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Original Title:	Death of a Naturalist
ISBN:	0571202403 (ISBN13: 9780571202409)
Edition Language:	English
Literary Awards:	Somerset Maugham Award (1968), Cholmondeley Award (1967), Eric Gregory Award (1966), Geoffrey Faber Memorial Prize (1968)

Death of a Naturalist

Seamus Heaney

Paperback | Pages: 46 pages

Rating: 4.28 | 2435 Users | 145 Reviews

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Title	:	Death of a Naturalist
Author	:	Seamus Heaney
Book Format	:	Paperback
Book Edition	:	Anniversary Edition
Pages	:	Pages: 46 pages
Published	:	October 4th 1999 by Faber & Faber (first published 1966)
Categories	:	Poetry. Cultural. Ireland. European Literature. Irish Literature. Classics

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Some books are thin and light, yet they carry so much weight, like Heaney's Death of a Naturalist. Each poem in this collection is a work of art, a masterpiece. There is neither pretentiousness nor symbolism here. The collection is one of his most accessible and the best place to start with his work. Each poem is a story in itself and in this, Heaney has mesmerized me. I just imagined someone who had written an entire collection of short stories and then thought: "Let's see how we can strip away all the unnecessary narrative and just capture the essential imagery to reflect the story".

The autobiographical nature of these poems adds further interest, and exhibits the emotional investment that Heaney imparts on his reader, like in 'Digging' where we see the Heaney descended from a lineage of farmers who takes the path of the writer (an excerpt):

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.

A befitting opening poem to let us know where he comes from and his tool of choice. The poems to follow reflect on his childhood growing up in a farm, elaborating on all kinds of experiences from the classroom to the slaughterhouse to first love; speaking of which, 'Twice Shy', the poem on first love was my favorite (an excerpt):

Her scarf a lá Bardot,
In suede flats for the walk,
She came with me one evening
For air and friendly talk.
We crossed the quiet river,
Took the embankment walk.

Traffic holding its breath,
Sky a tense diaphragm:
Dusk hung like a blackcloth
That shook where a swan swam,
Tremulous as a hawk
Hanging deadly, calm.

Then there was the sober and moving poem about the loss of his four-year-old brother in the poem 'Mid-Term Break', with the last line so powerful it leaves an affecting resonance (an excerpt):

Next morning I went up into the room. Snowdrops
And candles soothed the bedside; I saw him
For the first time in six weeks. Paler now,

Wearing a poppy bruise on his left temple,
He lay in the four foot box as in his cot.
No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear.

A four foot box, one foot for every year.

Rating Containing Books Death of a Naturalist

Ratings: 4.28 From 2435 Users | 145 Reviews

Column Containing Books Death of a Naturalist

I rhymeTo see myself, to set the darkness echoing.

Prior to picking this up if read maybe 5 or 6 poems by Heaney, the well known ones like Midterm Break and Digging which are unofficially required learning for all Irish children. However, this collection allowed me to explore more of Heaney's works which are mostly heavily autobiographical and deal with life in rural Ireland. It's not hard to see why Heaney was a Nobel Laurette for literature, even in his very first published poetry collection his mastery was clear.

Coming back to this volume of poems after many years, it was an absolute joy & I found myself upping my rating of it to 5 stars. The delightful quality of the poems in themselves, which breathe & encapsulate the world that Heaney inhabits & present it to the reader in the most vivid of images deserve regular re-readings in order to soak in them.Their attraction was probably heightened by reading them during a 5 hour coach journey (I loath the enclosure, discomfort & stuffiness of

I really need to buy a copy of this to take to America- it's my favourite poetry collection and it's the landscape of my mind 😊

In memory and honor of Seamus Heaney, this evening Oleg and I alternated reading aloud from "Death of a Naturalist." Some favorite poems include "Digging," "Death of a Naturalist," "Blackberry-Picking," "Mid-Term Break," "The Diviner," "Scaffolding," and "Personal Helicon." Seamus Heaney read many of these poems at a reading that I attended at St. Oswald's Church in Grasmere, England in the summer of 2010.

The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slapOf soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edgeThrough living roots awaken in my head.But Ive no spade to follow men like them. Between my finger and my thumbThe squat pen rests. Ill dig with it.

Heaney: "I rhymeto see myself, to set the darkness echoing." Me: "I readto find the river, to hear my father beckoning."Heaney: "Did sea define the land or land the sea? Each drew new meaning from the waves' collision.Sea broke on land to full identity."Me: "Was I born on a mountaintop or at the bottom of the sea? Anew I find myself with vistas for water and salt for air. Maybe my mother had nothing to do with me." Heaney: "The burn drowns steadily in its own downpour,A helter-skelter of muslin