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    Quick question, would anyone happen to have a copy of Seamus Heaney's 'Wintering Out' at their disposal at the moment?
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    I just need someone to confirm that I'm not kidding myself, and it really does open with his dedicatory poem 'This morning from a dewy motorway'. If someone could give me a page number as well that would be brilliant...
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    (Original post by kildare)
    I just need someone to confirm that I'm not kidding myself, and it really does open with his dedicatory poem 'This morning from a dewy motorway'. If someone could give me a page number as well that would be brilliant...
    Come on somebody help Kildare!
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    (Original post by kildare)
    I just need someone to confirm that I'm not kidding myself, and it really does open with his dedicatory poem 'This morning from a dewy motorway'. If someone could give me a page number as well that would be brilliant...
    I'm writing this just after an encounter
    With an English journalist in search of 'views
    On the Irish thing'. I'm back in winter
    Quarters where bad news is no longer news,

    Where media-men and stringers sniff and point,
    Where zoom lenses, recorders and coiled leads
    Litter the hotels. The times are out of joint
    But I incline as much to rosary beads

    As to the jottings and analyses
    Of politicians and newspapermen
    Who've scribbled down the long campaign from gas
    And protest to gelignite and sten,

    Who proved upon their pulses 'escalate',
    'Backlash' and 'crack down', 'the provisional wing’,
    'Polarization' and 'long-standing hate'.
    Yet I live here, I live here too, I sing,

    Expertly civil tongued with civil neighbours
    On the high wires of first wireless reports,
    Sucking the fake taste, the stony flavours
    Of those sanctioned, old, elaborate retorts:

    'Oh, it's disgraceful, surely, I agree.'
    'Where’s it going to end.’ ‘It’s getting worse.’
    ‘They’re murderers.' 'Internment, understandably …’
    The 'voice of sanity' is getting hoarse.

    ‘Religion's never mentioned here,' of course.
    ‘You know them by their eyes,' and hold your tongue.
    ‘One side's as bad as the other,' never worse.
    Christ, it's near time that some small leak was sprung

    In the great dykes the Dutchman made
    To dam the dangerous tide that followed Seamus.
    Yet for all this art and sedentary trade
    I am incapable. The famous

    Northern reticence, the tight gag of place
    And times: yes, yes. Of the 'wee six' I sing
    Where to be saved you only must save face
    And whatever you say, you say nothing.

    Smoke-signals are loud-mouthed compared with us:
    Manoeuverings to find out name and school,
    Subtle discrimination by addresses
    With hardly an exception to the rule

    That Norman, Ken and Sidney signalled Prod
    And Seamus (call me Sean) was sure-fire Pape.
    O land of password, handgrip, wink and nod,
    Of open minds as open as a trap,

    Where tongues lie coiled, as under flames lie wicks,
    Where half of us, as in a wooden horse
    Were cabin'd and confined like wily Greeks,
    Besieged within the siege, whispering morse.

    This morning from a dewy motorway

    I saw the new camp for the internees:
    A bomb had left a crater of fresh clay
    In the roadside, and over in the trees

    Machine-gun posts defined a real stockade.
    There was that white mist you get on a low ground
    And it was deja-vu, some film made
    Of Stalag 17, a bad dream with no sound.

    Is there a life before death? That's chalked up
    In Ballymurphy. Competence with pain,
    Coherent miseries, a bite and sup,
    We hug our little destiny again.
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    Cheers, but that's Whatever you say, say nothing which appears later in North. I'm 99% sure that the last three stanza there also appears as the opening poem of Wintering Out, I'd just love someone with Wintering Out to confirm this and give me a page number.

    Thanks anyway
 
 
 
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