Cairn-Maker
for Barrie Cooke
He robbed the stones' nest, uncradled
As he orphaned and betrother rock
To rock: his unaccustomed hand
Went chambering upon hillock
And bogland, Clamping, balancing,
That whole day spent in the Burren,
He did not find and add to them
But piled up small cairn after cairn
AQnd dressed some stones with his own mark.
Which he tells of with almost fear;
And of strange affiliation
To what was touched and handled there,
Unexpected hives and castlings
Pennanted now, claimed by no hand:
Rush and ladysmock, heather-bells
Blowing in each aftermath of wind.
Seamus Heaney
Poems
1965-1975
reecipe from Ina Garten's blog.
