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But even so, none of the news of these world-spasms entered me as terror.

Seamus Heaney

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Seamus Heaney
Age: 74 †
Born: 1939
Born: April 13
Died: 2013
Died: August 30
Actor
Author
Linguist
Playwright
Poet
Translator
University Teacher
Writer
Seamus Justin Heaney
Seamus Heaney
World
Spasms
Entered
Terror
None
News
Even

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Yet there are times when a deeper need enters, when we want the poem to be not only pleasurably right but compellingly wise, not only a surprising variation played upon the world, but a re-tuning of the world itself.
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Behaviour that's admired is the path to power among people everywhere.
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The fact of the matter is that the most unexpected and miraculous thing in my life was the arrival in it of poetry itself - as a vocation and an elevation almost.
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The end of art is peace.
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I've always associated the moment of writing with a moment of lift, of joy, of unexpected reward.
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Sink every impulse like a bolt. Secure The bastion of sensation. Do not waver Into language. Do not waver in it.
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In fact, in lyric poetry, truthfulness becomes recognizable as a ring of truth within the medium itself.
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I've nothing against the Queen personally: I had lunch at the Palace once upon a time.
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I am not a playwright. A playwright would take Antigone and hit it a few clouts and knock it out of shape and restructure it. My versioning was strictly verbal.
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Harvard created wonderful conditions for me as a writerbut the writing was done, almost entirely, when I got home.
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In off the moors, down through the mist beams, god-cursed Grendel came greedily loping.
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Poetry is language in orbit.
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Poetry cannot afford to lose its fundamentally self-delighting inventiveness, its joy in being a process of language as well as a representation of things in the world.
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The dotted line my father's ashplant made On Sandymount Strand Is something else the tide won't wash away.
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My body was braille for the creeping influences.
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When I first encountered the name of the city of Stockholm, I little thought that I would ever visit it, never mind end up being welcomed to it as a guest of the Swedish Academy and the Nobel Foundation.
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The whole relationship between a writer's spiritual/emotional condition and the kind of wordstuff and form-making that's going on in his work is an interesting one. When I was an undergraduate, there was a glib notion around that there was no reason to suppose a bad man could be a good writer.
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Two buckets were easier carried than one. / I grew up in between.
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Once off the bush The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour. I always felt like crying. It wasn't fair That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot. Each year I hoped they'd keep, knew they would not. -Blackberry picking
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I shall gain glory or die.
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