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DEATH
OF A NATURIST

A humorous poetic tribute to the great Seamus Heaney

by Gerry Maguire Thompson

Seamus Heaney himself read this poem, appreciated it and said it had "great swing and relish!"

 

 

 

 

The never-ending summer of our youth
Was thick with fecund nuts and crunchy roots
Daily we'd garnered berries, cram our guts
and faces, with fermenting fleshy fruits.

Or gather at the green-pond's fetid edge
And jellied-eyeball toadspawn freely take;
Pull turgid eels from every slimy nook,
Drag dark-striped pike from out the sloe-black lake.

We followed in our father's plough-worn path
And learned hard lessons from his belt and cuff;
We mastered crafts of raking up plump spuds,
The roughish cut and thrust of turf and stuff.

Or else we'd dig for rotting bones and skulls,
Shrouded from ancient times in mist and fog;
Poke at the shattered ribs of murdered Celts,
Or pull full-festering corpses from the bog.

Then, in the midst of summer's sultry bake,
Where the river's sinewy outline twists and curls,
We'd dive into its chilly waters, nude -
Then show our shrivelled willies to the girls.

My digging now is for the poem's truths;
My hunt no longer for primeval turds;
My gathering of fruits the verbal kinds -
All I flash, now, is metaphors and words.

For recognition's hit me with brash clout
Now all I do is look, and sit, and write;
Gone are the days of grime and dirty work -
I am a bloody lucky oul' gob-shite!

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