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"Punishment," by Seamus Heaney (Polius copy)

Author: Seamus Heaney

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I can feel the tug
of the halter at the nape
of her neck, the wind
on her naked front.

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Apr 8
KEEBA POLIUS (Apr 08 2019 9:12PM) : Patterns more

The poet has a pattern of 4 lines for every stanza. The poet probably does that because he wants to limit the amount of information you retain at a time. or he wants to clearly envoke the feeling of every moment with out over exaggerating.

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KEEBA POLIUS (Apr 08 2019 9:35PM) : Diction more

the halter of the nape of her neck, why didnt he just say, the back of her neck? is he trying to confuse the reader?

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It blows her nipples
to amber beads,
it shakes the frail rigging
of her ribs.

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I can see her drowned
body in the bog,
the weighing stone,
the floating rods and boughs.

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KEEBA POLIUS (Apr 08 2019 9:19PM) : Diction more

Rods are usually bars that are used to hold up something. Sometimes used for curtains, and or decorative purposes. Does the poet refer to them as floating because they aren’t seen. Then he says boughs which are the main branches of a tree. banches usually hang. So is he reffering to someone being hanged and there body floating?

Under which at first
she was a barked sapling
that is dug up
oak-bone, brain-firkin:

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KEEBA POLIUS (Apr 08 2019 9:31PM) : Diction more

I am one of many that does not know what an oak- bone is. The poet then puts (-) as a conjunction of two words. I know that an oak is a type of tree. And a bone is like the core. The core of a tree im guessing are the roots or the branch. Then the poet goes on to say brain firkin. usually when people says the word firkin its because they are frustated. But why did he spell in that way? From my knowledge firkin is spelt freaking? is he southern?

her shaved head
like a stubble of black corn,
her blindfold a soiled bandage,
her noose a ring

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to store
the memories of love.
Little adulteress,
before they punished you

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you were flaxen-haired,
undernourished, and your
tar-black face was beautiful.
My poor scapegoat,

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I almost love you
but would have cast, I know,
the stones of silence.
I am the artful voyeur

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of your brains exposed
and darkened combs,
your muscles’ webbing
and all your numbered bones:

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I who have stood dumb
when your betraying sisters,
cauled in tar,
wept by the railings,

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who would connive
in civilized outrage
yet understand the exact
and tribal, intimate revenge.

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DMU Timestamp: March 29, 2019 18:11

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