Seamus Heaney, a celebrated and grand Irish poet who won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1995, sadly died yesterday in a hospital in Dublin at the age of 74. 
To say that Heaney had a way with words is an understatement.  His powerful verse transported readers around the world to Ireland and sometimes to its rural landscape and the grind of its daily responsibilities.  To me, his phrasing always felt magical and lyrical no matter what subject he addressed. 
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| Irish Poet And Nobel Laureate Seamus Heaney | 
As a tribute to Heaney's great talents, here is Digging, one of my favorite poems that Heaney wrote in 1966. Every time I read it, I feel as though I am right there with him in the bogs, smelling the wet dirt and watching as turf is cut for fuel.
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| Cutting Turf In Ireland | 
Digging
Between my finger and my 
thumb   
The squat pen rests; snug as a 
gun. 
Under my window, a clean 
rasping sound   
When the spade sinks into 
gravelly ground:   
My father, digging. I look 
down 
Till his straining rump among 
the flowerbeds   
Bends low, comes up twenty 
years away   
Stooping in rhythm through 
potato drills   
Where he was digging. 
The coarse boot nestled on the 
lug, the shaft   
Against the inside knee was 
levered firmly. 
He rooted out tall tops, 
buried the bright edge deep 
To scatter new potatoes that 
we picked, 
Loving their cool hardness in 
our hands. 
By God, the old man could 
handle a spade.   
Just like his old man. 
My grandfather cut more turf 
in a day 
Than any other man on Toner’s 
bog. 
Once I carried him milk in a 
bottle 
Corked sloppily with paper. He 
straightened up 
To drink it, then fell to 
right away 
Nicking and slicing neatly, 
heaving sods 
Over his shoulder, going down 
and down 
For the good turf. Digging.
The cold smell of potato 
mould, the squelch and slap 
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts 
of an edge 
Through living roots awaken in 
my head. 
But I’ve no spade to follow 
men like them. 
Between my finger and my thumb 
The squat pen rests. 
I’ll dig with it.
Seamus Heaney, "Digging" from Death of a Naturalist. Copyright 1966 
by Seamus Heaney. Reprinted with the permission of Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 
LLC.
Source: Death of a Naturalist (1966) 




















