The town of Bellaghy in Northern Ireland has put up a statue to commemorate the Seamus Heaney poem 'Digging'. I do not know of many other statues in the world that commemorate poems, poets yes, but not usually actual poems themselves and certainly it must be a rare honour to see the work of a living writer so memoralised. 'Digging' of course is a canonical work of modern Irish literature; it was one of the future Noble Prize winner Seamus Heaney's first publications and it has been anthologized more than a hundred times. The picture I found on google shows Seamus Heaney and two anonymous council (?) officials with the massive bronze statue. Maybe this will inspire my local council in Carrickfergus to put up a statue to Louis MacNeice, our famous local poet, but considering the fact that they demolished his beautiful home without a thought for the cultural impact I suspect this is unlikely.Digging
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; as snug as a gun.
Under my window a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down
Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.
The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.
By God, the old man could handle a spade,
Just like his old man.
My grandfather could 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, digging down and down
For the good turf. Digging.
The cold smell of potato mold, 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.
- Seamus Heaney
19 comments:
Cool all round.
I was very impressed by a statue in Watchet, Somerset a couple of years ago. Can you guess what the poem is? :-) I made a link!
Michael
Yup thats definitely for the poem not the poet. I fear thee ancient mariner, I fear thy skinny hand and also that skateboard you're carrying, it looks like you could give someone a fair whack with that.
Haha! Oh, you are a bad un. I hope the sculptor doesn't see that comment. A skateboard indeed!
Ahem. Now you come to mention it though...
Just to redress the balance, I have to say that pic doesn't do it justice. I was very taken with it actually and spent a good twenty minutes admiring it one wet and windy afternoon.
Mike
Was it you that uploaded it to Wikipedia Commons? If so very public spirited of you.
They have a big CS Lewis in Belfast now, not just of Prof Lewis himself but also of his wardrobe
Love that Heaney poem.
Where in Belfast is that CS statue? I didn't even know it existed!
gb
You gotta get out more. Its been up since 99. Outside the library in Hollywood Arches.
Ah, that explains it. I don't think I've ever ventured out that way. I usually go to the Central Library. Might be worth a trip out, though. And the library system here means I'm a member of all the branches in NI.
gb
Ever been to Bellaghy? There isnt a whole lot going on.
You know one of us should do a feature on Northern Ireland crapest towns like that one the Oldie did for England. Obviously Larne is going to win but we could draw out the suspense. Or because its Northern Ireland, we could go for N.I.'s scariest council estates. My vote would go to Rathcoole, although my heart belongs to Victoria Estate in Carrick my own stamping ground.
Nah, I've never been to Bellaghy. I know somebody who lives there, and they never recommend it.
Larne would defo win crappest town, and I think too many people already know that to make the suspense work. Toughest estates though... that'd be a good 'un. I'd probably vote for the good old Lower Whack, or Lower Falls. Especially in around Sultan Square (close to the Twin Spires). I lived with my granny and granda there for a while. First night, I walked past a burning car and a bunch of kids throwing bricks at a land rover. All I wanted to do was call my girl!
Another time I staggered home from the university area. Passed some guys I was convinced were going to kill me for the craic. Turned out to be my uncle though. Ended up in some flat with him and his scary-ass mates too scared to get proper drunk.
I could go on, but I won't.
Tell you , though. I'd have to work hard to put Dundrum on the map.
gb
Ger
Well Victoria Estate's not going to win a pissing match with the Lower Falls however: One time in the late 90's my brother and I were at the cinema & when we came out there'd been some sort of riot (it was July). All the arterials were blocked by men in ski wear some with the old burning car accompaniment. So we got stopped at a roadblock (and it was one of those get the answer wrong and we get your car situations) and they asked us where we were from. Carrick we said. Whereabouts in Carrick they asked. Victoria, we said. That's ok then off you go, they said.
Oh Jesus, I'd have keeked it. I remember my da prepping me for those kind of questions. The bulk of the advice centred on keeping your head down. I was lucky, though. Only ever got stuck at one roadblock (also July, in the late nineties) on the Dublin Road in Newry, but I was able to phone my da to rescue me because I didn't think I could talk my way through. I think he was more pissed off at me than the bus burners, but he got me out anyway and took me on a tour through Barcroft, another contender for tough estates.
gb
Great poem. New to me, as quite a bit of excellent poetry tends to be. Though I am almost finished with McCarthy's Blood Meridian just now, and it damn sure feels poetic.
We could use a nice statue of a young Michael Forsythe, emerging triumphantly with broken Coke bottle from the shed in Dead Yard, or willing himself forward with lacerated foot post-fence scale in DIWMB, or perhaps camped out with his binoculars in the snow in Bloomsday. In fact, he should really have an action figure, now that I think about it.
HB
I wouldnt say no. I'd like the Coke bottle one though, wouldnt you? That scene still gives me the creeps to think about it. Especially that poor woman who got topped just sort of for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I love it. The poem, the statue, Seamus, and even those two goofy smiling nonentities in the background.
seana
the man in the background looks a bit like Craig Ferguson doesnt he?
I don't know if I would have pegged him for Ferguson right off, but I do see what you mean. Actually, they look a bit like aliens who have just landed and have programmed themselves as 'likely' human beings. Heaney looks much more real than they do, though I expect that that's just prejudice on my part.
I'm Michael Forsythe, and I'm hear to tell you things go better with Coke.
In re the sort-of-Craig-Ferguson lookalike, the one time I tuned in on his show was for his interview with Ken Bruen.
Peter
I looked for that on YouTube but no one has yet put it up.
You'll find my assessment of the interview here. Bruen is one of those guys who would have come across better with a serious interviewer, a Charlie Rose, maybe, rather than the babbling Letterman-clowns who dominate television.
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