Andie Foley

Dr. Fuller

20th Century British Poetry/Prose

4/28/16

Noli Timere: a Fearless Exploration of Seamus Heaney

Minutes before his death in 2013, lover and master of language Seamus Heaney texted

the words Noli timere to his wife (Philipson). These words, translated as Be not afraid,

reflect the poets undeniable command of the written word. Throughout his life, Heaney was

able to use precisely the right words and sounds, at precisely the right moments, in ways that

made his esteem and prowess limitless. He is revered among critics, academics, and the

everyman, and is said to be the greatest Irish poet since William Butler Yeats (Philipson). At one

time, the Nobel laureate claimed two-thirds of poetic volume sales for living poets in Britain

(Chaundy). This monumental financial claim was but one of many tactile representations of the

Irish poets success, and his art continues to influence and inspire posthumously. Heaneys

poems are rife with elements of romanticism, such as mutability, primitivism, and the use of

mythology. His nationalism also greatly influenced his work, and I find myself drawn to his art

for many reasons.

A frequent romantic motif in Heaneys poetry is that of mutability; many poems detail

time periods, moments, or people from the poets past with specific focus on the subjects

finiteness. An example, the focal point of the poem Electric Light, seems to be the mutability

of a frail, female caregiver. This caregiver, referred to only as she, fluidly moves from a

living, visual presence into a character no longer with us. The poem closes:
 She sat with her fur-lined felt slippers unzipped,

Electric light shone over us, I feared

The dirt-tracked flint and fissure of her nail,

So plectrum-hard, glit-glittery, it must still keep

Among beads and vertebrae in the Derry ground.

Similarly closed is the piece Requiem for the Croppies. Here, the poem ends with imagery of

barley sprouting from the pocketed seeds of fallen militia. This poem emphasizes the unifying

nature of mutability as well, as Heaney points out [t]he priest lay behind ditches with the

tramp.

A second romantic element in Seamus Heaneys poetry is that of primitivism. His poems

often indicate a wistful longing for a simpler time or place. Both poems in Mossbawn: Two

Poems in Dedication, paint delicate and tender pictures from Heaneys youth: images of a water

pump in the yard, a wooden stove in use, and the process of cutting seed potatoes by hand.

These images are detailed in obvious admiration, as The Seed Cutters includes a proposition

for the artist Brueghel to preserve the simple, languid recollection in a painting. An equally

affectionate approach is taken within the poem Out of the Bag. Here, a childlike retelling of

childbirth is punctuated with scenes of uncomfortable adulthood: sweltering heat, hospitals, and

ailing friends. These less-than-pleasant sections are tucked neatly between narratives of early,

childlike innocence, with tone changes indicating a preference for this purity.

Both Seamus lifelong status as an academic, along with the influence of earlier poets

such as William Butler Yeats, led to frequent uses of mythological allusions in his poetry. The

array of mythologies used reflect his educated status, as well as an affinity for literature of every

form or creed. The poem North, a metapoetic recollection, is laced with imagery of the
Scandinavian thunder-god Thor: I returned to a long strand, / the hammered curve of a bay, and

it said Thors hammer sung to geography and trade. In The Underground, a narrator gives

chase to a companion amongst allusions to Pan and the nymph Syrinx. Heaney emphasizes this

characters extinguishable nature with slightly foreboding imagery: a blood stained flower

linking the narrative to the story of Apollo and Hyacinthus.

Heaneys art, however, is much more than mere stylistic choice. His nationalist heart is

apparent in his poetic works, while he tended to avoid abrasive political commentary. Heaneys

Ireland remains resilient and steadfast though repeatedly invaded or affronted. The Bookcase

illustrates this resilience in the following passages:

Where we hang loose, ruminating and repeating

The three words, books from Ireland, to each other,

Quoting for pleasure the Venerable Bede

Who writes in his History of the English Church

That scrapings off the leaves of books from Ireland

When steeped in water palliate the effect

Of snake-bite. For on this isle, he states,

Almost everything confers immunity.

Few poets so effortlessly resonate with me as Seamus Heaney. His command of language

and ability to paint vivid images through words and sound alone is uncanny. Death of a

Naturalist, in its portrayal of a noisy, breathy, and pungent landmark from Heaneys childhood,

struck me by its palpable, organic hum. I realized, even without context or word meaning,

Heaneys poetic capturing of sound still communicated the scene he was describing. In essence,
the poem reads as if even an individual with no concept of the English language could visualize

what is described: the soft, rhythmic gargle of a brook, the drone of a thousand flies, and the

slap and plop of sticky frogs as they moved about in a horde. While not as audible, I was

equally moved by imagery in the poem Oysters. Heaneys unapologetic description of these

sea creatures, alive and violated and waiting to be consumed, left me aching to look away yet

unable to do so.

I find myself drawn not only to Heaneys palpable imagery, but also his intense

recollections and recounting of moments: lasting images and experiences from Heaneys youth.

These scenes contain immense realism and detail, yet still remain mystical. Heaney narrates

these scenes with a perfect portrayal of childlike reverence. In the poem Vitruviana, seemingly

inconsequential adolescent experiences are told with a twinkling veneration. As our narrator

wades in the water at Portstewart, or participates in football drills, I felt as if I could close my

eyes and be there, looking out from the perspective of Heaney himself. Many other poems

artistically catalogue universal human experiences: the arrival of a new baby brother or sister

(Out of the Bag), a first night away from home (Electric Light), or a matronly family

member working away at a stove (Mossbawn: Two Poems in Dedication). As a mother, I

frequently witness my daughter experience the world with wide and innocent eyes, and I am

reminded of my own days of untainted wonderment. Heaneys art contains astounding

representations of golden, glinting images that remain with us for lifetimes.

Finally, Heaneys openness to familial experience endears his work to me in the greatest

sense. I have always felt myself to be an old soul, an individual with ideals a bit outside the

realm of my age group. Marrying and starting a family among a generation of peers who have

careers first, families second seemed to confirm this suspicion. I am, therein, drawn to his tender
and loving recollections of love, childbirth, family, and all things in between. The poem

collection Red, White, and Blue narrates specific moments in Heaneys relationship with his

wife, each color a garment worn by his love. White, happening as a hospital birthing gown,

navigates the interchange of a couple at childbirth:

But that afternoon I left the lists and rode

From the sun-daunting keep of Castle Childbirth

And even though you knew as you lay contracting

Behind its bastions that the lilied moat

Was uncrossable, the drawbridge drawn up,

The battlements secure and audience

With the chatelaine denied, behind your eyes

Eye-tooth-tightened shut against the pangs,

What you still could not help making yourself see

Was the Knight of the White Feather turning tail.

This passage quickened my heart as I remembered my own journey into parenthood, a voyage a

mother (to some extent) must travel alone. I remembered my own slight and easily forgotten

feelings of resentment during the event, and almost felt placated to be reminded of the universal

nature of this experience. Similarly moving, The Clothes Shrine, detailed the simple pleasure

of a newly partnered narrator entering the restroom to find his wifes delicates drying in the

bathtub: It was a whole new sweetness / In the early days to find / Light white muslin blouses.

What a beautifully articulated example of love: young, fresh, endearing, and innocent, presented

in a manner that is markedly Heaney.

 In conclusion, Seamus Heaneys outstanding navigation between the delicate and the

jarring is, in my experience, yet unmatched. He utilizes techniques and themes of romanticism

with a masters hand, but manages to keep a strong nature of uniqueness to his work. Heaneys

vibrant imagery and sound, his ability to mystify the mundane, and his relatable and time-

withstanding values will keep his poetry relevant for years to come. I look forward to continuing

my exploration of his work in the future, and feel certain I will often venture back to these poems

during my own journey into academia.

 Works Cited

Chaundy, Bob. "Faces of the Week." BBC News. BBC, 19 Jan. 2007. Web. 26 Apr. 2016.

Heaney, Seamus. Electric Light. New York: Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 2001. Print.

Heaney, Seamus. Selected Poems, 1966-1987. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1990. Print.

Philipson, Alice. "Seamus Heaney Told Wife 'don't Be Afraid' Minutes before Death." The

Telegraph. Telegraph Media Group, 2 Sept. 2013. Web. 26 Apr. 2016.

Tuma, Keith. Anthology of Twentieth-century British and Irish Poetry. New York (N.Y.): Oxford

UP, 2001. Print.