Poet gone home y'all...back into the whirl and spin of the whirling whirlds....
Seamus Heaney...POET
TOLLUND MAN
Naked except for
The cap, noose and girdle,
I will stand a long time.
Bridegroom to the goddess,
She tightened her torc on him
And opened her fen,
Those dark juices working
Him to a saint's kept body,
Trove of the turfcutters'
Honeycombed workings.
Now his stained face
Reposes at Aarhus.
II
I could risk blasphemy,
Consecrate the cauldron bog
Our holy ground and pray
Him to make germinate
The scattered, ambushed
Flesh of labourers,
Stockinged corpses
Laid out in the farmyards,
Tell-tale skin and teeth
Flecking the sleepers
Of four young brothers, trailed
For miles along the lines.
III
Something of his sad freedom
As he rode the tumbril
Should come to me, driving,
Saying the names
Tollund, Grauballe, Nebelgard,
Watching the pointing hands
Of country people,
Not knowing their tongue.
Out here in Jutland
In the old man-killing parishes
I will feel lost,
Unhappy and at home.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-northern-ireland-23895582
And i will pick up his last words
polish them as I polished his others
And i will place them into my word-hoard and use them again and again...for words
like souls
do not ever fall from use nor go away..
And i will make a pen from his bones
and from his ash make ink
and I will write his blessing
from scar to star
and they will sing his name from one end of time to the other
and the creator will smile when he hears the spacewinds speak his name
For Mr. Seamus Heaney...POET
Some people just were'nt bred to say anything....ay Max!