas For Toraiwa 1/10/2012
6. Testimony 12/28/2011
7. Anything Can Happen 2/19/2015
8. The Otter 12/28/2011
9. The Harvest Bow 11/11/2010
10. The Grauballe Man 12/28/2011
11. The Tollund Man 11/11/2010
12. The Early Purges 12/28/2011
13. Keeping Going 12/28/2011
14. Lovers On Aran 12/28/2011
15. Rite Of Spring 12/28/2011
16. Song 11/11/2010
17. Anahorish 12/28/2011
18. From Lightenings 11/11/2010
19. Mossbawn: Two Poems In Dedication 12/28/2011
20. Strange Fruit 12/28/2011
21. From The Frontier Of Writing 12/28/2011
22. Casualty 11/11/2010
23. Limbo 12/28/2011
24. Docker 11/11/2010
25. A Kite For Aibhín 12/28/2011
26. Exposure 12/28/2011
27. Personal Helicon 11/11/2010
28. Clearances 12/28/2011
29. Act Of Union 11/11/2010
30. Bogland 12/28/2011
31. Requiem For The Croppies 12/28/2011
32. Postscript 12/28/2011
33. Death Of A Naturalist 12/28/2011
34. Twice Shy 12/28/2011
35. Follower 12/28/2011
36. Digging 12/28/2011
37. Mid-Term Break 12/28/2011
38. Blackberry-Picking 12/28/2011
Best Poem of Seamus Heaney

Blackberry-Picking

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. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots
Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.
Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills
We trekked and picked until the cans were full
Until the ...

Read the full of Blackberry-Picking

Docker

There, in the corner, staring at his drink.
The cap juts like a gantry's crossbeam,
Cowling plated forehead and sledgehead jaw.
Speech is clamped in the lips' vice.

That fist would dropp a hammer on a Catholic-
Oh yes, that kind of thing could start again;
The only Roman collar he tolerates
Smiles all round his sleek pint of porter.

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