By Seamus Heaney
Among my finger and my thumb The squat pen rests; comfortable as a gun. -- from 'Digging' With its lyrical and descriptive powers, loss of life of a Naturalist marked the auspicious debut of 1 of the century's best poets.
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Additional resources for Death of a Naturalist
Cardinals stapled to a float’s crepe. Your eyes the only stationary parts. aubade I exhaust myself painting wet paint continuously on the cans of housepaint. Shh, goes the twist on the bread loaf bag. Your breath like boots through plasticky snow. Bubble gum pops: surgical mask. Kissing sounds compose the neighborhood dogs. Why take a picture of something that already exists? sun Sun on my chest like a permission slip taped to a child. I am so small I lean back to open doors. So many things I’ll never lift.
I make a thousand tiny snow angels with this corkscrew. I sleep with my belly 36 to her back like I’m holding in a wound. beasts I let you walk along the curb, being more concerned with cars out of storefronts. A man becomes an undertaker because he cannot afford flowers. A girl reading a book soaked by rain reaches out her hand to feel for rain. I whisper timber. I whisper fall. I climb the trees and feel for fruit with my boots. Every beast is afraid of some other beast. If you keep enough beasts around you, all the beasts will stay away.
A man becomes an undertaker because he cannot afford flowers. A girl reading a book soaked by rain reaches out her hand to feel for rain. I whisper timber. I whisper fall. I climb the trees and feel for fruit with my boots. Every beast is afraid of some other beast. If you keep enough beasts around you, all the beasts will stay away. pleasantness and shame I touch each stair first with my face. Hold myself by a single finger up against the mailboxes’ names. I keep lifting the mailbox’s flag so the postman will grasp inside.
Death of a Naturalist by Seamus Heaney