Seamus Heaney
Paperback | Pages: 46 pages Rating: 4.28 | 2435 Users | 145 Reviews
Itemize Appertaining To Books Death of a Naturalist
| Title | : | Death of a Naturalist |
| Author | : | Seamus Heaney |
| Book Format | : | Paperback |
| Book Edition | : | Special Edition |
| Pages | : | Pages: 46 pages |
| Published | : | October 4th 1999 by Faber & Faber (first published 1966) |
| Categories | : | Poetry. Cultural. Ireland. European Literature. Irish Literature. Classics |
Rendition In Pursuance Of Books Death of a Naturalist
Some books are thin and light, yet they carry so much weight, like Heaney's Death of a Naturalist. Each poem in this collection is a work of art, a masterpiece. There is neither pretentiousness nor symbolism here. The collection is one of his most accessible and the best place to start with his work. Each poem is a story in itself and in this, Heaney has mesmerized me. I just imagined someone who had written an entire collection of short stories and then thought: "Let's see how we can strip away all the unnecessary narrative and just capture the essential imagery to reflect the story". The autobiographical nature of these poems adds further interest, and exhibits the emotional investment that Heaney imparts on his reader, like in 'Digging' where we see the Heaney descended from a lineage of farmers who takes the path of the writer (an excerpt): By God, the old man could handle a spade. Just like his old man. My grandfather cut more turf in a day Than any other man on Toner's bog. Once I carried him milk in a bottle Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up To drink it, then fell to right away Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods Over his shoulder, going down and down For the good turf. Digging. The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge Through living roots awaken in my head. But I've no spade to follow men like them. Between my finger and my thumb The squat pen rests. I'll dig with it. A befitting opening poem to let us know where he comes from and his tool of choice. The poems to follow reflect on his childhood growing up in a farm, elaborating on all kinds of experiences from the classroom to the slaughterhouse to first love; speaking of which, 'Twice Shy', the poem on first love was my favorite (an excerpt): Her scarf a lá Bardot, In suede flats for the walk, She came with me one evening For air and friendly talk. We crossed the quiet river, Took the embankment walk. Traffic holding its breath, Sky a tense diaphragm: Dusk hung like a blackcloth That shook where a swan swam, Tremulous as a hawk Hanging deadly, calm. Then there was the sober and moving poem about the loss of his four-year-old brother in the poem 'Mid-Term Break', with the last line so powerful it leaves an affecting resonance (an excerpt): Next morning I went up into the room. Snowdrops And candles soothed the bedside; I saw him For the first time in six weeks. Paler now, Wearing a poppy bruise on his left temple, He lay in the four foot box as in his cot. No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear. A four foot box, one foot for every year.Present Books To Death of a Naturalist
| Original Title: | Death of a Naturalist |
| ISBN: | 0571202403 (ISBN13: 9780571202409) |
| Edition Language: | English |
| Literary Awards: | Somerset Maugham Award (1968), Cholmondeley Award (1967), Eric Gregory Award (1966), Geoffrey Faber Memorial Prize (1968) |
Rating Appertaining To Books Death of a Naturalist
Ratings: 4.28 From 2435 Users | 145 ReviewsCommentary Appertaining To Books Death of a Naturalist
Death of a Naturalist, by Seamus Heaney A stunning first collection, which set the tone for the stellar career that followed. I was nine years old when I first became aware of Seamus Heaney, and maybe even the potential of what poetry could be. There was a teacher called Mr. Deegan, and I remember with incredible clarity the day he sat on the edge of a table at the front of the classroom, folded open a ragged-looking paperback and began to read, slowly and aloud, the poem, 'Mid-Term Break.'I know rating poetry is always subjective, but I loved this. Seamus Heaney's command of language, rhyme, and structure is impressive, and unlike most other poetry collections I've read, this one only had a handful of poems that I couldn't connect with. (And not even that - I just found them less interesting than the rest.)
I read this collection in IB English in high school, so I am quite familiar with it, but I decided to read it again now that know much more about the cultural context that surrounds it (and because I am trying to read more poetry collections). I can say even more so now that it is a masterpiece in poetry, and definitely one of my favorite collections. I still remember every literary beat and allusion that I recited for IB exams but this time I can understand the greater political picture it
In memory and honor of Seamus Heaney, this evening Oleg and I alternated reading aloud from "Death of a Naturalist." Some favorite poems include "Digging," "Death of a Naturalist," "Blackberry-Picking," "Mid-Term Break," "The Diviner," "Scaffolding," and "Personal Helicon." Seamus Heaney read many of these poems at a reading that I attended at St. Oswald's Church in Grasmere, England in the summer of 2010.
I just put this beautiful book down, my fingers still dark from the deep dirt of Ireland.Heaney's poetry breathes. It sings; it slaps; it dabbers and slobbers, squelches and gulps. Heaney is a poet who captures the cool mists of the Irish fields and the earthy sounds of the morning farm. He is a singer, a reveler -- both child and man. I highly recommend his hearty and unique voice.Particular pieces I commend are as follows:"Digging""An Advancement of Learning""Follower""Personal Helicon"
The moment I read Seamus Heaneys rendition of Beowulf, I suspected I would like his poems. There was something so endearing about his writing, eloquent yet simple and engaging. And I was right. Death of a Naturalist is an amazing collection of poems focusing on rural Ireland, fragments of Heaneys memories and thoughts. I always thought there was an ethnological divide between Eastern and Western Europe because of their rural and urban cultural points of view, but Heaneys poems captured so well
Living in Dublin, i have actually seen Seamus Heaney in person. About 5 years ago i was on a train that was about to pull out of Connolly Station. Just before it did i noticed Heaney and his wife standing on the platform facing me. in my drunken state i jumped up excitedly. "My God!" i thought, "its Seamus Heaney the noble prize winning poet! Someone who had been spoon fed to me for years in school!"........ I frantically tried to open the window so as to call out to him but alas the train
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