Weekend Mini Challenge: Portraiture

Welcome to the Weekend Mini Challenge with Kim from Writing in North Norfolk.

Image found on Pinterest

As some of you may know, I am a fan of Seamus Heaney’s poetry. One of the things I love about it is the way he paints portraits with words. I have three examples to share, for which I have provided links. 

The first is ‘Ancestral Photograph’, which is not only about a sepia photograph of the poet’s great uncle, who doesn’t seem to have been an attractive man, but also reflects on traits of the poet’s father:

https://belfastgroup.ecds.emory.edu/groupsheets/heaney1_10116/#heaney1_1094

The second is ‘Docker’, a description of a stranger in a pub, in which Heaney speculates about his life:

https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/docker/

The final poem is ‘Twice Shy, about a relationship, which starts with a brief but lovely description of a girlfriend:

https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/twice-shy/

Write a new poem, or revise an old one, which paints a portrait. It can be of someone you know or have known, a relative or a lover, or it can be a stranger. You could go to a park, café or bar, or even sit on some form of public transport, and observe someone interesting or unusual to portray in a poem, in which you should also speculate a little about their life, their beliefs and relationships, as Heaney does in ‘Docker’.

Join in by clicking on Mister Linky and filling in your name and url – not forgetting to tick the small ‘data’ box. And please remember to read and comment on other toads’ poems.

The Tuesday Platform: The Frontier of Writing (Poems in April ~ Day 30)

From the Frontier of Writing

The tightness and the nilness round that space
when the car stops in the road, the troops inspect
its make and number and, as one bends his face

towards your window, you catch sight of more
on a hill beyond, eyeing with intent
down cradled guns that hold you under cover

and everything is pure interrogation
until a rifle motions and you move
with guarded unconcerned acceleration--

a little emptier, a little spent
as always by that quiver in the self,
subjugated, yes, and obedient.

So you drive on to the frontier of writing
where it happens again. The guns on tripods;
the sergeant with his on-off mike repeating

data about you, waiting for the squawk
of clearance; the marksman training down
out of the sun upon you like a hawk.

And suddenly you're through, arraigned yet freed,
as if you'd passed from behind a waterfall
on the black current of a tarmac road

past armor-plated vehicles, out between
the posted soldiers flowing and receding

like tree shadows into the polished windscreen.

© 1987 Seamus Heaney

Good day, poets! Here we are — the last day of the Poetry Month — it must be a big sigh of relief for some of us while others may be pondering over the products of this harvest. At this juncture, I think it would be beautiful to acknowledge all the creative labour that goes into writing as we celebrate the end of this month. So, let's have a round of applause for all of us, for all those who managed to see 30 days through, for all those who let the muse work it out for them because one absolute number (of days or of poems) doesn't really matter, for all those who read and supported their poet friends, and for all those who write in any way and anytime they want.

This is Anmol (alias HA) and I welcome you all to The Tuesday Platform at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads. This is an open-link arena which means that you can add a link to a poem, old or new, in the widget down below. While you do so, do not forget to visit others' posts and share your words/comments with them. Here is the optional challenge for the last day of the marathon:

Write a poem in praise of a source of inspiration — your muse, your life, your own web of thoughts, your dreams or sleeplessness, your daily tasks, a favourite artist or musician, nature and environment, et al. Also, let's keep it between 30-60 words — there is a certain beauty in brevity after all.

I look forward to reading your take. Happy Writing!

P.s. We go back to our regular schedule of prompts from tomorrow onward. You can check it out here.

A Toad's Favo(u)rite ~ Irish Lament

Forgive me for hopping in here a bit late today, Toads. I am seizing the opportunity to reflect on the life of Irish poet and Nobel Laureate, Seamus Heaney, who passed away last week at the age of  74. His last words in a text message to his wife were Noli Timere, 'Don't be afraid'. (Source)

Public Domain (Fair Use)

Well-known for his many collections of poetry, he received the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1995, the second Irish poet to do so since W.B. Yeats. One of his most famous works is a translation of the epic Anglo-Saxon poem Beowulf into modern English. There are many informative articles available on-line about Heaney's life and contribution to English Literature, so I will not attempt to fill this space with more than I have already said. I would like to share with you one of my favourite Heaney poems.  Perhaps it is the Irish in me which has always been drawn to Heaney's love of the land and the soil, and his exploration of the father/son relationship has always struck me as heart-breakingly honest. With this in mind, I have chosen the poem Follower.  The poem is read in the clip below, and a discussion of the poem follows, for anyone who is interested in the nitty-gritty of his style and imagery.