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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 Death has been described and explained in many different ways by many different poets, William Wordsworth and Seamus Heaney being two of them. Extracts from this document... Introduction Poetry Coursework. Death has been described and explained in many different ways by many different poets, William Wordsworth and Seamus Heaney being two of them. Wordsworth's romantic poem We are seven is based in the countryside and is about a little girl telling Wordsworth about her family. In the poem, I see love, unity, and identification expressed by Wordsworth. Love is seen in stanza three Her eyes were fair and very fair; Her beauty made me glad. Unity can be seen in stanza eight and fourteen Seven boys and girls are we; Two of us in the churchyard lie, Beneath the churchyard tree. Together round her grave we played, My brother John and I. Identification is seen in stanza two She was eight years old, she said; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head. The simple structure of the poem symbolizes the simple life of the little girl, A simple child, dear brother Jim, That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death? ...read more. Middle We are seven! In the last stanza of the poem Wordsworth is still frustrated with the little girl but he sees that the spiritual mind of the little girl is vastly superior to his, he realizes that this little maid's strong beliefs are unshakeable, The little maid would have her will And said, 'Nay we are seven!' Seamus Heaney's poem Mid-term break is an emotional, personal poem. It portrays death in a different way from Wordsworth, Heaney expresses death more solemnly than the little girl in Wordsworth's poem. I see bitterness, separation, and desolation in this poem. Bitterness is seen in the last stanza, A four-foot box, a foot for every year. Separation is seen in stanza four, At ten o'clock an ambulance arrived With the corpse, stanched and bandaged by nurses. Desolation is seen in stanza two, 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. In stanza one Heaney shows the sense of loneliness beginning while he is still at school, his attitude to death is so different from that of the little girl's. ...read more. Conclusion This is a big contrast to the little girl, she does not say anything about the days surrounding the death of her siblings. The last stanza describes the little boy in his coffin, Wearing a poppy bruise on his left temple He lay in the four-foot box as in his cot. No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear. The 'poppy bruise' is the only visible sign from the accident, it represents his memory of death. The little girl in Wordsworth's poem does not have any memory of death, she tries to forget that they are dead, maybe that is why Heaney seems more cold and bitter than her. In the last line Heaney tries to conceal his feelings of pain and sorrow. He writes as if the child's short life was worthless, it is a very powerful last line, A four-foot box, a foot for every year. In We are seven death is seen through the eyes of a child, it has no emotion or feeling, the little girl treats her dead brother and sister as if they were still living. However, in Mid-term break death is seen in a completely different light. It shows the chilling image of a great loss, full of emotion and sadness where Heaney is overwhelmed by death. ...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