PoemBlackberry-Picking
Author / PoetSeamus Heaney
TagsBlackberries, Decay, Loss, Memory

Late August, given heavy rain and sun
For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
Among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
Like thickened wine: summer’s blood was in it
Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots
Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.
Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills
We trekked and picked until the cans were full,
Until the tinkling bottom had been covered
With green ones, and on top big dark blobs burned
Like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered
With thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard’s.

We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre.
But when the bath was filled we found a fur,
A rat-grey fungus, glutting on our cache.
The juice was stinking too. Once off the bush
The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour.
I always felt like crying. It wasn’t fair
That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot.
Each year I hoped they’d keep, knew they would not.

Seamus Heaney
Seamus Heaney
Region: Eastern Europe
Period: Contemporary
Awards: Geoffrey Faber Memorial Prize, Nobel Prize in Literature, Whitbread Book Award

more poems by Seamus Heaney

Poem NameTopic
Whatever You Say Say NothingConflict, Internment, Journalism
ValedictionAbsence, Emptiness, Love
The OtterIntimacy, Memory, Swimmer
PunishmentAdultery, Bog, Revenge
Personal HeliconDarkness, Memory, Reflection
Death of a NaturalistFlax, Frogs, Spawn
BoglandBog, Depth, History
Storm on the IslandFear, Isolation, Nature

all poems by Seamus Heaney

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