Human Chain, Hardback Book
3 out of 5 (2 ratings)


Seamus Heaney's new collection elicits continuities and solidarities, between husband and wife, child and parent, then and now, inside an intently remembered present - the stepping stones of the day, the weight and heft of what is passed from hand to hand, lifted and lowered. "Human Chain" also broaches larger questions of transmission, as lifelines to the inherited past.

There are newly minted versions of anonymous early Irish lyric, poems which stand at the crossroads of oral and written, and other 'hermits songs' which weigh equally in their balance the craft of scribe and the poet's early calling as scholar.

A remarkable sequence entitled "Route 110" plots the descent into the underworld in the Aeneid against single moments in the arc of a life, from a 1950s childhood to the birth of the poet's first grandchild.

Other poems display a Virgilian pietas for the dead - friends, neighbours, family - which is yet wholly and movingly vernacular. "Human Chain" also adapts a poetic 'herbal' by the Breton poet Guillevic - lyrics as delicate as ferns, which puzzle briefly over the world of things which excludes human speech, while affirming the interconnectedness of phenomena, as of a self-sufficiency in which we too are included. "Human Chain" is Seamus Heaney's twelfth collection of poems.


  • Format: Hardback
  • Pages: 96 pages
  • Publisher: Faber & Faber
  • Publication Date:
  • Category: Poetry by individual poets
  • ISBN: 9780571269228

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Showing 1 - 2 of 2 reviews.

Review by

Seamus Heaney's latest is, overall, a mixed bag.The usual, stereotypical Heaney subjects are present: childhood in Northern Ireland, memorials of people long gone (often due to sectarian violence), the Irish landscape, but all these come across as a bit perfunctory. There's nothing new in them, no great well-swelling of feeling that wasn't there before, that perhaps wasn't expressed more movingly or eloquently.The volume only really hits its stride when he moves on to eulogizing the more recently departed, to his own advancing age and his recent-ish stroke. Then the emotion breaks through: sad, weary, even tired, but all the same with a greater feeling of authenticity.

Review by

While I adore Seamus Heaney's translation of Beowulf, this was my first attempt at reading his poetry.There's an air of loss and sadness here, it's as if the poetry is all written in the past tense, with nostalgia for youth and the decay of aging seeming to be the theme of this collection.Some of it I quite liked, but I'm left with a nagging sensation that I've missed something somewhere along the line.

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