I have finally finished reading Seamus Heaney’s “New Selected Poems: 1966-1987“, which I received from a fellow blogger, Kirstyes and our particular copy will soon be travelling on to a new reader. At the moment, it is only on offer to friends, but if there are no takers (within the British Isles) I will open it up to recipients a little farther away.
I will update my blog when I have posted it. Before then, I have to admit my disappointment with this book. I like poetry, I really do. Like art, I don’t know much about it, but I know what I like. I found most of the poems unappealing apart from the “Sweeney” material and three others: “North“, “Song” and “Sloe Gin“. Now, given the length of the book (240 pages) and the body of work it contains I find it surprising that I could not connect more to what I was reading; rather I was left feeling inadequate and confused. Why couldn’t I understand what Mr Heaney was attempting to convey to me, the reader? I was left feeling that Mr Heaney writes for a more sophisticated audience than myself.* Still, we each have our own tastes and “New Selected Poems: 1966-1987” just didn’t do it for me.
So on to the next reader, who will relish it more – I hope.
* Or, perhaps I just don’t have the intellect or understanding required to read this kind of work?