Sabne Raznik (sabneraznik) wrote in celtic_lit,
Sabne Raznik
sabneraznik
celtic_lit

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Spreading Heaney Love



in memory of Rory Kavanagh

Now that the rest of us have no weeping left
These things will do it for you:
Willows standing out on Leitrim Moss,
Wounds that "wept" in the talk of those before you,
Rained-on statues from Clonmany to Ahascragh,
Condensation on the big windows
And walls of a school corridor in Derry
Where I drew with warm fingers once upon a time
To make a face that wept itself away
Down cold black glass.

*

Compose yourself again. And listen to me.
You were never up here in my attic study
Beyond the landing, up the second stairwell,
Step-ladder steep, and deep, and leading back
Down to life going on.
Even so, appear
Till I tell you my good dream.
Be at the door
I opened in the sleepwall when a green
Hurl of flood overwhelmed me and poured out
Lithe seaweed and a tulmult of immense
Green cabbage roses into the downstairs.
No feeling of drowning panicked me, no let-up
In the attic downpour happened, no
Fullness could ever equal it, so flown
And sealed I feared it would be lost
If I put it into words.
But with you there at the door
I can tell it and weep.

*

And if ever tears are to be wiped away,
It will be in river country,
In that confluence of unmarked bridge-rumped roads
Beyond the Shannon, between the River Suck
And the Corrib River, where a plentiful
Solitude floods everyone who drives
In the unseasonal warmth of a January afternoon
Into places battened down under oyster light,
Under names unknown to most, but available
To you and proclaimable by you
Like a man speaking in tongues, brought to his senses
By a sudden plout on the road into Ahascragh.


-Seamus Heaney
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