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- Join over 1.2 million students every month - Accelerate your learning by 29% - Unlimited access from just £6.99 per month 'Mid-term Break' by Seamus Heaney - review Extracts from this document... Introduction 'Mid-term Break' by Seamus Heaney 'Mid-term Break' is a biographical poem. It is about Seamus Heaney as a child coming back from boarding school and discovering his four-year-old brother has been hit by a car and died. "At two o'clock our neighbours drove me home." This is the first event that tells us that something is not right. Neighbours won't usually pick up boarders; it would usually probably be the parents or a relative. This immediately creates a sort of mystery to the poem and makes you ask questions. It makes you want to read on to find out what it is that's wrong. ...read more. Middle "...my mother held my hand In hers and coughed out angry tearless sighs." This is almost as shocking as the father crying. I would've thought the mother would've been the crying parent and the father would've been the one trying to be strong. It also informs us that she's angry about how this person has died and that she might even feel angry towards someone who contributed to his or her death. "At ten o'clock the ambulance arrived With the corpse, stanched and bandaged by the nurses." This is an awful picture. The corpse has been stanched to prevent it from bleeding, this tells us that the death must've been an accident and it was not from natural causes. ...read more. Conclusion No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear." We finally are told more about the accident and the deceased. A poppy is used to describe the bruise on his left temple because it traditionally symbolises death. The deceased is a young boy as it says he lies in a four-foot box as though it was his cot. And we are finally told that he has been hit by a car and has died instantly from being hit on the temple. The last paragraph is the simplest but the strongest of the whole poem. It tells us that the boy was just four years old and he is now dead, lying in his box. "A four foot box, a foot for every year." Francesca Nichol - 3A1 ...read more. This student written piece of work is one of many that can be found in our GCSE Seamus Heaney section. Found what you're looking for? - Start learning 29% faster today - 150,000+ documents available - Just £6.99 a month - Join over 1.2 million students every month - Accelerate your learning by 29% - Unlimited access from just £6.99 per month
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Seamus Heaney 1939 – 2013, Céard atá i ndán dúinn?, File faoi bhláth ar shlí na fírinne Píosa le húdar an bhlaig, ancroiait.blogspot.com Ar Twitter ar maidin thug mé faoi deara go raibh daoine ag scríobh faoi Seamus Heaney is níor thuig mé cén fáth ar dtús. An raibh duais eile buaite aige? Ach ansin tháinig an smaoineamh sin chugham. Ag an am céanna cheap mé nach bhféadfadh sé ‘bheith fíor. Bhí sé ró-óg. Domsa bhí sé i gcónaí an aois céanna. Bhí sé ina mhúinteoir óg i gCarysfort ag siúl isteach inár rang beag. Ach cén aois é i ndáiríre anois? D’oscail mé an nuacht agus ansin a bhí an fhírinne. Cén scéal é seo ar maidin? Ní raibh mé ag súil leis seo. Tá mo mhúinteoir imithe. Bhí fonn orm caint leis, le rá leis, “Bhí tú lách, an rud is tábhachtaí, is mhínigh tú áilleacht dúinn.” Agus is fíor sin. Is chreid sé ann féin agus ionainn agus b’shin rud nach bhfaca muid cheana san áit sin. Nuair a thosaigh an rang an chéad lá dúirt sé gan náire ar bith, “Is file mé.” D’fhéachamar ar a chéile is trua againn dá mháthair. Ní raibh ach timpeall naonúr againn sa rang sin. Professional English an tideal a bhí ar an gcúrsa. Ní fiú Béarla acadúil. Ach bhí an t-ádh linn. Chuireamar na binsí go na ballaí agus shuíomar i gciorcal sa lár. B’shin rud nua freisin. Léigh sé a dhánta agus d’iarr sé orainn ár dtuairimí fúthu a nochtadh don rang go léir. Is thuigeamar go raibh suim aige iontu. B’shin saol nua ar fad. B’shin an rang ab’ fhearr liom. Léirigh sé an draíocht is spraoi atá i bhfocail. Phlémar an difríocht idir Dock leaf agus Docken leaf agus muid ag caint faoi neantóga agus leigheas. Docken a chuala mé ag fás suas sa Mhuileann gCearr ach bhí Dock ag an gcuid eile den rang. Níor chreid mé riamh roimhe sin go mbeadh rud mar sin tábhachtach. Na fiailí sin ó thalamh bocht! Ach bhí na focail beo ina rang agus d’imríomar leo agus bhlasamar a mbinneas. Ag iarraidh bás mar seo a thuiscint, cuimhním ar a dhán Mid-Term Break. Mid-term Break I sat all morning in the college sick bay Counting bells knelling classes to a close. At ten o’clock our neighbours drove me home. In the porch I met my father crying – He had always taken funerals in his stride – And Big Jim Evans saying it was a hard blow. The baby cooed and laughed and rocked the pram When I came in, and I was embarrassed By old men standing up to shake my hand And tell me they were ‘sorry for my trouble’ Whispers informed strangers that I was the eldest, Away at school, as my mother held my hand In hers and coughed out angry tearless sighs. At ten o’clock the ambulance arrived With the corpse, stanched and bandaged by the nurses. Next morning I went up into the room. Snowdrops And candles soothed the bedside I saw him For the first time in six weeks. Paler now, Wearing a poppy bruise on his left temple. He lay in a four foot box, as in his cot. No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear. A four foot box, a foot for every year. D’fhéadfaimis uair a chloig a caitheamh ag caint faoin tideal amháin. Téarma. Tearmann. Lár. Cá fhad? Briseadh. Bhí domhan is doimhneacht is deiseanna i ngach focal. B’shin a stíl. Oscail go hiomlán é do gach duine agus éist leis na smaointe go léir a scaoiltear. Aistear. Chuala mé ollamh in ollscoil anseo i Moorpark, California ag míniú don rang gur sneachta a bhí i gceist leis an bhfocal sin Snowdrops. Cén chaoi a mbeadh ‘fhios aige nach ea. Ní fhaca sé Snowdrop riamh ina shaol ach bhí an bláth fíor-speisialta dúinne. Nuair a fheicimid an chéad plúirín sneachta sin in Éirinn tá cion againn dó. Tá meas againn ar a chumhacht cé go bhfuil sé chomh beag sin. Tá ceangailt eadrainn. Muidne agus an bláth. Tugann sé dóchas dúinn go bhfuil sé comh umhal sin lena cheann cromtha agus an chaoi atá sé in ann fás sa bhfuacht. Tagann a chloigeann aníos go bhfeictear é thar an sneachta. Diúltaíonn sé an bás. Ní ghéilleann sé don cruatan. Cosúil le brat ag fógairt saoirse ach le dath an síochána, feictear ansin é ag giobadh amach. Tugann sé le fios go bhfuil an samhradh ag teacht agus nár chóir dúinn misneach a chailleadh. A mhalairt de Madra Goya atá ann. Soineantacht. Sólás. Slán. Chaith Seamus roinnt mhaith ama ag caint faoin bhfrása poppy bruise sa dán sin linn. Seasann sé amach sa dán. Rud nár chóir a bheith ann. Mar an gcéanna liom an nuacht inniu. Níor chóir dó ‘bheith ann. Ó poppies go snowdrops. Bás go fás. Tá na Northern Poets fós ann agus tá filí ar fud na tire. Cé nár scríobh Seamus as Gaeilge, ba fíor-ghael é in ann an tír is a daoine a chuir in iúl don domhan mór. Fiú óna ainm tuigtear a chúlra. Is bhí tuiscint aige ar mhuintearas. Airím uaim é: a chroí mór, a chineáltas, a ghrá dá cheird, an meas a thug sé dúinn, a ghuth. Cosúil leis na snowdrops a soothed thug sé suaimhneas dom is ionadh is misneach. Céard atá i ndán dúinn? An bás, ar ndóigh. Ach ar an mbealach, tá dánta Seamus Heaney againn. Mairfidh a spiorad go deo iontu. Tá an saoi imithe. Tá a spiorad fós linn