Seamus Heaney

Seamus Heaney (/ˈʃeɪməs ˈhiːni/; born 13 April 1939) is an Irish poet, playwright, translator, lecturer and recipient of the 1995 Nobel Prize in Literature. Born at Mossbawn farmhouse between Castledawson and Toomebridge, he now resides in Dublin.

As well as the Nobel Prize in Literature, Heaney has received the Geoffrey Faber Memorial Prize (1968), the E. M. Forster Award (1975), the PEN Translation Prize (1985), the Golden Wreath of Poetry (2001), T. S. Eliot Prize (2006) and two Whitbread Prizes (1996 and 1999). He has been a member of Aosdána since its foundation and has been Saoi since 1997. He was both the Harvard and the Oxford Professor of Poetry and was made a Commandeur de l'Ordre des Arts et Lettres in 1996. Heaney's literary papers are held by the National Library of Ireland. On 6 June 2012, he was awarded the Lifetime Recognition Award from the Griffin Trust For Excellence In Poetry.

Robert Lowell called him "the most important Irish poet since Yeats" and many others, including the academic John Sutherland, have echoed the sentiment that he is "the greatest poet of our age".

Read more about Seamus Heaney:  Early Life, Work, Critical Studies of Heaney, Selected Discography, Major Prizes and Honours

Famous quotes by seamus heaney:

    What blazed ahead of you? A faked road block?
    The red lamp swung, the sudden brakes and stalling
    Engine, voices, heads hooded and the cold-nosed gun?
    Seamus Heaney (b. 1939)

    Some day I will go to Aarhus
    To see his peat-brown head,
    The mild pods of his eye-lids,
    His pointed skin cap.
    Seamus Heaney (b. 1939)

    who would connive
    in civilized outrage
    yet understand the exact
    and tribal, intimate revenge.
    Seamus Heaney (b. 1939)

    He sits, strong and blunt as a Celtic cross,
    Clearly used to silence and an armchair:
    Tonight the wife and children will be quiet
    At slammed door and smoker’s cough in the hall.
    Seamus Heaney (b. 1939)

    We have no prairies
    To slice a big sun at evening—
    Everywhere the eye concedes to
    Encroaching horizon,
    Is wooed into the cyclops’ eye
    Of a tarn.
    Seamus Heaney (b. 1939)