The poem
As if he had been poured in tar, he lies on a pillow of turf and seems to weep
the black river of himself. The grain of his wrists is like bog oak, the ball of his heel
like a basalt egg. His instep has shrunk cold as a swan's foot or a wet swamp root.
His hips are the ridge and purse of a mussel, his spine an eel arrested under a glisten of mud.
The head lifts, the chin is a visor raised above the vent of his slashed throat
that has tanned and toughened. The cured wound opens inwards to a dark elderberry place.
Who will say 'corpse' to his vivid cast? Who will say 'body' to his opaque repose?
And his rusted hair, a mat unlikely as a foetus's. I first saw his twisted face
in a photograph, a head and shoulder out of the peat, bruised like a forceps baby,
but now he lies perfected in my memory, down to the red horn of his nails,
hung in the scales with beauty and atrocity: with the Dying Gaul too strictly compassed
on his shield, with the actual weight of each hooded victim, slashed and dumped.
I am facinated by Heaney's usage of violence in this poem. He presents both the ideas of history and art in this poem with simple words such as "corpse" and "cast." While I personally liked the Tollund Man better either one could easily be linked to his poem "digging."
Simple and well-written, The Graballe Man is a mixture of history with loads of nice sound words to make the poem amazing to read and follow!
I'm stunned(in a good way) how Heaney manages to make such a vicious thing as a bog body too look beautiful and esthetic (even if he manages to kill it of at the end "the actual weight/of each hooded victim,/ slashed and dumped.") i enjoyed the plausible allusions andl inks one can make between the poem and the context of Ireland :)
UGHH
You guys are retarted and totally missed the deep meaning behind this poem that is extremely hard to grasp.
This poem left me in awe. Heaneys ability to breathe such reverent life into death turning a big body into a symbol of memory, pain and sacred history, is a gift. The line who will say corpes to his vivid cast? stuck me deeply. It made me reflect on how we honor the lives and story of the forgotten silenced, or buried by time. Thank you for preserving this piece who helps us that poety is not just about words but being a witness