"Digging" by Seamus Heaney, is an autobiographical
poem—written, that is, by Heaney. He is recalling the memory of his father, digging into
the ground to harvest potatoes. The tone (or the author's feeling about his subject) is
one of awe, respect and pride.
The poem begins with lines
that identify the speaker—Heaney. And in his hand is a pen that fits snuggly like a gun.
This image gives the impression of power, perhaps alluding to the statement that "
href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_pen_is_mightier_than_the_sword">the pen is
mightier than the sword." However, as Heaney progresses, we will see that
this kind of power means very little to the author as he recalls
the work of his father before him.
Between my finger and my
thumb
The squat pen rests; as snug as a
gun.
Heaney's father is gone
now, twenty years, but in the author's memory, he can see his dad, hear the sound of his
shovel, and feel and smell the dirt. His father would work with the
shovel...
To
scatter new potatoes that we pickedLoving their cool
hardness in our
hands.
"Loving" indicates the
author's actions as a child, but also his pleasure in the memory of harvesting the
potatoes. Heaney's pride in his father's skill is evident as he praises his dad
and his grandfather.
By God, the old man could handle a
spade,
Just like his old
man.
His respect for this
skill with the shovel is evident as the author continues to write, remembering his
grandfather's prowess in the potato fields.
My grandfather could cut more turf in a
day
Than any other man on Toner's
bog.
Throughout these lines,
the author not only remembers, but he pays homage in this verse, extolling the skill and
grace wielded by the men in his family, in his native Ireland, when they worked until
their backs were bent, but with a beauty of precision and
form.
Heaney expresses regret that he cannot be like these
men whom he follows. He cannot pick up a spade to try to achieve what
they were able, with their own pride and mastery, to accomplish.
The best that he can do is use his pen to "dig," trying to capture
some of the skill and grace that they used to make harvesting potatoes like its own form
of art. The image of the "gun" is gone, replaced with the honorable labor of digging,
harvesting, and working in the fields.
Between my finger and my
thumb
The squat pen
rests.
I'll dig with
it.
Though Heaney may regret
that he cannot follow as closely to his father and grandfather as he might like, the
overall tone of the poem expresses admiration for their
capabilities.
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