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Stepping Stones: Interviews with Seamus Heaney
Widely regarded as the finest poet of his generation, Seamus Heaney is the subject of numerous critical studies; but no book-length portrait has appeared until now. Through his own lively and eloquent reminiscences, "Stepping Stones" retraces the poet's steps from his early works, through to his receipt of the 1995 Nobel Prize for Literature and his post-Nobel life. It is supplemented with a large number of photographs, many from the Heaney family album and published here for the first time. In response to firm but subtle questioning from Dennis O'Driscoll, Seamus Heaney sheds a personal light on his work (poems, essays, translations, plays) and on the artistic and ethical challenges he faced, providing an original, diverting and absorbing store of reflections, opinions and recollections.
524 pages, Paperback
First published November 6, 2008
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404 people want to read
About the author
Seamus Heaney
380 books1,090 followersWorks 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.
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.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 34 reviews
February 1, 2021
I've often thought Seamus Heaney would have made a wonderful priest or psychiatrist. Just hearing his voice - gentle, modest, unstuffy, evocative - would be enough to make you feel better.
One critic mocked Heaney as 'the most over-interviewed of modern poets.' The need for this book, a feature-length collection of interviews, might not be immediately clear. He seemed too decent, too down-to-earth to have any skeletons in his closet. He was a man who inspired trust.
No one, of course, needs to know about a writer’s life. Knowing more about the life can cause people to want to know less about the work- look at Larkin. But it's gladdening to know that early masterpiece ‘Mid Term Break’, now taught in classrooms all over the world, was first drafted on the back of a plastic carrier bag. Restoring the human dimension to things isn't always a downer.
This is not a biography, but it’s the closest thing to one we're likely to see. As well as giving the subject space to correct errors, there’s the pleasure of hearing him speak in his own voice. And let it be said that no one's voice evokes like Seamus Heaney's. Almost anything is enough to set him off. You get the impression he became a poet out of sheer necessity to drain off the surplus riches within him.
He admired the 'high voltage diction' of contemporary Ted Hughes, his 'poetry of the living present, the shimmer of the gene pool and of the galaxies.' He warms to the elegiac note of Beowulf, the 'voices shaken by the North Wind' were 'crying under the ness.' On his rural background and artistic germination: 'It's like a culture at the bottom of a jar, although it doesn't grow, I think, or help anything else to grow unless you find a way to reach it and touch it. But once you do, it's like putting your hand into a nest and finding something beginning to hatch out in your head.' I could go on quoting until my daughter starts drawing her pension.
Few details here would make Rupert Murdoch salivate but I find them interesting. At school, Heaney wasn't the star pupil or even the best at English. Maths was his best subject. Heaney signed his student poetry as 'Incertus' ('Uncertain'). 'Turkeys Observed' was the earliest mature poem he wrote, followed by 'Docker' and ‘Mid Term Break'. He often drafted poems in an armchair in his spare hours between schoolteaching and washing dishes. When writing he chain-smoked, a habit he finally quit in 1986. When queried about his more ephemeral pieces, Heaney gently reminds his interviewer that the cheque was the written trace that mattered.
For readers who think the early work prefigured The Troubles ('mud grenades', 'snug as a gun', etc.) Heaney points out the images were lifted from the cowboy films he loved as a child. The first lines for 'Bogland' came when putting on a pair of trousers. He remembers being tickled pink when he learned an anonymous review of his work - not a flattering one - was penned by Clive James. When he won the Nobel Prize, Heaney found out from friends who had seen it on the news.
While Heaney had recurring themes and settings, he never wrote the same poem twice. He understood readers who venerated his early work - he did the same himself with Ted Hughes, especially Lupercal. He remained honest about himself and his work - especially when he noted Electric Light was one of his weaker collections.
This is going to be a Heaneybopper’s first port of call for many years to come.
One critic mocked Heaney as 'the most over-interviewed of modern poets.' The need for this book, a feature-length collection of interviews, might not be immediately clear. He seemed too decent, too down-to-earth to have any skeletons in his closet. He was a man who inspired trust.
No one, of course, needs to know about a writer’s life. Knowing more about the life can cause people to want to know less about the work- look at Larkin. But it's gladdening to know that early masterpiece ‘Mid Term Break’, now taught in classrooms all over the world, was first drafted on the back of a plastic carrier bag. Restoring the human dimension to things isn't always a downer.
This is not a biography, but it’s the closest thing to one we're likely to see. As well as giving the subject space to correct errors, there’s the pleasure of hearing him speak in his own voice. And let it be said that no one's voice evokes like Seamus Heaney's. Almost anything is enough to set him off. You get the impression he became a poet out of sheer necessity to drain off the surplus riches within him.
He admired the 'high voltage diction' of contemporary Ted Hughes, his 'poetry of the living present, the shimmer of the gene pool and of the galaxies.' He warms to the elegiac note of Beowulf, the 'voices shaken by the North Wind' were 'crying under the ness.' On his rural background and artistic germination: 'It's like a culture at the bottom of a jar, although it doesn't grow, I think, or help anything else to grow unless you find a way to reach it and touch it. But once you do, it's like putting your hand into a nest and finding something beginning to hatch out in your head.' I could go on quoting until my daughter starts drawing her pension.
Few details here would make Rupert Murdoch salivate but I find them interesting. At school, Heaney wasn't the star pupil or even the best at English. Maths was his best subject. Heaney signed his student poetry as 'Incertus' ('Uncertain'). 'Turkeys Observed' was the earliest mature poem he wrote, followed by 'Docker' and ‘Mid Term Break'. He often drafted poems in an armchair in his spare hours between schoolteaching and washing dishes. When writing he chain-smoked, a habit he finally quit in 1986. When queried about his more ephemeral pieces, Heaney gently reminds his interviewer that the cheque was the written trace that mattered.
For readers who think the early work prefigured The Troubles ('mud grenades', 'snug as a gun', etc.) Heaney points out the images were lifted from the cowboy films he loved as a child. The first lines for 'Bogland' came when putting on a pair of trousers. He remembers being tickled pink when he learned an anonymous review of his work - not a flattering one - was penned by Clive James. When he won the Nobel Prize, Heaney found out from friends who had seen it on the news.
While Heaney had recurring themes and settings, he never wrote the same poem twice. He understood readers who venerated his early work - he did the same himself with Ted Hughes, especially Lupercal. He remained honest about himself and his work - especially when he noted Electric Light was one of his weaker collections.
This is going to be a Heaneybopper’s first port of call for many years to come.
June 19, 2022
Well, I've finally finished this monster of a book that took me literal ages to get through. Admittedly, I have been particularly busy and there hasn’t been much time for reading; but usually I find a way to make time. I didn’t feel the motivation to do so for this book.
There are definitely some good quotes in here, and obviously Seamus Heaney is an accomplished poet and translator with a pretty interesting life. But the way the book is constructed leads to a lot of repetition; I swear Dennis O’Driscoll asked the question “What do you do when other poets are envious of you?” like three times minimum. And each time Heaney answered patiently that he doesn’t worry about that too much. It’s like, yeah?? What do you expect him to say? “I take ’em out back and duel ’em. My honour is at stake!”
Heaney is at his best when he gets a chance to reflect on his childhood and important moments in his life. He is at his worst when he is name-dropping, which is 75% of this book. Not because I think it makes him sound arrogant -- if I’d met T. S. Eliot, Bill Clinton, or the Queen, I’d find a way to bring it up in interviews too -- but because it presumes an absolutely insane level of poetic knowledge that I imagine most people do not have. I'm sorry, I don’t know every American poet in the last 50 years and I don’t care that one of them used to throw mad parties at their beach house, or had a bad smoking habit, or used to build porches in their spare time. (I should note, there is a list of names with short biographies at the back, but they do absolutely nothing to orient yourself for anything Heaney is talking about.)
I stand by my belief that this book is meant to be digested in parts, assigned in maybe 30-page chunks by teachers to their students. I would not recommend reading it in toto (side note: the sprinkling of Latin in everything Heaney says is pretty charming).
The best this book has done is lead me to poetry of Heaney’s I hadn’t read before, but it should be noted that no poems are actually in this collection, which is fine, because that is not its purpose. But to leave it on a positive note:
There are definitely some good quotes in here, and obviously Seamus Heaney is an accomplished poet and translator with a pretty interesting life. But the way the book is constructed leads to a lot of repetition; I swear Dennis O’Driscoll asked the question “What do you do when other poets are envious of you?” like three times minimum. And each time Heaney answered patiently that he doesn’t worry about that too much. It’s like, yeah?? What do you expect him to say? “I take ’em out back and duel ’em. My honour is at stake!”
Heaney is at his best when he gets a chance to reflect on his childhood and important moments in his life. He is at his worst when he is name-dropping, which is 75% of this book. Not because I think it makes him sound arrogant -- if I’d met T. S. Eliot, Bill Clinton, or the Queen, I’d find a way to bring it up in interviews too -- but because it presumes an absolutely insane level of poetic knowledge that I imagine most people do not have. I'm sorry, I don’t know every American poet in the last 50 years and I don’t care that one of them used to throw mad parties at their beach house, or had a bad smoking habit, or used to build porches in their spare time. (I should note, there is a list of names with short biographies at the back, but they do absolutely nothing to orient yourself for anything Heaney is talking about.)
I stand by my belief that this book is meant to be digested in parts, assigned in maybe 30-page chunks by teachers to their students. I would not recommend reading it in toto (side note: the sprinkling of Latin in everything Heaney says is pretty charming).
The best this book has done is lead me to poetry of Heaney’s I hadn’t read before, but it should be noted that no poems are actually in this collection, which is fine, because that is not its purpose. But to leave it on a positive note:
You are neither here nor there,
A hurry through which known and strange things pass
As big soft buffetings come at the car sideways
And catch the heart off guard and blow it open.
-- Seamus Heaney, “Postscript”
July 24, 2013
I found this book addictive! I love the poems and really enjoyed reading around them. It's an interview style so Heaney speaks for himself; there's no interpretation by the author.
July 27, 2019
https://nwhyte.livejournal.com/3230325.html
I don't actually know Heaney's poetry all that well, but I like what I know. As an O-Level student in the early 1980s, several of his poems were on our curriculum; the one that sticks in my mind is "Digging", which is something of a mission statement:
Digging
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.
Under my window, a clean 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 coarse 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 finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I’ll dig with it.
This book, published in 2009, goes through Heaney's early life in rural Northern Ireland and then through each of his poetry collections one by one, and certainly whets my appetite to become more familiar with him. It misses of course Book VI of The Æneid, published only after Heaney's death. I found some unexpected personal resonances - when I was a Fellow of the Institute of Irish Studies in 1995-96, many of the people who had worked alongside Heaney during his time at QUB in 1966-72 were still around, including Edna Longley for whom I did some editing, and whose "Cliquey Clerihew" must be quoted:
Michael Longley
Is inclined to feel strongly
About being less famous
Than Seamus
I was struck last year by Ruth Padel's observation of the importance of Northern Ireland and the Troubles to English-language poetry in Europe. It's uncontroversial that Heaney's voice was one of the clearest in this phenomenon - pulling together words and phrases to capture a way of looking at things, anchored in all the wider traditions of world literature but firmly rooted in Castledawson and Bellaghy.
There's lots of stuff here - the importance of translation (The Æneid is mentioned, Beowulf isn't); the famous encounter with Danny Morrison (disputed by the only other person who was there); the importance of place - Wicklow, America, Greece; and how he found out he had won the Nobel Prize a day and a half after the rest of the world knew. Even with only a passing knowledge of Heaney's work, I found it fascinating.
I met Seamus Heaney only once, a chance encounter in a pub (the Foggy Dew in Temple Bar in Dublin, some time around 1989); he offered to buy me a drink on the basis of having known my parents in his Belfast days, but I was too shy to accept. I wish I had. I learned a lot from this book, and I would have learned something from even ten minutes' conversation with him.
I don't actually know Heaney's poetry all that well, but I like what I know. As an O-Level student in the early 1980s, several of his poems were on our curriculum; the one that sticks in my mind is "Digging", which is something of a mission statement:
Digging
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.
Under my window, a clean 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 coarse 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 finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I’ll dig with it.
This book, published in 2009, goes through Heaney's early life in rural Northern Ireland and then through each of his poetry collections one by one, and certainly whets my appetite to become more familiar with him. It misses of course Book VI of The Æneid, published only after Heaney's death. I found some unexpected personal resonances - when I was a Fellow of the Institute of Irish Studies in 1995-96, many of the people who had worked alongside Heaney during his time at QUB in 1966-72 were still around, including Edna Longley for whom I did some editing, and whose "Cliquey Clerihew" must be quoted:
Michael Longley
Is inclined to feel strongly
About being less famous
Than Seamus
I was struck last year by Ruth Padel's observation of the importance of Northern Ireland and the Troubles to English-language poetry in Europe. It's uncontroversial that Heaney's voice was one of the clearest in this phenomenon - pulling together words and phrases to capture a way of looking at things, anchored in all the wider traditions of world literature but firmly rooted in Castledawson and Bellaghy.
There's lots of stuff here - the importance of translation (The Æneid is mentioned, Beowulf isn't); the famous encounter with Danny Morrison (disputed by the only other person who was there); the importance of place - Wicklow, America, Greece; and how he found out he had won the Nobel Prize a day and a half after the rest of the world knew. Even with only a passing knowledge of Heaney's work, I found it fascinating.
I met Seamus Heaney only once, a chance encounter in a pub (the Foggy Dew in Temple Bar in Dublin, some time around 1989); he offered to buy me a drink on the basis of having known my parents in his Belfast days, but I was too shy to accept. I wish I had. I learned a lot from this book, and I would have learned something from even ten minutes' conversation with him.
October 1, 2018
Beautiful words in the Poet’s own voice.
I listened to this brief selection of this Nobel Prize winning Irish poet’s words on Audible to get the full experience of his work.
While the quality of the recording is poor, Heaney’s voice resonates with the beauty of his words. I could listen to the brogue forever as he paints pictures of his land, his parents, and friends lost to the Troubles. His humanity burns through his verse and his introductions and reflections provide context that completes the experience.
I listened to this brief selection of this Nobel Prize winning Irish poet’s words on Audible to get the full experience of his work.
While the quality of the recording is poor, Heaney’s voice resonates with the beauty of his words. I could listen to the brogue forever as he paints pictures of his land, his parents, and friends lost to the Troubles. His humanity burns through his verse and his introductions and reflections provide context that completes the experience.
November 29, 2019
Unless there is some gigantic manuscript out there we haven't heard anything about, this book of interviews is the only autobiography we are likely to get from Heaney. Dennis O'Driscoll prepared himself carefully for these many talks, days and weeks of talks (!), and Heaney trusted O'Driscoll, both for the long friendship they shared, for his knowledge of the work, and for his basic decency.
The result is a book that traces Heaney's life meticulously, from the farm in the North of Ireland, through his education, his teaching life, the explosions of his literary success all the way to the Nobel and the famous international man of letters. He can be frank about his own "tribal loyalties" in the six counties, but also about his efforts to call out his own people when necessary. His discussions of the Catholic influences on him and on his work is necessary for one, like me, who can only ever read those from the outside, despite my Catholic wife.
Occasionally I despair about the purpose and efficacy of the art, and Heaney, in these conversations, is an excellent tonic for that despair. He believed in poetry completely -- and did so without making extravagant claims. He believed in a Republic of Letters, that he was a part of something very old, that included many languages, many countries. And he believed the art had an undeniable and necessary future. He believed in the access he got to the art through his own isolated and provincial experience.
This is a book to return to, one that will help us all read his poems.
The result is a book that traces Heaney's life meticulously, from the farm in the North of Ireland, through his education, his teaching life, the explosions of his literary success all the way to the Nobel and the famous international man of letters. He can be frank about his own "tribal loyalties" in the six counties, but also about his efforts to call out his own people when necessary. His discussions of the Catholic influences on him and on his work is necessary for one, like me, who can only ever read those from the outside, despite my Catholic wife.
Occasionally I despair about the purpose and efficacy of the art, and Heaney, in these conversations, is an excellent tonic for that despair. He believed in poetry completely -- and did so without making extravagant claims. He believed in a Republic of Letters, that he was a part of something very old, that included many languages, many countries. And he believed the art had an undeniable and necessary future. He believed in the access he got to the art through his own isolated and provincial experience.
This is a book to return to, one that will help us all read his poems.
September 25, 2013
On the occasion of the death of Seamus Heaney, both the Internet and the world of print were full of thoughtful articles about his importance and poetic contributions. After seeing reference to Stepping Stones: Interviews with Seamus Heaney, I requested it from the library and was happy when it arrived within a couple of days.
This scholarly collection of interviews conducted by Dennis O'Driscoll is not so much about the poems themselves, but rather about Heaney, the man and the influences on his life within the context of his poetry. This is a book that needs more attention--more than the usual two-week library loan period allows--and a copy will soon join other treasured volumes on my poetry shelf.
From the "On the Books" section: You can say, on the one hand, that poetry is an ad hoc reality: you can log-on, log-off; you don't need to know very much, just enter where you like, take what you want and go. But it's also a coherent inner system or order of understanding. So there's work to be done....
And, finally, from the "Coda": Driscoll asked Heaney, "Could it be said that you don't fear death?" And Heaney's response: Certainly not in the way I'd have feared it sixty years ago, fearful of dying in the state of mortal sin and suffering the consequences for all eternity. It's more grief than fear, grief at having to leave 'what thou lovest well' and whom thou lovest well.
This scholarly collection of interviews conducted by Dennis O'Driscoll is not so much about the poems themselves, but rather about Heaney, the man and the influences on his life within the context of his poetry. This is a book that needs more attention--more than the usual two-week library loan period allows--and a copy will soon join other treasured volumes on my poetry shelf.
From the "On the Books" section: You can say, on the one hand, that poetry is an ad hoc reality: you can log-on, log-off; you don't need to know very much, just enter where you like, take what you want and go. But it's also a coherent inner system or order of understanding. So there's work to be done....
And, finally, from the "Coda": Driscoll asked Heaney, "Could it be said that you don't fear death?" And Heaney's response: Certainly not in the way I'd have feared it sixty years ago, fearful of dying in the state of mortal sin and suffering the consequences for all eternity. It's more grief than fear, grief at having to leave 'what thou lovest well' and whom thou lovest well.
Read
November 9, 2019i do wish i had more time to read this in its entirety--which is why i'm putting it under the dreaded "put-down-for-now" shelf where, if i'm being honest, mostly go the books i'm too intimidated to properly dnf. but i do want to finish this, probably during my winter break!
alas, more essay-related readings on heaney await and time runs out.
alas, more essay-related readings on heaney await and time runs out.
March 14, 2017
a delightful collection of poetry and stories of a life. the audio book is read in the author's charming irish lilt. contemplation of history, nature, violence, love--all evolved out of the troubles of 1960s and 70s northern ireland but sadly so fitting to today's global troubles.
February 1, 2016
A wonderful book, the equivalent of sitting with Seamus at a Coffee place and have him telling you his life just as if he was someone you have known for a long time. Well composed, articulated and interesting. I really like it!
April 18, 2023
kõigist kuulsatest iirlastest, kes mulle pähe tulevad, on Seamus Heaney (luuletaja, tõlkija, Nobeli preemia laureaat) ainus, kellest oleks nagu tahtnud rohkem teada, kui ma juba teadsin.
aga kas just nii palju. hea meelega oleks mingi tavalise, pigem õhemapoolse biograafia ette võtnud, aga sellist kas polegi temast kirjutatud või ma ei suutnud leida, igatahes oli raamatukogus saadaval ainult see tuhandeleheküljeline tellis, mis koosneb väga pikkadest ja põhjalikest intervjuudest Heaneyga.
intervjuud on peatükkideks organiseeritud Heaney luulekogude (kirjutamise perioodide) kaupa, mis on omakorda ajalises järjestuses, nii et eks siin enamvähem lapsepõlvest ja noorusest alustatakse ja vanainimese insuldiga lõpetatakse. aga ega see mingi elulooraamat ikkagi pole - nagu vestlustes ikka, tuleb juttu ühest ja teisest ja kolmandast, muuhulgas muidugi ka sellest, et kuidas elati ja koolis käidi ja abielluti ja kuhu koliti ja mis töökohti peeti, aga kirjanikuga ikkagi päris palju ka sellest, mis oli ühe või teise luuletuse ajendiks või taustaks, kuidas need kogudeks kokku said pandud, kes mõjutas.
oojaa, need mõjutused. tegelikult rääkis väga suur osa sellest raamatust teistest kirjanikest. mis muidugi kirjaniku puhul on ootuspärane ja loogiline; seda enam sellise kirjaniku puhul, kes palgatööna on põhiliselt töötanud keele ja kirjanduse ja kirjutamise õppejõuna. aga kahjuks mul lugejana läksid kõrgelt üle pea 90% neist nimedest - igasuguseid Heaney kaasaegseid iirlasi oli seal ikka jube palju hulgas! ja ka need vähesed, kelle nimed ära tundsin... kuulge, ega ma ei ole tegelikult lugenud ju mingeid Keatse ja Yeatse ega Czesław Miłoszit (kes oli Heaney isiklik tuttav/sõber ja kellest oli juttu nii palju, et minimaalselt võiksin nüüd osata ta nime kirjutada, aga ikka pidin praegu googeldama). nii et see kõik jäi puhtakadeemiliseks.
selleks, et Heaney enda luule analüüs natuke sisulisem tunduks, võtsin riiulist Heaney luulevalimiku ja lugesin kõik viidatud luuletused läbi, kui nad jutuks tulid. sellest oli kindlasti abi nii diskussiooni kui luuletuste endi mõistmisel, aga päriselt aru ei hakanud ma ikkagi kummastki saama. üldse imestasin üsna väga, et mul selline luulekogu isegi olemas on kodus.
ja siis muidugi veel üks läbiv teema, mis tegi selle raamatu ühtaegu jälle nii huvitavamaks kui vähem arusaadavaks mu jaoks - kõik viited Iirimaa poliitikale, mida läbi Heaney eluaja ikka päris palju... juhtus. Troubles ja Suure Reede lepe ja kõik see värk. Heaney sündis Põhja-Iirimaal (elas põhiliselt siiski Iiri Vabariigis) ja teda peavad iirlased iiri ja britid briti luuletajaks ja ise ta väga kellegagi selle üle tülitseda ei soovinud, aga eks ta ikka veidi rohkem vabariiklane kui unionist oli.
ühesõnaga. teada sain igasuguseid asju ja ei kahetse, et end ikkagi läbi närisin sellest mammutteosest, aga soovitada küll kellelegi ei oska. iirlased ja kirjandusteadlased taipavad ise lugeda ja ülejäänute jaoks loodetavasti antakse ikkagi kunagi välja mingi lihtsustatud versioon, loodetavasti värviliste piltidega :)
aga kas just nii palju. hea meelega oleks mingi tavalise, pigem õhemapoolse biograafia ette võtnud, aga sellist kas polegi temast kirjutatud või ma ei suutnud leida, igatahes oli raamatukogus saadaval ainult see tuhandeleheküljeline tellis, mis koosneb väga pikkadest ja põhjalikest intervjuudest Heaneyga.
intervjuud on peatükkideks organiseeritud Heaney luulekogude (kirjutamise perioodide) kaupa, mis on omakorda ajalises järjestuses, nii et eks siin enamvähem lapsepõlvest ja noorusest alustatakse ja vanainimese insuldiga lõpetatakse. aga ega see mingi elulooraamat ikkagi pole - nagu vestlustes ikka, tuleb juttu ühest ja teisest ja kolmandast, muuhulgas muidugi ka sellest, et kuidas elati ja koolis käidi ja abielluti ja kuhu koliti ja mis töökohti peeti, aga kirjanikuga ikkagi päris palju ka sellest, mis oli ühe või teise luuletuse ajendiks või taustaks, kuidas need kogudeks kokku said pandud, kes mõjutas.
oojaa, need mõjutused. tegelikult rääkis väga suur osa sellest raamatust teistest kirjanikest. mis muidugi kirjaniku puhul on ootuspärane ja loogiline; seda enam sellise kirjaniku puhul, kes palgatööna on põhiliselt töötanud keele ja kirjanduse ja kirjutamise õppejõuna. aga kahjuks mul lugejana läksid kõrgelt üle pea 90% neist nimedest - igasuguseid Heaney kaasaegseid iirlasi oli seal ikka jube palju hulgas! ja ka need vähesed, kelle nimed ära tundsin... kuulge, ega ma ei ole tegelikult lugenud ju mingeid Keatse ja Yeatse ega Czesław Miłoszit (kes oli Heaney isiklik tuttav/sõber ja kellest oli juttu nii palju, et minimaalselt võiksin nüüd osata ta nime kirjutada, aga ikka pidin praegu googeldama). nii et see kõik jäi puhtakadeemiliseks.
selleks, et Heaney enda luule analüüs natuke sisulisem tunduks, võtsin riiulist Heaney luulevalimiku ja lugesin kõik viidatud luuletused läbi, kui nad jutuks tulid. sellest oli kindlasti abi nii diskussiooni kui luuletuste endi mõistmisel, aga päriselt aru ei hakanud ma ikkagi kummastki saama. üldse imestasin üsna väga, et mul selline luulekogu isegi olemas on kodus.
ja siis muidugi veel üks läbiv teema, mis tegi selle raamatu ühtaegu jälle nii huvitavamaks kui vähem arusaadavaks mu jaoks - kõik viited Iirimaa poliitikale, mida läbi Heaney eluaja ikka päris palju... juhtus. Troubles ja Suure Reede lepe ja kõik see värk. Heaney sündis Põhja-Iirimaal (elas põhiliselt siiski Iiri Vabariigis) ja teda peavad iirlased iiri ja britid briti luuletajaks ja ise ta väga kellegagi selle üle tülitseda ei soovinud, aga eks ta ikka veidi rohkem vabariiklane kui unionist oli.
ühesõnaga. teada sain igasuguseid asju ja ei kahetse, et end ikkagi läbi närisin sellest mammutteosest, aga soovitada küll kellelegi ei oska. iirlased ja kirjandusteadlased taipavad ise lugeda ja ülejäänute jaoks loodetavasti antakse ikkagi kunagi välja mingi lihtsustatud versioon, loodetavasti värviliste piltidega :)
September 24, 2019
Books like these are a must-read for a young writer (speaking as one), that can so succinctly capture a life's artistic experience (and yes—for an artist of Heaney's caliber, a book as long as this I'd count as succinct), having ground down over time to its most luminous and essential particles. Biographies effectively capture that experience, no doubt, but that's inadvertently (see: Hammer's 'James Merrill: Lift and Art' or Carpenter's 'A Serious Character,' about the life of Ezra Pound); in this instance, Heaney speaks for himself, and knows himself which details he reckons would be best brought to the fore. The end result is such an abundance of directly delivered wise lines and instructive episodes, which I realized, far too late in my reading, I ought to be making some record of for personal benefit. Not only that, but Heaney is so lucid a commentator on his own life that I feel my own hand itching toward the pen, to hear them related—so it's no surprise at all that these interviews proved fertile for him in the discovery of new work, new poetic lines to tug and pursue.
All that being said, accolades for Dennis O'Driscoll's contribution would go sorely unsaid. The jacket offers the right way of putting it: "probing." A razor-sharp poet in his own right, O'Driscoll's capacity as an interviewer is unmistakable, as question after question draws deftly from Heaney a new turn and an unforeseen step-down in depth. Chapters wind from one locus to another easily, almost without stutter; when a transition feels abrupt, it feels appropriate, too, as O'Driscoll detects the need of a new direction. The questions never feels callous or overly interrogative, though—Heaney has more than enough room to breathe, I should think; they both do.
I have no doubt at all I'll be reading this book again in future. Highly recommended to those who want a deeper read of Heaney himself, of the working poet, of the poetic mind and sensibility, and how a life might be lived under poetic principles.
All that being said, accolades for Dennis O'Driscoll's contribution would go sorely unsaid. The jacket offers the right way of putting it: "probing." A razor-sharp poet in his own right, O'Driscoll's capacity as an interviewer is unmistakable, as question after question draws deftly from Heaney a new turn and an unforeseen step-down in depth. Chapters wind from one locus to another easily, almost without stutter; when a transition feels abrupt, it feels appropriate, too, as O'Driscoll detects the need of a new direction. The questions never feels callous or overly interrogative, though—Heaney has more than enough room to breathe, I should think; they both do.
I have no doubt at all I'll be reading this book again in future. Highly recommended to those who want a deeper read of Heaney himself, of the working poet, of the poetic mind and sensibility, and how a life might be lived under poetic principles.
April 13, 2024
This book assumes too much prior knowledge. References to obscure Irish and Troubles related issues pepper the text, without any attempt at explanation. I realise the O'Driscoll claims in the introduction this is not a biography, but given how close to biography it comes it would have been helpful if each chapter had been padded out with a brief biography section to locate the reader. Much of Heaney's writing is fascinating and revelatory but it is impeded by a structure that is too jumpy and too associative. Structuring each chapter around a specific collection is fine, but O'Driscoll refuses to keep to his own strict boundaries, leaping from discussions of Eastern European poets to poems in other collections to life events that have yet to come. This results in frequent repetition of recurring themes and events, which would have been better addressed in a formal chronological manner. There were some lovely quotes by Heaney, calling the Haw Lantern a 'recovery book' and saying that a poet 'needs access to a complete attic life of stillness and concentrated solitude but equal access to an energised social life' ('attic' wonderfully alluding to Athenian contemplation and also Heaney's personal Glenmore attic where much of his lyrical writing too place and 'energised' containing traces of the greek energia which Sidney translates as 'Forcibleness', a surge of utterance which is the essential quality of poetry). There is much good material to find in this book, but it is sadly let down by an incoherent structure and intellectual arrogance on the part of O'Driscoll.
November 17, 2018
listening to Seamus Heaney reading. He was talking about how he wanted to write about a friend killed in “the troubles” but then realized he didn’t want the poem to lead to the need for retribution. Rather, he wanted the poem to resonate with healing power of ,what Wilfred Owen called “the eternal reciprocity of tears”. The eternal reciprocity of tears! What wonderful language!
And then reading these wonderful lines of his:
I ate the day
Deliberately, that its tang
Might quicken me all into verb, pure verb.
And then reading these wonderful lines of his:
I ate the day
Deliberately, that its tang
Might quicken me all into verb, pure verb.
April 29, 2018
A lot of the topics covered have probably been covered in other formats but for me this book was super interesting.
Part biography, part essay, this book uses his poetry collections as guides for converstations about his literary influences, themes, and life.
The conversations really bring to life the poetry scene in the mid to late 20th century, at least from the persepective of Seamus Heaney, but also works as a springboard to explore his influences and of others in that era.
Part biography, part essay, this book uses his poetry collections as guides for converstations about his literary influences, themes, and life.
The conversations really bring to life the poetry scene in the mid to late 20th century, at least from the persepective of Seamus Heaney, but also works as a springboard to explore his influences and of others in that era.
September 21, 2025
If you're in any way interested in 20th century poetry (even if its a bit on the gallery side), or that small number of individuals who credibly inhabit the voice of an epoch role because they were born somewhere a historyball was happening, I'd really recommend picking this up and reading sequentially through the works discussed. My favourite genre of book is extended interviews with interested people, there isn't nearly enough of them
June 10, 2023
This is a fascinating book of interviews compiled by Dennis O' Driscoll of my favorite Irish poet Seamus Heaney. It was very moving to learn about Heaney's humble beginnings in County Derry, the different poets such as W. H. Auden, T. S. Eliot, W. B. Yeats, and others that influenced his work, and the incredible literary legacy he left behind. I highly recommend this.
September 28, 2023
Didn't actually know Seamus Heaney all that well before this but still found it very enjoyable, and was in awe of both Dennis and Seamus' use of language, intellect and deep passion for poetry. Took absolutely forever to read and I'd say it could afford to be a lot shorter, but Seamus had an extremely unique life so it is probably only right it be explored in this much detail.
July 9, 2017
An excellent Book, I had heard excerpts from the author on the radio and It made me go that day and buy the book. It is an honest book. It gives the viewpoint of a poet at the end of his life ( unknown to everyone ). The questions are intelligent and the answers insightful.
November 13, 2018
An insightful conversation with one of the great poets of our age and his contemporaries. Lots of leads to follow up and new poets to read. If you are interested in the craft of poetry this is a must read . A biography but much more.
January 17, 2018
I am so very glad I read this. These interviews cover so very much of Heaney’s life, from growing up, the choices he made, his life in the politics of Ireland, the way he chose to engaged not engage. But it is his writing about poetry and his friendships and relationships with other poets and his life in the world that rounds out all of this. It was an interesting, engaging, thoughtful, interesting read. It caused me to think about a lot of the world around me (both at small and at large)
October 18, 2018
Seamus Heaney for the win!
January 28, 2020
The audio version of this is a must in order to hear the poems in the author’s own voice. There is something grand and nearly holy about the poetry here.
December 10, 2024
Incredibly helpful reference book for my thesis. Probably will reread next semester when I write my second thesis.
February 28, 2021
I came across this volume by chance in a used bookstore in Salt Lake City and was thrilled when I read the description. Book by book the author takes the poet through his oeuvre, having him reminisce and philosophize about all manner of events and themes, while contributing his own intelligent and learned framing and contextualizing to evoke the best answers from his Nobel laureate interlocutor. The Heaney that emerges is both erudite and thoroughly grounded, indebted as much to the symbolic and transcendent-besotted heights of Hopkins as to the rusticity and lyric earthiness of Frost, the two poets he mentions most often and with the most esteem. Mostly though this is a book about the art and passion of poetry, about the poet's vocation and its place in a world so seemingly hell-bent on reducing the music of language and the evocations and invocations it calls forth to the muttered murmurings of the exhausted spirit that can no longer speak its name.
Read
October 10, 2012'On the walls, a holy calendar and two embroidered pictures, done years before by my aunt Sarah. One of Dunluce Castle in County Antrim, the other of Carrickfergus Castle. And a kind of little shrine picture, to commemorate the Eucharistic Congress in Dublin in 1932 - the three patron saints of Ireland on it, Patrick, Brigid and Colmcille, and little ornamental medallions with motifs of round towers and Celtic crosses. A tiny red gas lamp on the mantelpiece kept lit for the Sacred Heart. Saint Brigid's crosses behind the pictures.'
11-12.
Mossbawn is familiar as myth but in Heaney's description it appears anew: architectural, ordered, cramped, decorated, displaying its objects; those objects displaying their narratives. This was the unexpected joy of Stepping Stones - these details, these things.
11-12.
Mossbawn is familiar as myth but in Heaney's description it appears anew: architectural, ordered, cramped, decorated, displaying its objects; those objects displaying their narratives. This was the unexpected joy of Stepping Stones - these details, these things.
Read
October 2, 2013Most worthwhile for the ideas and opinions on other poets -- only a few of the household names don't get a bon mot or three from Heaney. This is especially true of Yeats, who Heaney is both annoyed by (in an incredibly charming way, I might add) and firmly convinced of his high position in the cannon of Irish, and global, literature. Near the end, he begs writers -- implicitly, Irish writers -- (and I'm paraphrasin') to take a (figurative, of course) sledgehammer to Yeats's work. I can dig it. Especially coming Heaney, who had to answer to Yeats his entire career for having the incredible gall of being both Irish and a poet. Also, he describes Dylan's poetics as "that Orphic thing ." Can you dig it?
May 13, 2009
Irish Non Fiction Book Award 2009
Stepping Stones by Seamus Heaney and Denis O Driscoll. Its ISBN is 9780571242528 and it is published by Faber and Faber. Dennis O’ Driscoll interviews Seamus Heaney in this book. Seamus supplies samples of essays, plays, translations and his poetry. He also supplies personal interview and family photographs in a lovely collection. It is well written and a pleasure to read. A must buy from one of the great poets of our time. Reviewed by Annette Dunlea author of Always and Forever and The Honey Trap.
Stepping Stones by Seamus Heaney and Denis O Driscoll. Its ISBN is 9780571242528 and it is published by Faber and Faber. Dennis O’ Driscoll interviews Seamus Heaney in this book. Seamus supplies samples of essays, plays, translations and his poetry. He also supplies personal interview and family photographs in a lovely collection. It is well written and a pleasure to read. A must buy from one of the great poets of our time. Reviewed by Annette Dunlea author of Always and Forever and The Honey Trap.
June 14, 2016
To hear Seamus Heaney read his poems, and get a brief explanation is wonderful. Some were about Northern Ireland during the Troubles, and some just reflective of his childhood. At the end there were two that really stayed with me, one about St. Kevin and the Blackbird, and another called Mint.
October 3, 2009
Addictive for Heaneyites , I really enjoyed the early years and the coda , well done Dennis
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