2013
Search results
Digging. By Seamus Heaney. 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.
"Digging" is one of the most widely known poems by the Irish poet Seamus Heaney and serves as the opening poem of Heaney's debut 1966 poetry collection, Death of a Naturalist. It begins with the speaker hovering over a blank page with a pen, preparing to write.
English Teacher, with a B.A. Honors in English and a M.Sc. in Education. Here is an analysis of the poem ‘Digging’ by Seamus Heaney. Heaney was an Irish playwright, poet, and academic; he won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1995. Heaney’s career was both prolific and successful.
Summary & Analysis. When Seamus Heaney opened his debut poetry collection with “Digging,” he staked out a powerful claim for his future as a poet. Like Heaney himself, the poem’s speaker is a man whose family has roots in the rural landscapes of the Irish countryside.
“Digging” is a poem by the Irish poet Seamus Heaney. The poem centers a speaker who has chosen to pursue poetry as his vocation. Whereas his father and grandfather both made their living through agricultural labor, the speaker will metaphorically use his pen to “dig” through layers of history, memory, and meaning.
By Seamus Heaney. 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.
A poem from Seamus Heaney’s 1966 collection Death Of A Naturalist, inspired by his Irish homeland’s potato farmers and his own family history.
Seamus Heaney. 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.
Seamus Heaney - Digging. Between my finger and my thumb. The squat pin rest; 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.
Digging (Death of a Naturalist, 1966) 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.
