The Harvest Bow

As you plaited the harvest bow You implicated the mellowed silence in you In wheat that does not rust But brightens as it tightens twist by twist Into a knowable corona, A throwaway love-knot of straw. Hands that aged round ashplants and cane sticks And lapped the spurs on a lifetime of game cocks Harked to their gift and worked with fine intent Until your fingers moved somnambulant: I tell and finger it like braille, Gleaning the unsaid off the palpable, And if I spy into its golden loops I see us walk between the railway slopes Into an evening of long grass and midges, Blue smoke straight up, old beds and ploughs in hedges, An auction notice on an outhouse wall— You with a harvest bow in your lapel, Me with the fishing rod, already homesick For the big lift of these evenings, as your stick Whacking the tips off weeds and bushes Beats out of time, and beats, but flushes Nothing: that original townland Still tongue-tied in the straw tied by your hand. The end of art is peace Could be the motto of this frail device That I have pinned up on our deal dresser— Like a drawn snare Slipped lately by the spirit of the corn Yet burnished by its passage, and still warm.

HIS FATHERMAKING THINGSSENSE OF PLACE / HOME

Opens with act of creation

mellowed silence - kind, gentle, serenebrightens as it tightens twist by twist - repeated rhyme AND internal rhymecorona - the circle of light that surrounds the sun; here, although the father is silent, he is knowable in the bright circle of the bow that he plaits (metaphor)appeal to the sensesthrowaway - seemingly unimportanthyphon - connection to love

peaceful man who always worked hardHis fingers are so skillful and dextrous that he'd be able to do this in his sleepHarvest bow is a portal to these memories

Bow goes from a simple object to a connector/interface between the present and the pastIt allows him to relive percious times he had with his father (portkey - connection)

Imagery

We didn't say as much as we should have said to eachother but I can see it from the bow.

The end of art is peace -  peace and harmony arrived at through respective arts between father and son.he still has the harvest bowlike a drawn snare - potential powerburnished by its passage - polished from rubbingAnd still warm - imagery (colour) and connection to his father.

Creation'As you plaited the harvest bowYou implicated the mellowed silence in you''Harked to their gift and worked with fine intentUntil your fingers moved somnambulant'

Appeal to the senses'brightens as it tightens twist by twist''long grass and midges'

Repeated rhyme / internal rhyme'brightens as it tightens twist by twist'

Nature of his father - father's talent - relationship'Hands that ages round ashplants and cane sticksAnd lapped the spurs on a lifetime of gamecocks''...that original townlandStill tongue-tied in the straw tied by your hand''.... already homesickFor the big lift of those evenings'

Bow as a portal to the past / as a connection to his father'knowable corona''throwaway love-knot of straw''I tell and finger it like brailleGleaning the unsaid off the palpable''And if I spy into its golden loopsI see us walk between the railway slopes''You with a harvest bow in your lapel'

Memory'I see us walk between the railway slopesInto an evening of long grass and midges'

Power / importance of the harvest bow'The end of art is peaceCould be the motto of this frail deviceThat I have pinned up on our deal dresser -- Like a drawn snareSlipped lately by the spirit of the cornYet burnished by its passage, and still warm.

http://www.ibiblio.org/ipa/audio/heaney/the_harvest_bow.mp3

The Harvest Bow

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