Per today’s “The Writer’s Alamanac”, this is the birthday of both Samuel Beckett and Seamus Heaney.
I’ve been fond of both for years. Early on, upon seeing “Godot” for the first time, I spent much too much time trying to figure out “what it’s all about”. Nothing is more absurd than trying to locate reason within absurdity. However, Heaney really captured my attention when I sought to understand the contemporary Irish soul. My first deep exposure to his works, “Station Island”, is amazing. Though slightly lower in esteem than Gary Snyder (which I hope causes no offense), Heaney holds high regard in my heart.
