It was four years yesterday that Seamus Heaney passed… As is often the case with this sort of anniversaries, it feels like much less and much longer at the same time.
And one remembers poets with poems. So, Remembered Columns, about those things whose meaning doesn’t change too much across years, beliefs, circumstances, places…
The solid letters of the world grew airy.
The marble serifs, the clearly blocked uprights
Built upon rocks and set upon the heights
Rose like remembered columns in a storyAbout the Virgins house that rose and flew
And landed on the hilltop at Loreto.
I lift my eyes in a light-headed credo,
Discovering what survives translation true.
Scribblings 