"'The main thing is to write
for the joy of it. Cultivate a work-lust
that imagines its haven like your hands at night
dreaming the sun in the sunspot of a breast.
You are fasted now, light-headed, dangerous.
Take off from here. And don't be so earnest,
so ready for the sackcloth and the ashes.
Let go, let fly, forget.
You've listened long enough. Now strike your note.' "
–– Seamus Heaney (1939-2013) Irish poet
*Source: "Station Island," Part XII, in Opened Ground, p. 244-245
3 comments:
Perfect! I really respond to the idea of "work-lust." Thanks for this.
Seams Heaney died in the same month and year as my father. The newspapers were full of his poetry at the time, and it was somehow a great comfort. One of the remarkable "word gardeners" of the whirled
Thanks Claudia and India, "work-lust" and "word gardeners" are both very appealing.
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