Holly - Seamus Heaney
It rained when it should have snowed.
When we went to gather holly
the ditches were swimming, we were wet
to the knees, our hands were all jags
and water ran up our sleeves.
There should have been berries
but the sprigs we brought into the house
gleamed like smashed bottle-glass.
Now here I am, in a room that is decked
with the red-berried, waxy-leafed stuff,
and I almost forgot what it's like
to be wet to the skin or longing for snow.
I reach for a book like a doubter
and want it to flare round my hand,
a black letter bush, a glittering shield-wall,
cutting as holly and ice.
We gathered holly,as children, every year from 1957 until about 1965,when teenage years struck and I became too old. This is probably my favourite poem, though I have many.
ReplyDeleteThe holly-picking experience was exactly as depicted by Seamus H.
Brigid.