Seamus Heaney

Sunset in the rear view mirror
photographer: Oliver B.

One of my favorite poets, and certainly my favorite living poet, Seamus Heaney, died today at the age of 74. Earlier in the week, I posted his poem Fosterling on my birthday, and today while listening to NPR's brief eulogy, I listened to him read from it. Here's the link:




Here's another of my favorites, an excerpt from a larger work, that lies underneath the glass top of my desk, a source of constant inspiration. It has always spoken to me about politics and beliefs, about non-violence and human beauty and tragedy, but it's deeply personal as well, speaking to me of disability, illness, cures and miracles and everything deeply human.

Thank you, Mr. Heaney.

from The Cure at Troy

Human beings suffer,
They torture one another,
They get hurt and get hard.
No poem or play or son
Can fully right a wrong
Inflicted or endured.

The innocent in gaols
Beat on their bars together.
A hunger-striker's father
Stands in the graveyard dumb.
The police widow in veils
Faints at the funeral home.

History says, Don't hope
On this side of the grave.
But then, once in a lifetime
The longed-for tidal wave
Of justice can rise up,
And hope and history rhyme.

So hope for a great sea-change
On the far side of revenge.
Believe that a further shore
Is reachable from here.
Believe in miracles
And cures and healing wells.

Call miracle self-healing:
The utter self-revealing
Double-take of feeling.
If there's fire on the mountain
Or lightning and storm
And a god speaks from the sky

That means someone is hearing
The outcry and the birth-cry
Of new life at its term.
It means once in a lifetime
That justice can rise up
And hope and history rhyme.