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Wellington Daily News - Wellington, KS
A blog 'for independent minds'
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Opinion page editor Rick Holmes and other writers blog about national politics and issues. Holmes & Co. is a Blog for Independent Minds, a place for a free-flowing discussion of policy, news and opinion. This blog is the online cousin of the Opinion ...
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Opinion page editor Rick Holmes and other writers blog about national politics and issues. Holmes & Co. is a Blog for Independent Minds, a place for a free-flowing discussion of policy, news and opinion. This blog is the online cousin of the Opinion section of the MetroWest Daily News in Framingham, Mass. As such, our focus starts there and spreads to include Massachusetts, the nation and the world. Since successful blogs create communities of readers and writers, we hope the \x34& Co.\x34 will also come to include you.
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By Tom Driscoll
Aug. 31, 2013 11:10 a.m.







We just saw the passing of the poet Seamus Heaney. When the news came it struck me as odd and eerie. I don’t read poetry all that often, or as often as I should let’s say, but I’d just been reading Heaney’s collection ‘The Spirit Level’ and was fixed on his poem, ‘Saint Kevin and The Blackbird’ —I found it intriguing, resonant, as resonant as the chaos of birdsong outside my window most mornings lately. I’d read Heaney’s poem over more than once sensing there more yet to absorb in it. Then I heard the poet had died. Thinking about him with maybe a mind to some sort of tribute I came across this video of the poet reading his poem. He introduces it as a meditation based on the notion of “doing the right thing for the reward of doing the right thing” about “self belief and chosen values, opted for and stood by” —such a prayer that the body makes —entirely.

Ånyway, here’s to the forgetting.



SAINT KEVIN AND THE BLACKBIRD

And then there was St Kevin and the blackbird.



The saint is kneeling, arms stretched out, inside



His cell, but the cell is narrow, so

One turned-up palm is out the window, stiff



As a crossbeam, when a blackbird lands



and Lays in it and settles down to nest.

Kevin feels the warm eggs, the small breast, the tucked



Neat head and claws and, finding himself linked



Into the network of eternal life,

Is moved to pity: now he must hold his hand



Like a branch out in the sun and rain for weeks



Until the young are hatched and fledged and flown.

~

And since the whole thing’s imagined anyhow,



Imagine being Kevin. Which is he?



Self-forgetful or in agony all the time

From the neck on out down through his hurting forearms?



Are his fingers sleeping? Does he still feel his knees?



Or has the shut-eyed blank of underearth

Crept up through him? Is there distance in his head?



Alone and mirrored clear in Love’s deep river,



‘To labour and not to seek reward,’ he prays,

A prayer his body makes entirely



For he has forgotten self, forgotten bird



And on the riverbank forgotten the river’s name.

~ Seamus Heaney


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