Door Into the Dark: Poems

by Seamus Heaney

"Door into the Dark," Heaney's second collection of poems, first appeared in 1969. Already his widely celebrated gifts of precision, thoughtfulness, and musicality were everywhere apparent.

Genres: Poetry, Ireland, Literature, Irish Literature, 20th Century, Classics

56 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1969

About the author

Works of Irish poet Seamus Justin Heaney reflect landscape, culture, and political crises of his homeland and include the collections Wintering Out (1972) and Field Work (1979) as well as a translation of Beowulf (1999). He won the Nobel Prize for literature in 1995.

This writer and lecturer won this prize "for works of lyrical beauty and ethical depth, which exalt everyday miracles and the living past."

Heaney on Wikipedia.

Reviews

[Paul · Rating 4 out of 5]

Another great volume of mostly rural poetry from Heaney. I imagine this would be a 5 star read if you happen to be from the same part of the world as the poet or had a similar youth; it would be fantastic to recognise the things he describes rather than seeing them as an outsider. I blame my almost entirely suburban upbringing.

Night Drive

The smells of ordinariness
Were new on the night drive through France:
Rain and hay and woods on the air
Made warm draughts in the open car.

Signposts whitened relentlessly.
Montreuil, Abbéville, Beauvais
Were promised, promised, came and went,
Each place granting its name’s fulfilment.

A combine groaning its way late
Bled seeds across its work-light.
A forest fire smouldered out.
One by one small cafés shut,

I thought of you continuously
A thousand miles south where Italy
Laid its loin to France on the darkened sphere.
Your ordinariness was renewed there.

[Brian Robbins · Rating 4 out of 5]

I love Heaney's poetry & this was good, but reading this much earlier volume immediately after "District & Circle" gives a very clear indication of just how much Heaney's poetry developed. The ease & clarity of the later work is outstanding.

The earlier poetry shows greater visible effort in it's production, the vocabulary selection shows more complex selection & less flexibility, and there is less precision & clarity in those perfect images of the later work.

They are still so good, but with only 5 stars to play with for the very best, I had to make some differentiation between hiss very best & his simply very good.

[Chris J · Rating 4 out of 5]

My journey to this book had its origins in Heaney's 1966-1987 collection. I began that collection and was overjoyed by how much I loved those selections included from Heaney's early poetry (specifically, his first two books - "Death of a Naturalist" and "Door into the Dark." As I progressed into Heaney's poetry from the 1970s I lost interest, finding it overly obscure and unrewarding. Unvanquished, I then hopped into the Seamus Heaney DeLorean, set the clock to 1969, opened the door leading into the dark, and found it to be just the space where both he and I can live in harmony.

[Caspar "moved to storygraph" Bryant]

All I know is a door into the dark...

SH again I find this one tends to get left out of a lot of Heaney discussions probably it's not kind for it to have to follow up Naturalist and there's some sophomoric uncertainty in its teetering between debut & the icy certainty of North. But I like it.

Seamus isn't looking to be shy & we even find some of his most erotic poems here he takes a good swing at them (as one ought). I have a feeling that Don Paterson loves The Victorian Guitar it's a very him poem.

So one still senses imprecision we're ironing creases here & we're not at the meticulous, inimitable ear of North yet. But I find it a worthy installment in a poet's progression he's wandering through these doors so early

[John Eliot · Rating 5 out of 5]

A master of the art of writing poetry. If you are a poet and you haven't read Heaney then you should. If you like literature, then Heaney is a must read.

[Jayant Kashyap · Rating 3 out of 5]

One of the older collections, first published in 1969, it is certainly not Field Work. It’s still Heaney indeed, and like always I enjoyed finding that sequence of poems in the middle of the book.

[Domhnall · Rating 5 out of 5]

Poems about the land –descriptive – Imagist perhaps, in their roots – close to the prose of an old local voice disclosing local lore – does anyone really speak prose?

Poems about living on and from the land in various guises, and living on and from the water – close to mystical at times – the fatalism of it

Poems about rural culture – the violin music rooted in natural sounds on an isolated island – the secret to taking a walk in the woods, allowing ourselves to be lost for a while – a thatcher at work on the farmhouse roof

A poem about a bull – not unrelated to a Ted Hughes poem (both poets stood as boys on a gate to observe, not necessarily quite safe there, but of no interest to that fearsome animal)

A few poems are obscure or otherwise less effective. A lovely second book of poems with a narrower range than the first

[Stephen Williams · Rating 4 out of 5]

This collection continues and expands the loamy Irish ethos that so gloriously permeates Heaney’s first publication; one begins to think that he could have composed the entire collection at one cast while seated on the same few acres of Celtic clay and shoreline, so rooted is he in the peculiar placey-ness of his home country. The book is worth the price of admission for “In Gallarus Oratory” alone, but “Elegy for a Still-born Child” and “Shoreline” and “The Given Note” also stand out as favorites.

[Andrew Bertaina]

When you have nothing more to say, just drive
For a day all round the peninsula.
The sky is tall as over a runway,
The land without marks so you will not arrive.

But pass through, though always skirting landfall.
At dusk, horizons drink down sea and hill,
The ploughed field swallows the whitewashed gable
And your in the dark again.

His poetry leaves me feeling water logged.

[Colin Cloutus · Rating 4 out of 5]

In Door into the Dark, Heaney tightens up his verse a bit after Death of a Naturalist, focusing more heavily on rhyme and exercising at various points a skewed sonnet styling, which actually works quite well —as well as a sort of ballad styling in the various nature odes. Besides the wondrous Lough Neagh sequence, I would say this collection is for the most part an extension of his DoaN themes, but I notice a strongly present 'virility,' exploring sexual themes and images — particularly in 'Untide.' An interesting thematic progression is from an elegy for his infant brother to the still lament of what I assume is his own son: a poem of tender beauty, still sticking to that inseparable connection of family and land that Heaney so aptly portrays.

[Kieran McAndrew · Rating 5 out of 5]

Heaney's second collection is a clear evolution from 'Death of a Naturalist' and "Elegy for a Still Born Child" is deftly written and emotionally devastating, showing the power of Heaney's poetry even at this early stage.

[Lauren Saphir · Rating 3 out of 5]

There was only a few poems in here I enjoyed. My favourite was the salmon Fisher to the salmon. Solid 2.5 stars.

[Aodhán Shadlow · Rating 4 out of 5]

Very nice and good !

[Descending Angel · Rating 4 out of 5]

Not as great as his first collection, but still a lot of great stuff in here. Highlights ~ "Dream" "The Outlaw" "The Forge" "Girls Bathing, Galway, 1965" "Elegy for a Still-born Child" "Victorian Guitar" "The Plantation" and "Bogland".

[Dublin James · Rating 3 out of 5]

I've always had a soft spot for this book ever since i was given a week off homework as a teenager for being the only kid in my class who could successfully learn off The Forge in one hour. Years later and I still feel aggrieved as I'm convinced, from watching films like Good Will Hunting , that my teacher should have reacted stronger to my demonstration of greatness than simply making me stand up, blush, be subjected to crude comments from classmates about my outdated haircut and get a week off doing homework that i probably wouldn't have done anyway.

That been said, this is a pleasant little book to read though not as filled with greatness as Death of a Naturalist in my humble opinion. The Forge is still my favourite poem of the lot. it really does read beautifully when spoken aloud while i also particularly love Dream in which the narrator hacks away at "a stalk / Thick as a telegraph pole..... The next stroke / Found a man's head under the hook. Before I woke / I heard the steel stop / In the bone of the brow".

Then again my favourite part of Crime and Punishment is the Raskolnikov dream scene in which a poor old horse gets whipped to death for no reason so maybe i've just got a thing for dream deaths in literature....

nice book.

[Natalie · Rating 5 out of 5]

I wish I could find Mr. Heaney, give him a rib-crushing hug, or pump his hand thoughtfully (he is Irish after all) and say, "You are a fine man, Mr. Heaney, for giving the immeasurable gift of your poetry to anyone who will read it." I can sit with any of the poems in this collection for a long long time. So much with so little.

The depth he reaches with well-chosen images, with total grounding in place, makes my head spin, then calm; I feel in good hands with Seamus. I've not been to Ireland, yet when reading these poems I can feel closer to the earth there than where I'm currently standing.

[Sebastian · Rating 5 out of 5]

Heaney usa palabras rurales, breves, que conjuran experiencias familiares e intensas. Una de sus virtudes es ubicar su intuición poética en los bogs, los loughs, las nubes de insectos, las corrientes de aire que cruzan con indiferencia la salpicada geografía de una isla nombrada una sola vez. No soy imparcial con Heaney; pudo sacudirme mientras viajaba en un tren ruidoso con su "Elegy for a Still-born Child".

[Rory Armstrong · Rating 4 out of 5]

Written at a time when Seamus Heaney was transitioning from teacher to full-time poet, this collection asks the question, what even is poetry and where does it come from?
He answers this as being in nature, as something not clearly held;

The Peninsula:
And drive back home, still with nothing to say

and The Given Note:
So whether he calls it spirit music
Or not, I don't care. He took it
Out of wind off mid-Atlantic.

Still he maintains, from nowhere.

As something hidden in the Dark as in the excellent The Forge, exploring his impression of the act of creation using a blacksmith as a metaphor;

or in The Plantation as directed and undirected;

You have to come back
To learn how to lose yourself,
To be pilot and stray - witch,
Hansel and Gretel in one.

Other than this there is the brilliant Lough Neagh Sequence vividly describing the Fishers and Eels of Lough Neagh (which are regretfully much more diminished today);

When she's lost once she lays
ten thousand feet down in
her origins. The current
carries slicks of orphaned spawn.

and the devastating Elegy for a Still-born Child, among others.

It's another excellent collection of poems, although not quite as good as Death of a Naturalist. There's a few poems I either didn't understand enough or just didn't enjoy, but most are great.

[Rich Farrell · Rating 5 out of 5]

I was first introduced to Heaney’s work through his translation of Beowulf, as I’m sure most people around my age or younger was. Years ago, I went to see him do a reading at the Art Institute, and it was one of the best readings I’ve ever been lucky enough to experience. His intonation lent gravity to some of what he chose to read, and he broke up the lecture with humor and a down-to-earth sense that really captured me. (I was so moved that I actually wrote him a short letter telling him so and he replied a month or so later by postcard. It had been raining the day it was delivered, and many of the words smeared, but I could make out enough to get his meaning. I’ve since misplaced that postcard, and it drives me crazy when I’m in a cleaning/reorganizing mood.)

Anyway, this collection has some amazing poems and lines that are beautiful, melancholy, hopeful, and reflective. I love the figurative language in lines like “Where crests unfurl like creamy beer” from “Girls Bathing, Galway 1965” or “The ground itself is kind, black butter” in “Bogland”. Poems like “Elegy for a Still-Born Child” and “Victorian Guitar” are both fascinating poems, and I think pairing some of Heaney’s fishing imagery with Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea would interesting. Heaney is probably one of my favorite “modern classic” poets.

[Tony · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is the second of Seamus Heaney's poetry collections, published in 1969.

It is full of poetry about the land and the water. The holy land of water, to steal a chunk of Kate Bush lyrics. I love Heaney's writing. I am lucky with some of these volumes to have the audiobook and the paperback, which I think is a superb way of experiencing poetry. You can here the poets emphasis (or lack of it.) I particularly liked 'Dream' with its words like 'billhook/hacking/unstuck/stroke/hook/ woke' scattered throughout it. Those constant k's.

The language is beautiful plane. Not over-elaborated, but still poetic. Mostly short lines. Some rhyme (or half-rhyme), but not exclusively. Some words bounce off each other half-way through lines. I love, when listening to Heaney's readings, those moments where he lets rip a plosive sound.

I'm working through all of Heaney collection by collection. Each one a step along a poetic path that leads who knows where. I do know that I'm enjoying the scenery.

My favourite poem in this collection is probably Victorian Guitar, but Elegy for a Still Born Child is up there.

[Francisca · Rating 4 out of 5]

first poetry collection of the year!

although not as stellar as Death of a Naturalist (but let's face it, what could it be?) this collection managed to surprise me enough to forget some of the most disconnected pieces in favour of some other trully touching ones. yet, i'm not very good assembling my thoughts when discussing poetry collections so i will only leave a collage-collected collection of quotes:

p.s. i will say beware for those who might feel sensitive with topics dealing with miscarriage, just as a trigger warning.

i go like you, by gleam and drag | and will strike when you strike, to kill | we're both annihilated on the fly | you can't resist a gullet full of steel

islands riding themselves out into the fog

your mother heavy with the lightness in her

there is a town sunk beneath its water

though you walked a straight line | it might be a circle you travelled

you had to come back | to learn how to lose yourself | to be pilot and stray--witch | hansel and gretel in one

our unfenced country | is bog that keeps crusting | between the sights of the sun

[The Escapist Reader · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5 out of 5 stars

Not much I can say about it, because I consider the reading of poetry a subjective thing. I obviously liked it, just not as much as some of his other works. I like the naturalist's approach and the themes of the book. It is always relaxing and enjoyable to me to read about the countryside.

Because I always forget, but this time I did remember to write down the names of the poems I liked best: The Forge, Cana Revisited, Elegy for a Still-born Child, Victorian Guitar, Night Drive, At Ardboe Point, Up the Shore (from "A Lough Neagh Sequence"), Whinlands, Bogland.

Whinlands in particular reminded of every spring when weaver's broom bushes bloomed all yellow on the hillsides to my village. Whin (aka gorse) is a different plant from spartium though, much thornier. (◜◡◝)

Happy reading!

[Dave Franklin · Rating 4 out of 5]

“Door into the Dark,” Seamus Heaney’s second collection of poetry continues many of the themes that we encountered in his debut, “Death of a Naturalist.” Here there is a greater focus on form, relying more on rhyme, even delivering a sonnet of some repute. In addition, Heany draws heavily from the Ulster landscape in a number of these odes.

As a whole, the author moves seamlessly between moods of celebration and meditation, occasionally evoking a pensive lament.

In “The Forge,” Heaney’s language showcases the nexus between Homo faber and his environment:

All I know is a door into the dark,
Outside, old axles and iron hoops rusting;
Inside, the hammered anvil’s short-pitched ring,
The unpredictable fantail of sparks
Or hiss when a new shoe toughens in water.

This book is a worthwhile collection from a master of modern poetry.

[Differengenera · Rating 4 out of 5]

The pockets of our greatcoats full of barley -
No kitchens on the run, no striking camp -
We moved quick and sudden in our own country.
The priest lay behind ditches with the tramp.
A people, hardly marching - on the hike -
We found new tactics happening each day:
We'd cut through reins and rider with the pike
And stampede cattle into infantry,
Then retreat through hedges where cavalry must be
thrown.
Until, on Vinegar Hill, the final conclave.
Terraced thousands died, shaking scythes at cannon.
The hillside blushed, soaked in our broken wave.
They buried us without shroud or coffin
And in August the barley grew up out of the grave.

[Sean Harding · Rating 3 out of 5]

I like poetry, I subscribe to a monthly poetry magazine - predictably called Poetry - but I'm the first to admit I don't always get poetry and several of these did not either grab me or I did not understand them.
There were some lines I liked but nothing that I could quote and there was no stand out poem that I can say that one is just great.
An average volume of poetry is how I would describe it.

[Rabha Aishwarya]

"You'd be looking at a pumping body
With such outsize beaters for wings."
"with spits of rain is fraying,
The rope of water I'm pumping."
"I'm tired of walking about this plunger
inside me. God, he plays like a young calf
Gone wild on a rope."
"So winter closed its fist
And got stuck in the pump."
"NO KITCHENS ON THE RUN"
"You might have dropped, a reduced creature,
to the heart of the globe."
"That bent in two, made a white-pronged staple
For pinning down his world, handful by handful".

[Thomas · Rating 4 out of 5]

In Heaney's second collection of poetry, from 1969, the seemingly mundane experiences of rural life resonate with deep historical and personal significance. Ireland's lakes, shore, and bogs link past and present, while in "The Forge" (which lends the collection its title) a blacksmith's anvil, "Horned as a unicorn," becomes "an altar / Where he expends himself in shape and music" – artisan as poet. In another poem, the spring thawing of a water pump becomes a rite of passage: "we lifted her latch, / Her entrance was wet, and she came.

[Rachel · Rating 4 out of 5]

Picked this up at Seamus Heaney Homeplace mainly because The Forge is one of my all time favourite poems. Dream, Night Drive, Elegy for a Stillborn Child and Relic of Memory were some personal favourites from this collection.

[Jordan · Rating 3 out of 5]

The highlight was definitely Elegy for a Still-Born Child:

"For six months you stayed cartographer.
Charting my friend from husband towards father."

[Austin J Quinlan · Rating 5 out of 5]

A brilliant introduction to Heaney. Now, to delve deeper...