In the spring of 1998 I wrote to Seamus Heaney. I asked him to consider writing a Foreword to the book I was editing with Siân Hughes, then Education Officer for the Poetry Society.
In all honesty I did not expect him to reply. I was sure a poet as well-known as Heaney, and with as many demands on his time, would do the expected thing and file my request in the waste paper basket. I was also secretly ashamed of the guff I know I had subjected him to, proclaiming poetry as ‘the original virtual reality’, among other howlers.
So when Heaney wrote back to me, I was dumbfounded. Delighted, yes. But dumbfounded. To quote his own response when Charles Monteith invited him to submit a manuscript to Faber, it was like getting a letter from God the Father.
In a typed note of not more than seven lines he explained that he had to say no: ‘I feel I have to watch how many of these introductions I do. The writing I do nowadays seems to be mostly endorsements, exhortations, millennial messages, and so on. As Matthew Arnold said “I am fragments.” Please excuse me.’
The courtesy of his tone knocked me sideways. I had readied myself for curtness. Instead I held in my hand this tiny admission that seemed both unnecessarily honest and somewhat heartbreaking. It is one of my most treasured possessions.
Wow!!!
Olwen Goodall
Graduate School of Education College of Social Sciences and International Studies University of Exeter
+44 (0) 1392 661000 ________________________________
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Wonderful blog.
I have written to The Man on a couple of occasions, feeling guilty at taking writing/living time.
And he always wrote back: a picture postcard, with a note that always reflected what I had written.
So kind, so generous, so human. Puts many another to shame.
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Thank you. How wonderful to know he was consistent with everyone. Real integrity. An exemplar on all fronts. As ever, Anthony Anthony Wilson
Love for Now, my memoir of cancer, is available here
Riddance, my new book of poems, is available here
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What a wonderful note to get, mind it!
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I once found a message on my voicemail from Heaney, whom I’d asked for a small favour wearing my Director of National Poetry Day hat. “It’s Seamus Heaney here”, he said, adding “calling from Dublin”, to save any confusion with other men called Seamus Heaney who might be calling me that day. “Of course you may use my poem, and there will be no charge.” Any time I have found poets getting a bit arsey with me in subsequent years, or catch myself getting airs and graces, I remember that the greatest was also the most courteous and humble.
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Hi Jo. How great to hear from you.
If I ever become famous, this is the standard to which I would aspire to hold myself.
What a man.
As ever with many thanks,
Anthony
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