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More poems by Seamus HeaneySeamus Heaney | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments (7) | Books by Seamus HeaneyBooks by Seamus Heaney

Personal Helicon

Seamus Heaney

As a child, they could not keep me from wells
And old pumps with buckets and windlasses.
I loved the dark drop, the trapped sky, the smells
Of waterweed, fungus and dank moss.

One, in a brickyard, with a rotted board top.
I savoured the rich crash when a bucket
Plummeted down at the end of a rope.
So deep you saw no reflection in it.

A shallow one under a dry stone ditch
Fructified like any aquarium.
When you dragged out long roots from the soft mulch
A white face hovered over the bottom.

Others had echoes, gave back your own call
With a clean new music in it. And one
Was scaresome, for there, out of ferns and tall
Foxgloves, a rat slapped across my reflection.

Now, to pry into roots, to finger slime,
To stare, big-eyed Narcissus, into some spring
Is beneath all adult dignity. I rhyme
To see myself, to set the darkness echoing.


Submitted by Ruairi Phelan

Added: 24 Feb 2003 | Last Read: 10 Dec 2018 7:34 PM | Viewed: 13599 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/7986/ | Viewed on 10 December 2018.
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