Seamus Heaney.

#1
Farewell to the man who gave me my favourite poem in Scaffolding.

But this one is more ARRSE.

[FONT=&quot]“We were killing pigs when the Americans arrived.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]A Tuesday morning, sunlight and gutter-blood[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Outside the slaughterhouse. From the main road[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]They would have heard the squealing,[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Then heard it stop and had a view of us[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]In our gloves and aprons coming down the hill.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Two lines of them, guns on their shoulders, marching.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Armoured cars and tanks and open jeeps.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Sunburnt hands and arms. Unknown, unnamed,[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Hosting for Normandy.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot] Not that we knew then[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Where they were headed, standing there like[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot] youngsters[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]As they tossed us gum and tubes of coloured sweets.”[/FONT]
 
#2
In a time of recession,
we need a procession,
of builders, chippies, engineers and brickies

An artist, a sculptor, musician or poet,
ain't much use right now,
he adds no value,
and we know it.

But thanks for you time,
the time, before we went on line,
poetry, was just
smart word know-it-ry

As we edge towards war,
we've been here before,
gas attacks, politoco back-tracks,
dodgy dossiers and slimy tossiers in westminster,

But we need to remember,
brought home each November,
Poetry
ain't just smart word know-it-ry
it adds value after all,
and always has a place in war...

Danny Dravot
2013
4x Old Speckled Hen, 2 x gin'n'tonic
8 mins from start to finish.
 
#3
That is quite superb sir, and the man himself would have approved.
 
#4
'Hold on,' she said, "I'll just run out and get him.
The weather here's so good, he tok the chance
To do a bit of weeding"
So I saw him
Down on his hands and knees besides the leek rig,
Touching, inspecting, separating one
Stalk from the other, gently pulling up
Everything not tapered, frail and leafless,
Pleased to feel each little weed-root break,
But rueful also......

Then found myself listening to
The amplified grave ticking of hall clocks
Where the phone lay unattended in a calm
Of mirror glass and sun struck pendulums....

And I found myself then thinking: if it were nowadays,
This is how Death would summon Everyman

Next thing he spoke and I nearly said I loved him.
 
#5
Or this one .... everytime I've read it out in class there's always a sigh at the last line...

Mid-Term Break

I sat all morning in the college sick bay
Counting bells knelling classes to a close.
At two o'clock our neighbors drove me home.

In the porch I met my father crying--
He had always taken funerals in his stride--
And Big Jim Evans saying it was a hard blow.

The baby cooed and laughed and rocked the pram
When I came in, and I was embarrassed
By old men standing up to shake my hand

And tell me they were 'sorry for my trouble,'
Whispers informed strangers I was the eldest,
Away at school, as my mother held my hand

In hers and coughed out angry tearless sighs.
At ten o'clock the ambulance arrived
With the corpse, stanched and bandaged by the nurses.

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, a foot for every year.
 
#6
Great post Aul_Wan, that poem takes me back a bit.
 
#7
Or this one .... everytime I've read it out in class there's always a sigh at the last line...

Mid-Term Break

I sat all morning in the college sick bay
Counting bells knelling classes to a close.
At two o'clock our neighbors drove me home.

In the porch I met my father crying--
He had always taken funerals in his stride--
And Big Jim Evans saying it was a hard blow.

The baby cooed and laughed and rocked the pram
When I came in, and I was embarrassed
By old men standing up to shake my hand

And tell me they were 'sorry for my trouble,'
Whispers informed strangers I was the eldest,
Away at school, as my mother held my hand

In hers and coughed out angry tearless sighs.
At ten o'clock the ambulance arrived
With the corpse, stanched and bandaged by the nurses.

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, a foot for every year.
That poem always breaks my heart.


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#8
This is the one I remember from school and it still bothers me today...

The Early Purges

I was six when I first saw kittens drown.
Dan Taggart pitched them, 'the scraggy wee shits',
Into a bucket; a frail metal sound,

Soft paws scraping like mad. But their tiny din
Was soon soused. They were slung on the snout
Of the pump and the water pumped in.

'Sure, isn't it better for them now?' Dan said.
Like wet gloves they bobbed and shone till he sluiced
Them out on the dunghill, glossy and dead.

Suddenly frightened, for days I sadly hung
Round the yard, watching the three sogged remains
Turn mealy and crisp as old summer dung

Until I forgot them. But the fear came back
When Dan trapped big rats, snared rabbits, shot crows
Or, with a sickening tug, pulled old hens' necks.

Still, living displaces false sentiments
And now, when shrill pups are prodded to drown
I just shrug, 'Bloody pups'. It makes sense:

'Prevention of cruelty' talk cuts ice in town
Where they consider death unnatural
But on well-run farms pests have to be kept down.
 

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