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Poets' Wives

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i.m. Seamus Heaney

 

'Away with the fairies' my wife will say

after we’ve been on a walk or I’m asked,

out of the blue, what I think of the dress

she’s spotted, when I’m only vaguely there –

 

pursuing the rhythms inside my head

and depriving her of my attention

as slowly, mysteriously, the lines

coalesce into 'another damn poem'.

 

And if at times I frustrate her, the fault

must lie with you whose work first inspired me,

devouring your books, until each three-, four-

or five-year interval has marked my life

 

from its adolescence: segments of time

that once dragged, yet speed exponentially

now that I see behind me fallow years

of paid work, bills, responsibility;

 

thankful at least for the late revival

of a gift which, however slight, I know

I betrayed: a bind your own exemplar,

Yeats, defined and you surely understood

 

when, in ‘An Afterwards’ perhaps only

half-jokingly, you had Marie plunge you

and all your kind into the ninth circle

for your assiduous care of the word.

 

 

🌷(7)

◄ The Age of Gold

Bruegel ►

Comments

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Tom

Thu 31st Aug 2023 10:28

Brilliant David and one I can relate to. Often lost in a world of words, titles and lines much to the consternation of those around me, no doubt.

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Stephen Gospage

Thu 31st Aug 2023 08:35

Thank you for this poem, David. It is interesting how the creative process manifests itself.

I remember that day ten years ago. The next morning, an Irish colleague, whom I met on the bus and had never thought of as being interested in poetry, told me that he had 'sat up reading Seamus' collected works last night'.

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Greg Freeman

Wed 30th Aug 2023 23:04

Thanks for reminding us of the day, David, with this fine poem.

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Hélène

Wed 30th Aug 2023 13:54

A wonderful dive into the mind of a poet. Throughly enjoyed reading this. Thank you David! And thank you for introducing me to Seamus Heaney.

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John Gilbert Ellis

Wed 30th Aug 2023 11:29

Telling stuff. I'm on the same page, or at least in the same chapter as you.

I choose my moments to disappear or go vague when constructing another poem, so know where you are coming from.

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