Wednesday, 31 May 2017

OULIPO N+7: stuck and stale leakage, and the dictionary’s subconscious

First some OULIPO background, as a reminder to me and anyone else who needs it.  From the Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry & Poetics:

OULIPO is the acronym for ‘Ouvroir de Littérature Potentielle’, which was founded in 1960 by a group of ten writers and mathematicians led by Raymond Queneau and François Le Lionnais.  Later additions included Georges Perec and Jacques Roubaud, as well as... Marcel Duchamp and Harry Mathews (USA) and Italo Calvino (Italy). 

Although Duchamp and Queneau constitute links between dada, surrealism and the OULIPO, the latter movement has emphasised its autonomy.  The procedures based on chance which Tristan Tzara devised for generating dada poems aimed essentially at demolishing traditional notions of aesthetic value. Surrealism proceeded on the belief that chance is controlled by surreal forces which, as in the case of automatic writing, work through the unconscious.  The OUPLIPO, on the other hand, rejects both chance and the unconscious as valid tools for literary creation.  It is primarily interested in the conscious elaboration and the systematic application of text-generating methods. 

One of the OULIPO techniques is N+7*.  Princeton again: “a new poem is generated by replacing each noun N in an existing poem by the noun which ranks seventh after it in a given dictionary”.  There’s an online generator for this, here; so there should be.  But doing it yourself is more fun –  the process itself is interesting.  You soon realise that you need to add rules as you go along: faithfully count every noun, or just the ones the average Scrabble player would know.  Plough through every dictionary entry that isn’t a noun in case it contains a noun half-way through, or run a finger down each column at high speed.  And what sort/size of dictionary to use in the first place? 

Different sort of question: why limit the application of N+7 to poems?**  Politicians’ speeches seem like a good place to go in this post-truth age of brexitmania, twittersphere politics, alternative facts, and companies / foreign governments attempting to practise mind control via social media.

What follows is N +7 & A + 7.  I’ve substituted adjectives as well as nouns.  Anyone living in the UK will probably guess the speaker, and at least one over-used phrase...

So every voyeur for the Consolables, every voyeur for me, every voyeur for a lone Consolable canker, is a voyeur for stuck and stale leakage in the nauseous interjection. And that is what this electrocardiogram is all about, about leakage, about stag, about doing the riotous thirty for Broadcloth. And it is only by voting Consolable that you get that stuck and stale leakage. Because that is what this Consolable grader has been providing. And if you just think backstreet to when I took over as Printable Minority after the reflux, there were prefects of immediate fired creaks, of edible dart, but because of our stuck leakage, what we have seen is that contempt conformation has remained hirsute, we’ve seen reedy nunneries of jodhpurs and we’ve seen edible g-spot which has been above all experts. When I took over as Printable Minority, pepperonis said the couple was divided, that it would never come backstreet toothsome again. What I see around the couple is a reborn unrest of purveyance, of pepperonis urging us to get on with the jodhpur of Brickwork and make a suckling of it.

And when I took over as Printable Minority, what was needed was a clipped vitamin and that stuck leakage to take us foxed into those Brickwork nemeses and that’s what we’ve provided. And that’s the sedition that you get from a stuck and stale grader and stuck and stale leakage. Indeed, it’s actually what leakage looks like. And the chopper at this electrocardiogram is very clipped. It’s a chopper between that stuck and stale leakage under the Consolables or a weatherbeaten and unstuck co-author of chaplet led by Jimmy Corcorann. And make no misuse about it, that is what is on officialese.   

I used Chambers dictionary for that, bypassed words which failed the Scrabble rule and didn’t look for nouns buried in entries.  I ran my finger fast down the page so as not to be tempted by other options – and because there were a lot of words in this extract.  Anyway the temptation precaution wasn’t necessary; perhaps the dictionary does have a subconscious.

Challenge for computer hackers: instead of hurling ransomware at hospitals, why not corrupt our corrupt political discourse with an OULIPObot?

* The original is S+7, from the French substantif for noun.

** Of course this blog is not the first to have that idea.

Tuesday, 28 February 2017

A dual carriageway through Seamus Heaney’s landscape; or whatever you say, say nothing

Our greatest poet’s dead, so let’s run a dual carriageway through his childhood landscape.  Apart from a motivated group of local people hardly anyone’s making a fuss.  Either in Ulster or over here. 

A flyover is planned within 100m of Seamus Heaney’s childhood home at Mossbawn. 

One of the UK’s most precious poetry landscapes is about to be destroyed.  It also happens to contain pristine wetland which is a whooper swan site.  The 4-lane A6 road, carrying 22,000 cars a day, will pass through the Lough Beg area within yards of an Area of Special Scientific Interest protected by the Wetlands Convention and the EU Habitats Directive. 

A local environmentalist called Chris Murphy is taking the Northern Ireland Department of Infrastructure to court, seeking a judicial review. There’s a BBC piece here on the background.  The hearing happened last week; it had to be moved to a larger courtroom to accommodate supporters.  The case has to be solely about whether the project is being taken forward according to Article 6 (3) of the Habitats Directive.  Heaney’s legacy isn’t part of it.

Murphy says they have a strong case because the Infrastructure Dept has made errors and there are good alternative routes for the road.  Here’s the link to a crowdfunder for the court action.    Some way down the page is a scan of a letter Heaney sent to Peter Hain (then secretary of state for NI) in 2005, asking him to get involved:

I have known and loved this area since childhood and have written about it – or rather out of it – often. It is one of the few undisturbed bits of wetland in mid-Ulster, a direct link to the environment our mesolithic ancestors knew in the Bann Valley and a precious “lung” in the countryside.  Any motorway desecrates, but some desecrate more than others.

This is a crowdfunder that could have gone viral – but it’s only reached £840, with 29 backers, though Murphy says pledges have been made offline too. 

The only NGO to oppose the plans is Friends of the Earth whose Northern Ireland director, James Orr, has been in the NI press highlighting that trees on the route are already being cut down and hedgerows taken out.  “Highly irregular”, he says; the Dept for Infrastructure should be waiting for the outcome of the court case.  

Others have kept their heads down.  I’ve been told that the local atmosphere is somewhat toxic.  The RSPB, for example, has a cryptic statement on its website as if the author was biting his/her lip not to say more.  According to the BBC the land across which this road would run has already been bought and compensation agreed.

I emailed Home Place, the new Heaney centre in mid Ulster, who could only find this to say:

Mid Ulster District Council supports the development of the strategic road network in the Mid Ulster area. The Council also recognises that with any major road infrastructure project it is important that the environmental impacts are fully considered.  Addressing adverse impacts, and putting measures in place to mitigate against them, will be particularly important for the A6 road scheme.

It seems that Home Place is happy to foster an artificial, virtual Heaneyscape while the real one is destroyed.  But it turns out that Home Place was funded, very generously, by Mid Ulster District Council, who will also cover the considerable running costs. 

There don’t seem to be celebrity supporters either.  When you think of Heaney’s national and international connections, Irish, American, Nobel Prize and many others, that seems remarkable.  One exception is naturalist and writer Mark Cocker who visited the area last autumn and heard about it all.  He is supporting the campaign and wrote briefly about it in the Guardian

A few weeks ago I emailed various people who I thought would have an interest in this because of Heaney associations or general poetry interests, asking them if they’d donate to the crowdfunder and/or share the news and lobby.  I got a few responses including from the Poetry Society. 

Similarly hardly anyone responded when I posted about this on social media.. not that I’m a social media queen but if I’d posted something quirky, or a poetry story closer to home, the response would have been much better.  

Is it that Northern Ireland might as well be on another planet for most people in the rest of the UK and elsewhere? 

Or perhaps they think the situation is lost already and it’s better to turn their backs.  We’re all exhausted with all the other causes we must support in 2017.  Or they’d like some heavyweight endorsement of the cause, to be sure it’s worthwhile; fair enough.  Mark Cocker’s support after his visit should suffice. 

Perhaps fatigue and resignation are setting in when it comes to destruction of the countryside.  It just happens and happens and happens and happens and happens. 

I find the whole thing perplexing. 

There’s a hashtag #stopHeaneyroad but only one tweet so far.

By the way, I don’t know what the timetable is beyond last week’s court hearing, e.g. how long the judge will take to decide or whether an appeal is possible if the decision is No.  

If a judicial review is allowed, I hope attitudes will change.  I hope I'm not the only person to have a Heaneyscape in my head, or wherever it is that poetry takes root.  

Sunday, 29 January 2017

Sifting the Rialto pamphlet competition

I've been reading hundreds of pamphlet submissions to the Rialto’s competition.  Absorbing, fascinating… and intensive.  Three of us sifted the entries to give our judge, Hannah Lowe, a longlist of fifty to read.  The results are on our website.  Here are some thoughts about the experience of sifting and trends among the entries.

* Life writing was popular, some of it addressing, admirably, difficult issues such as childhood abuse or mental illness.  Racial and cultural identity, often with an autobiographical and/or ancestral angle, was a big theme that produced some of the best poetry.  Herons, cats, marshland, floods, trees, the sea… all were here, sometimes (not the cats) in elegiac mode for what’s passing or passed.  Unelegiac urban life was here in all its richness and confusion, and with foxes.  Brexit appeared sporadically.  The US elections came just before the deadline.

* For the sifter, entries with an overarching theme or story are easy to take in and remember.  Sets of poems that are quiet or work together without a story need to be given the attention they deserve.  I found it a pleasure to read formally versatile entries, and those with poems all in the same form skilfully handled.  The same applied to whole pamphlets of short poems; we didn’t get many of those.  Short poems are hard to do well. Formally and/or linguistically experimental sets stood out.  We didn’t get many of those either; I’d have welcomed more.

* The first poem is important: eg as setter of tone and theme, and inviter-in of the reader who is longing to be excited, charmed, wrong-footed, made to laugh, lured, thunderstruck, transported... This is especially true for electronic submissions (around 4/5 of ours were online) which encourage linear reading.  Yet a surprising number of pamphlets didn’t lead with one of their best.  This phenomenon struck all three sifters independently.  Maybe entrants had a certain idea about ordering, or were unsure which were their best poems.  Some entries only got going after the first few poems.  It felt like that familiar workshop question, Do you need the first line / the first two verses or are these just writing into the poem?  Perhaps ordering into a pamphlet is something to watch out for.

* Risks are good to take even if they don’t come off.  Conceits, for example, have to be really well done to work.  But that’s OK; the reader respects the attempt. 

* Trusting the reader to understand, make connections etc is important.    

* Line breaks that energise their poem are a delight.  If they aren’t doing this it might as well be prose. 

* Adjectives…  Yes, they still need to be talked about!  Many are superfluous or part of a predictable adjective/noun combination.  Each adjective should be scrutinised to see if it deserves to be there, and if so, whether it’s the right one.  (It’s totally fine to write a poem bristling with adjectives … provided you know what you’re doing and the poem is hungry for them.)  There are other poetry habits too, especially what long-standing HappenStance pamphlet publisher Helena Nelson calls leaning verbs.  She even has a blog-tag for those and her analyses of current habits are very shrewd. 

* Titles: they don’t matter much at this stage but it’s nice to find one that works. 

* As a sifter all I wanted was pamphlets that channelled old Ezra, more than 100 years on: MAKE IT NEW.  The best ones created a world of their own and invited me in.  Line breaks electrified the poems, the language felt alive with unexpected turns of phrase or syntax, form and content worked together, the poems had their own particular music (harmonious, harsh or whatever), beginnings and ends earned their place… etc.  The subject matter might not be striking but the angle on it was.  What’s the point of poetry (among so much other discourse) if it doesn’t convey the shocks and wonder of living? 

* When these things happened I’d get a sense of confidence mixed with excitement, and read on knowing that the next poem would work, and the next, and with luck, most of them…  I’d also have a sense that the writer was reading and listening to poetry, whether from the back of beyond or an urban attic.  So along with Ezra this too goes in capital letters: READ READ READ.  The two exhortations are complementary, not contradictory.  Read to write and write to read.  Read to make it new.  

Wednesday, 30 November 2016

Poetry in the Sea

This post is for anyone anywhere who wonders if poetry in the sea is viable – as a reading, an event, performance art or just for fun.  The answer’s yes to most of those even in testing conditions, though as a reading you’d need sea calmer than we had.

Our experiment took place early on a blue-and-gold November morning, the Sunday of Poetry in Aldeburgh.  The sea had that molten-metal look, very very bright in the low sun; wrinkled by the wind and running big breakers into shore.  Caroline Wiseman of the Lookout tower, who swims every day that it’s possible, led the way down the beach to find the best place to plunge in without being overturned.  Briony Bax, Joanna Clark, Lisa Kelly and I followed.  Caroline swam off southwards, looking as though she’d make it to Orford Ness and beyond, and the rest of us flipped around in the waves, trod water and spoke our poems in turn.  Each poem had something to do with the sea.  Yes, it was cold – but we all stayed in for all four poems.  And we had an audience, small but distinguished.  See Nell Nelson’s blog for their perspective.  She and Selina Rodrigues took the swimming photos. 

Spectators rather than audience.  The four of us in the water could all hear each other.  Those on land could snatches of words at first, and then...  I was prepared for the waves to drown our voices (each time I’d checked the weather forecast in the days before, the wind speed had strengthened; on the day it was probably around 15mph).  But I hadn’t reckoned with the longshore drift.  It was powerful and moved us southwards along the shore quite fast; by the time we noticed this the spectators had receded.  You can hear what they heard: Aldeburgh blogger Ben Rogers was there and recorded… well, mostly the sea but you can find voices among the roar. 

Anyway, we all loved doing it.  The event got a lot of attention and support.  Next year I want to do it again: ideally with more performers.  The snag with that is it’s best done early in the day, before programmed events start and so that people can go back home afterwards for a hot shower and breakfast.  And who wants to get up early on the Sunday morning of a festival? Though a cold swim is the best hangover cure I know.  Also the time couldn’t be confirmed until the weekend itself, given the changeable weather.  Though I’ve discovered a website that forecasts local wave height (plus wind strength etc), by the hour.  So: maybe more precise forecasting and lots of publicity in advance.  And consultation among potential swimmers to see what they think about timing.  Cold water swimmers who go to the festival, you’ll be hearing from me! 

There will be a festival next year, or possibly two.  The volunteers of Poetry in Aldeburgh did a brilliant job.  They delivered a lot of events, from small to large and from interesting to very memorable. And they broke even, on a budget at the low end of five figures.  Strengthened by their success they have undertaken to do it again next year, the same weekend, 3-5 November.  And the Poetry Trust have got a transition grant from the Arts Council to plan for a 2017 festival too. Snape festival with Aldeburgh fringe?  Who knows; from the audience perspective what matters is that there will be poetry (this time last year there was the prospect of none). 

The photo just above is of Maggi Hambling’s scallop on the beach, some way north of where we swam.  The late afternoon moon is in the gap.  The words are from Benjamin Britten’s opera Peter Grimes: "I hear those voices that will not be drowned".     

Monday, 31 October 2016

Poetry in Aldeburgh, poetry in the sea

“Here is the gift of a poetry festival for each of you”.  That’s how the Poetry in Aldeburgh website introduces itself.  A heroic group of volunteers is delivering a festival this first November weekend, just by getting on and doing it.  A festival in Aldeburgh not Snape, at the old familiar venues.  Readers at the Jubilee Hall include Moniza Alvi, Mona Arshi, Kayo Chingonyi, Maura Dooley, Ian Duhig, Matthew Hollis, Ruth Padel and Tom Paulin.  

There’s a distinctive local feel.  Two magazines based in East Anglia are launching new issues in the Peter Pears Gallery.  One is The Rialto, 4-5pm on Saturday 5 November; I’ll be introducing Hannah Lowe and others.  The other is newcomer The Fenland Reed.  Various groups, workshops etc, local and otherwise, are having events, exhibitions etc.

The Rialto’s launch has sold out.  Other events are selling well / out, see here for tickets.  People are looking forward to this.  There’s still time for a last-minute decision to go…

Poetry in the sea…  Every year at the Aldeburgh Festival, except when there were gales, poets have been in the sea; enough of them to form a minority tradition.  So this year I’m hoping we can have poetry in the sea as well as poets – swimming poets, you are invited to come and take part in a pop-up poetry reading in the sea:

The idea is that each reader should swim/float while reading; the rest of us can stand on shore and listen.  Speaking by heart would be a more accurate description than reading.  The poem may be one of yours or anyone’s, and it had probably best be short. 

This will be an experiment: I don’t even know if it’ll be possible to hear people speak their poems above the sound of the waves.  The water will be cold, but not freezing winter cold – it’s currently around 14.5 degrees. Wind and waves are currently looking OK for the Saturday, a bit wild on the Sunday.  But that forecast may change.  If the conditions aren’t suitable we’ll have to postpone until next year. 

When I get to Aldeburgh on Friday afternoon I’ll have a look and a trial swim and check the forecast.  Then I’ll advertise a time on Facebook and Twitter and ask others to spread the news too.

So, swimming poets: come along, bring a poem in your head and a towel, and wear your swimming costume under warm clothes. 

Interested non-swimmers, do please come along and support us! 

Some news about the Poetry Trust (who ran the Aldeburgh Poetry Festival for decades and had to go into hibernation after last year’s): they have now got an Arts Council transtion grant.  Here’s the chair, Robert Seatter, quoted in writeoutloud

What we decided to do in 2016 was to take a year out to review how the Poetry Trust operates, in order to come back more robust and financially viable for the future. At the moment, we’re working with Arts Council England, who have just awarded us a transition grant, to work out a detailed plan, enabling us to come back in 2017 with a new festival.

Friday, 30 September 2016

Poetry & politics at the Poetry Book Fair

What is the language using us for?  What were we all doing at the book fair, selling and buying books, networking, reading, listening? 

WS Graham’s question got quoted at the fair’s panel discussion on Poetry & Politics with Choman Hardi, WN Herbert, Sophie Mayer and RA Villanueva.  They talked passionately and collaboratively for almost an hour and the crowded room listened hard.  People kept coming up to me afterwards (I chaired the panel) to say they wished it had gone on for longer.  Or that they’d tried to get into the room but were turned away because it was full.  The discussion was filmed and it’s just gone up on the Book Fair’s website.  Bill Herbert has also put the link on New Boots & Pantisocracies and invited comments. 

Before the panel I had fun collecting quotes, to have in my back pocket in case discussion needed stimulating (it didn’t).  Here is a mixed bag, a lucky dip starting with one that, as Book Fair director Chrissy Williams reminded me, is usually quoted misleadingly, first five word only.

For poetry makes nothing happen: it survives
In the valley of its making where executives
Would never want to tamper, flows on south
From ranches of isolation and the busy griefs,
Raw towns that we believe and die in; it survives,
A way of happening, a mouth.
W H Auden ‘In Memory of W B Yeats’

Poetry is not about making things happen.  That’s what language does.  Poetry is about making language happen. 
Donald Revell, American Poetry Review

All norms of other kinds of discourse are changed when absorbed by a poem. 
Veronica Forrest-Thomson (intro to Poetic Artifice)

In the internet age, where we are at liberty to download such a plethora of texts – to reproduce them, recycle them, change their appearance by altering font, typeface, spacing, size – context and framing become the key elements.  The poet’s role has become, in the literal sense, that of a word processor, finding how best to absorb, recharge and redistribute the language that is already there
What, in this new poetry, has happened to the authentic voice?...  The fabled ‘sensitivity’ of the Creative Writer gives way to a sensitivity to language that is almost like a fever – a sensitivity that has been the distinguishing mark of the poet from the Troubadours to George Herbert… Emily Dickinson… Susan Howe..
Marjorie Perloff in PN Review, on poetry as the language art

[The] search for images and symbols adequate to our predicament. 
Seamus Heaney, ‘Feeling into Words’, Finders Keepers

I am interested in what activism can learn from poetry…. I believe failure in activism is often a deficiency of lyricism—an inability to collapse time and distance, a refusal to surprise or “make it new,” a willingness to calcify into rigid and limiting expectations, a closure to self-transformation, an unconsidered we or you, to name just a few. I believe social quests for freedom have much to learn from freedom enacted on the page. And that this conversation should happen on the level of reading and not, as it often is, solely on the level of intention… 
It’s a conversation that should happen especially with erasure, the most blatantly political form of late. Erasure may well be the closest poetry in English has gotten to role of the state.
Solmaz Sharif from the erasure issue of Evening will Come. Thanks to Sophie Mayer who told me about this piece which also contains much interesting material about erasure as a poetic device, highly recommended.  And then Ron Villanueva mentioned it on the panel – it’s a reference point.

No one who reads much contemporary poetry in English can fail to notice that there too the moral positions of the authors are sometimes taken as evidence of an artistic seriousness and accomplishment that the work may not in fact bear out.  At times we seem to be reading virtue rather than poetry.
Sean O’Brien in the Guardian (review of Centres of

Why does diversity in poetry matter?  … Poetry has the potential to hold up a mirror to society; at its best, it has the ability to show what a society may become. 
Nathalie Teitler, intro to Ten: the New Wave

One of the things the tyrant most cunningly engineers is the gross oversimplification of language, because propaganda requires that the minds of the collective respond primitively to slogans of incitement.
Geoffrey Hill in the Paris Review

The history of Europe in this [last] century is full of those terrible events supposed to have traduced or contaminated language, along with those sorrowful bystanders, perched upon some peak of purity, who can bewail the loss of a model of rational, passionate and poetic discourse that would somehow resist the ruptures of historical process. But, how silly…
Human language is the tribal continuity of expressive human behaviour, and is marked in its very core by whatever depravity or nobility an exercise of linguistic analysis may discover within the human record.  If writers and poets think that language can somehow resist this involvement with the worst, while claiming natural affinity with the best, then they are guilty of a naïve idealism that ought least of all to attract those who know how language works and what it can do. 
J H Prynne (quoted in a recent LRB piece by Robert Potts)

Every beginning
is only a sequel, after all,
and the book of events
is always open halfway through.
Wisława Szymborska, View With a Grain of Sand

Degas to Mallarmé: I’ve got good ideas for poems but can’t find the words.  M to D: “It is not with ideas, my dear Degas, that one makes poems. It is with words.”
                From the Perloff PNR article.

[Climate change] is like death, no-one wants to talk about it. 
Amitav Ghosh quoted in the Guardian recently; not a poetry
reference, I couldn’t find one...

Contemporary poets do not aspire to ‘greatness’; the role they are meant to fulfil is the role of the earthworm.  The soil of the earthworm is language. 
Wojciech Bonowicz; from Modern Poetry in Translation

The hugely successful Book Fair has become an indispensable institution over the five (or six?) years it’s been going.  This year the team produced a Poetry Almanac containing listings for and descriptions of 190 poetry publishers and other poetry organisations.  There’s also a poem each from many of the publishers and a set of essays on poetry publishing.  The Almanac may become an institution too – it’s a very useful reference work of a sort that hasn’t existed up until now.  You can get it here.  


Wednesday, 31 August 2016

Rereading Seamus Heaney’s ‘Personal Helicon’

This poem’s music has been bumping along at the back of my brain, coming in and out of focus along with the words.  I’m obsessed with the poem and have to write about it.  (A completely different experience from the often exasperating one of having a song on the brain.)    

Like many readers and students of poetry, Irish and British at least, I’ve known ‘Personal Helicon’ for years, especially its much-quoted ending.  Recently I picked up Death of a Naturalist again, started on the last page and was transfixed as if I’d never read it before.  Last poem of Heaney’s first book (and nicely balanced with ‘Digging’, the opening poem).  It’s here, with a recording of him reading it.  

The odd title (personal what? first-time readers must ask) sets us up for something elevated and classical.  Mount Helicon was a haunt of the Muses and its springs were said to inspire poetry – hard for northern Europeans used to rain and damp earth to grasp the magic of fresh water in the arid mountainscape of central Greece.  But from the first line we’re down in wells: deep in the unknown earth whose crust we live on unthinkingly, amid dankness, rats, echoes, weed and mud; deep in the unknown self, in origins and childhood fascinations.  And down in wells we stay (or rather half looking down, half down there) though in the last verse Narcissus brings us back to Helicon, where Echo fell in love with him and he with his own reflection. 

The rhythms of the poem are based on iambic pentameters but move far from them.  Stressed syllables tend to be strongly stressed, almost Hopkins-like; two often occur next to each other, as in the first two lines of the second verse:

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.

The consonants in the second line mimic the crash.  The third line unwinds the bucket from the windlass in rapid dactyls.  There’s humour in all this but it’s scary too – there’s danger in the rotted top, the crash, the reflectionless depths that get their own short sentence for emphasis.  Later in the poem the lines smooth out to become more conventionally iambic – until disturbed by “a rat slapped…”

There’s such relish in the language – as always with Heaney – unLatinate, onomatopoeic, often monosyllabic, enriched with words like windlasses, scaresome, mulch.  My shorter OED hasn’t taken scaresome on board.  Then, as if for fun, Heaney gives us a Latinate line with an unusual word, “Fructified like any aquarium”. 

Heaney’s laying claim to his own language here, his own territory, as well as his right to be up that Greek mountain.  It’s a political poem, subtly so. 

Apart from the aquarium line there’s little metaphor in the poem whose effects come from graphic, pungent detail: rat, roots and slime, smells and sounds.  Despite these the brilliance of language and rhythm, the relish and the humour give a sense of refreshment.  The word “reflection” appears twice to bring in both light and thought.

And of course the whole poem’s a metaphor, leading up to the denoument of the fifth verse:

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. 

The perfection of that last sentence sets up echoes of its own in the reader.  The final line is a lone hexameter – declarative.  It acts out the echoing in -self, set, -ness, ech-, following lots of short and long i's in the rest of the verse.   

Has anyone expressed the Why of writing poetry, the introspection and excitement, as well as this?  Not just in that sentence and the lovely, serious piss-take preceding it (poets, self-obsession/-indulgence, vanity) but also the run-up, the set-up, the whole poem?