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Heaney Digging

Seamus Heaney's poem 'Digging' reflects on the speaker's heritage of farming and labor, contrasting the physical act of digging with his own writing. He recalls his father and grandfather's skill in using a spade to cultivate the land, evoking sensory memories of the earth and potatoes. Ultimately, the speaker acknowledges his choice to 'dig' with a pen instead of a spade, embracing his identity as a writer.

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12 views2 pages

Heaney Digging

Seamus Heaney's poem 'Digging' reflects on the speaker's heritage of farming and labor, contrasting the physical act of digging with his own writing. He recalls his father and grandfather's skill in using a spade to cultivate the land, evoking sensory memories of the earth and potatoes. Ultimately, the speaker acknowledges his choice to 'dig' with a pen instead of a spade, embracing his identity as a writer.

Uploaded by

jenniferomeh60
Copyright
© All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd

Seamus Heaney - Digging

poetry anthology | writings | weed's home page

Seamus Heaney (1939-)

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.

[Link] (1 of 2)1/18/09 10:34 AM


Seamus Heaney - 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.

- from Death of a Naturalist (1966)

poetry anthology | writings | weed's home page

comments to weed@[Link]
revised 24 November 2005
URL [Link]

[Link] (2 of 2)1/18/09 10:34 AM

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