Vol. 62 No. 1 1995 - page 148

148
PARTISAN RE VIEW
quick. I am upstairs shakin g" we read , fee ling that concurrent with
writing it H eaney did indeed call downstairs.
In
" Gl anmore R evisited, "
the poet revisits bo th th e place and th e time written about ea rli er ; the
to ne is predominantly on e o f rem embran ce: " It felt remembered even
then ." His image o f m emory as th e almos t tam ed bedroom ivy could
stand fo r the poem (perhaps the bo ok) as a who le:
And little shoo ts of ivy creeping in
Unl ess you've trained them out - like memories
You' ve trained so long now they ca n show their face
And keep their distance.
Throu g hout
See ing T hings,
es p ec iall y in th e sec ond part ,
" Squarings," Heaney squares up aga inst hi s past poeti cs, " re-envisaging"
his material in a mo re relaxed way , go ing fo r something elusive he feels
he m.issed , o r neglected , befo re:
R e-enter this as the adult of solitude ,
The sil ence forder and the definite
Presence you sensed withdrawing the first time around .
In
the phrase "silence fo rder" it is tempting to find an allusion to
and contrast with the one who burrowed so lo ng in " the word hoard ."
The sense o f refindin g and re-in vigo ratin g a lost se lf is stron g in
Seeing Things .
It
is the self who, as he writes in " Fosterling," can "credit
marvels."
It
is the self who, after long instructi o n , has lea rn ed:
.. . whatever is given
Can always be re-imagi ned, however fo ur-square
Plank-thi ck, hull-stupid and out of its time
It happens to be. You are as free as the lookout,
That far-seeing j oker posted high ove r the fog,
Who declared by the tilll e that he had got himself down
The actual ship had been stolen away beneath him.
(from "The Settl e Bed")
As in Blake 's coupl et , " If th e sun and moon sho uld doubt/ They'd
immedi ately go out ," beli ef is all. Fo rtunatel y, whil e he's posted high
"over the fog," like hi s "far-seekin g j o ker" lookout , the ac tual ship of
Heaney's poeti c gift is very much suppo rting him, carrying him over the
waters.
CAROL MOLDAW
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