(To be read in Heaney’s ‘reading voice’.)

My chisel’s cold appraisal

Blunt as an English Master’s stare

Probes the poem for its pith.

Non sequiturs stacked neatly

Drying in a metaphoric sun

Supported by a splay of beams.

Redundancy is everywhere

Making the poet poorer than Midas

Who dare not spend a penny

Lest the golden flow shoul...

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