I really love Seamus Heaney. I hold him on the same poet's pedestal as T.S. Eliot and William Carlos Williams as exemplifying, more or less, everything I love about poetry. Plus, he's still among the living. I was delighted to discover that his is the latest profiled in the Guardian's Writers' Rooms series.
I liked to think there was much virtuous concentration stored in that timber, but I also liked the makeshift nature of the arrangement. I always had a superstitious fear of setting up a too well-designed writing place and then finding that the writing had absconded.
|Categories: Poetry, Authors|