My favourite love poem barely checks out such as a love poem at all. In Seamus Heaney’s “Scaffolding,” the belated Irish poet compares the wedding he shares together with his spouse Marie to not ever a flower or a springtime or birdsong but into the scaffolding that masons erect when beginning construction for a building.
Masons, Heaney writes, “Are careful to try the scaffolding out; / Make certain that planks won’t slide at busy points, / Secure all ladders, tighten bolted joints;” — work that’s not allocated to the edifice it self but supports the more work in the future. Their care just takes care of “when the job’s done,” when “all this comes down” to show “walls of yes and solid stone.” Such, he suggests, is love: if you add when you look at the perseverance, fan and beloved can “let the scaffolds fall / Confident that people have actually built our wall surface.”
I really like much relating to this poem — its solidness, its succinctness, its easy, workmanlike quality. The majority of all though, Everyone loves exactly exactly how utterly unromantic it’s. Verder lezen