Seamus Heaney
Seamus Heaney
Embedded Files
-Born in 1939 in Ireland, died in 2013
-Poet, playwright, and translator
-Received Nobel Prize in literature in 1995
-Author of over 20 collections of poetry and criticism
-Taught at Harvard from 1985 to 2006
-Professor of Poetry at Oxford from 1989 to 1994
-Catholic living in Protestant Northern Ireland
-First book published in 1965
-Had 3 children, Christopher, Michael, and Catherine
-"Digging" was published in 1966 and is the first poem in his debut collection, Death of a Naturalist
"Digging"
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.
Under my window, a clan 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 course 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 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, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.
The cold smell of potato mould, 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 fingers and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I’ll dig with it.
Analysis
As a first generation college student, this poem particularly resonated with me. A lot of people choose not to acknowledge their childhood or how their parents lived to give them the life they live; so for Heaney to not only voice what his father did to get him to his position in life, but to display pride in how far he has come as a result of his father’s hard work. Using inclusive pronouns such as “our” and “we” also demonstrates how far the narrator himself has come. Growing up on this potato farm and helping cultivate and maintain it in order to gain the education and intelligence and be able to write as he does. Then tying in not only his work and his father’s work but his grandfather as well. He recalls a memory with him, seemingly with admiration of the hard work and intense work ethic his grandfather had. While writing this, Heaney clearly had quite some knowledge and experience with what he was writing, almost passively speaking on the day-to-day activities and sensory experiences of growing up on this family farm. One of the most impactful lines for me was when he talked about the “living roots awaken in my head.” Through all of the years of potato farming and the generations behind this farm, his mind developed more and more and provided him with an intense intelligence that he bottlenecks into writing. But going from that line to claiming that he has “no spade to follow men like them” also is incredibly impactful. I personally relate to this statement very much. He is exclaiming his pride in the work ethic and dedication of his predecessors and occasionally mentioning his quite active mind only to drop that he cannot proceed with their task; that he cannot emulate them in his own life. Even though he has grown up in this lifestyle and clearly knows what he is doing, he claims he simply does not possess the capacity to follow in their footsteps. He does have a work ethic, or he would not have started the poem with the snugness of his pen, but not in the same manner. This statement resonated with me because I grew up in a very work centered family, with my dad owning a plumbing company and my mom a stay at home mom until my third grade year when she became a school bus driver for 6 years and then a clerk in a couple of different schools. Neither of my parents have a college education but that has never deterred them. My dad’s entire life revolves around his company, whether he wants it to or not. I do not possess the capabilities that they do; I have no spade to follow them. And yet, here I am building my future and gaining a college education. Heaney and I are similar in that we each have chosen a new path for ourselves differing from that of our parents and yet accomplishment-filled paths nonetheless. But the most impactful portion of the poem is the last stanza: “Between my fingers and my thumb / The squat pen rests. / I’ll dig with it.” He is trying to prove himself. He is trying to show his family and his ancestors that even though he has chosen not to work on the potato farm his whole life, he will still accomplish something. He is trying to show them that his chosen path, although differing from the one they desired for him, will be fulfilling and will make them proud. Hopefully one day I can try to dig with my pen too.
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