Of Wells And Heaney

Read Personal Helicon by Seamus Heaney again today. I love his poetry but this one in particular is a favorite.

Growing up, the well was significant to me too -from the time I first saw one as a child and was forbidden to go near it. In the intervening years from then to girlhood, I remained fascinated by its depth, darkness and mystery - believed nymphs lived below the water, beyond where eye could see. In a time of youthful exuberance being drenched in summertime by water drawn from a well formed the best memory of "touch" - second only to being kissed for the first time when I turned into a woman.

But all through the years and life's rites of passage, like Heaney,

I loved the dark drop, the trapped sky, the smells
Of waterweed, fungus and dank moss.

Personal Helicon
for Michael Longley

by Seamus Heaney

As a child, they could not keep me from wells
And old pumps with buckets and windlasses.
I loved the dark drop, the trapped sky, the smells
Of waterweed, fungus and dank moss.

One, in a brickyard, with a rotted board top.
I savoured the rich crash when a bucket
Plummeted down at the end of a rope.
So deep you saw no reflection in it.

A shallow one under a dry stone ditch
Fructified like any aquarium.
When you dragged out long roots from the soft mulch
A white face hovered over the bottom.

Others had echoes, gave back your own call
With a clean new music in it. And one
Was scaresome, for there, out of ferns and tall
Foxgloves, a rat slapped across my reflection.

Now, to pry into roots, to finger slime,
To stare, big-eyed Narcissus, into some spring
Is beneath all adult dignity. I rhyme
To see myself, to set the darkness echoing.