Follower Poem by Seamus Heaney
Follower
My father worked with a horse-plough,
His shoulders globed like a full sail strung
Between the shafts and the furrow.
The horse strained at his clicking tongue.
An expert. He would set the wing
And fit the bright steel-pointed sock.
The sod rolled over without breaking.
At the headrig, with a single pluck
Of reins, the sweating team turned round
And back into the land. His eye
Narrowed and angled at the ground,
Mapping the furrow exactly.
I stumbled in his hob-nailed wake,
Fell sometimes on the polished sod;
Sometimes he rode me on his back
Dipping and rising to his plod.
I wanted to grow up and plough,
To close one eye, stiffen my arm.
All I ever did was follow
In his broad shadow round the farm.
I was a nuisance, tripping, falling,
Yapping always. But today
It is my father who keeps stumbling
Behind me, and will not go away.
First time to read this poem, carried away by the beauty and wonderful flow of this poem, I took it lightly without searching for its meanings. My heart breaks now as I realize how wrong I was. I can recognise now the huge pain brought by one of the worst sickness of our world. A bow of deepest sorrow.
Growing old is not for the feint of heart, as a boy you grow up admiring the strength of the parent you love, only to come of age and watch the parent you love slip into a new role, the old man. A reminder of what life has for all of us
I LOVE LOOKING AT MY MASSIVE THICK BIG DICKTIONARY I LOVE SEEING ALL THE WHITE STUFF IN IT
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/19/2024 9:16:59 AM # 1.0.0.1119
I wanted to grow up. Thanks for this line.