Blackberry-Picking Poem by Seamus Heaney

Blackberry-Picking

Rating: 3.9


Late August, given heavy rain and sun
For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
Among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it
Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots
Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.
Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills
We trekked and picked until the cans were full
Until the tinkling bottom had been covered
With green ones, and on top big dark blobs burned
Like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered
With thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard's.
We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre.
But when the bath was filled we found a fur,
A rat-grey fungus, glutting on our cache.
The juice was stinking too. Once off the bush
The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour.
I always felt like crying. It wasn't fair
That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot.
Each year I hoped they'd keep, knew they would not.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Jon Blake 01 September 2013

I remembered this poem when we went brambling this year, jusr after Heaney had died. I am not one of the people who believe that a poem has to be mournful to be credible, and the ending of this one strikes me as plain ridiculous. Ok, it might be a grave disappointment when the first lot of berries go mouldy, but only an idiot would let them repeatedly go rotten.

30 113 Reply
Firstname Surname 01 September 2013

Jon, it might help to read the blackberries as symbol of all sorts of childhood attachments, sweet in the moment, impossible to preserve.

87 36 Reply
Eleanor Brynes 30 December 2013

A deliciously evocative poem, alight with the vivid sensations of summer and nature's fragile bounty. And against this is calibrated a child's awakening and somewhat wilful comprehension of how he interacts with it, and of his place in it. I really enjoy this poem every time I read it, quite viscerally, as if I am consuming it afresh each time.

44 33 Reply
iheartseamusheaney Steed 16 September 2014

my favourite poem. P.S Only an idiot wouldn't understand that this poem is not about picking fruit and letting it go moldy again and again

25 46 Reply
Patricia Grantham 05 September 2013

A precious activity that we as children liked to do was picking blackberries. It was a delectable berry that grew amongst the thorns. We risked scratches and stickings in order to obtain this luscious berry that could be eaten fresh or fermented for wine. They wont stay fresh very long. A nice write.

26 39 Reply
MAHTAB BANGALEE 21 November 2022

Late august and the rain bring to us sweetest ripen fruits; nice to read the poem

0 0 Reply
Smoky Hoss 24 September 2022

Like the delicious taste of childhood, black-berries cannot be made to last, only savored in the storage of our memories.

5 0 Reply
sexy 13 September 2022

UwU

5 0 Reply
Bharati Nayak 12 January 2022

An amazing poem! The images of blackberry picking are so vivid! It is also a thought provoking poem as it says how our efforts may go in vain when do not care about small things.

0 0 Reply
ea 02 May 2021

why are there so many ads

2 0 Reply
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Seamus Heaney

Seamus Heaney

Castledàwson, County Londonderry
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