Seamus Heaney, the Nobel Prize-winning Irish poet, died today at 74. He was one of the few poets in the 21st century to bridge the gap between critical success and popular appeal, and he did it by writing poems filled with fleshy physicality. It’s no surprise, then, that he could write about food like the best of them.
From Sonnets From Hellas
We gaelicized new names for Poetry Hill
As we wolfed down horta, tarama and houmos
At sunset in the farmyard, drinking ouzos,
Pretending not to hear the Delphic squeal
Of the streel-haired cailleach in the scullery.
Then it was time to head into Desfina
To allow them to sedate her. And so retsina,
Anchovies, squid, dolmades, french fries even.