Introduction

What is The New Yorker? I know it’s a great magazine and that it’s a tremendous source of pleasure in my life. But what exactly is it? This blog’s premise is that The New Yorker is a work of art, as worthy of comment and analysis as, say, Keats’s “Ode on a Grecian Urn.” Each week I review one or more aspects of the magazine’s latest issue. I suppose it’s possible to describe and analyze an entire issue, but I prefer to keep my reviews brief, and so I usually focus on just one or two pieces, to explore in each the signature style of its author. A piece by Nick Paumgarten is not like a piece by Jill Lepore, and neither is like a piece by Ian Frazier. One could not mistake Collins for Seabrook, or Bilger for Galchen, or Mogelson for Kolbert. Each has found a style, and it is that style that I respond to as I read, and want to understand and describe.

Tuesday, September 8, 2020

Roy Foster's "On Seamus Heaney"
























Reading Roy Foster’s absorbing On Seamus Heaney (2020), I was pleased to see The New Yorker mentioned. Foster writes,

Nearly twenty years later, I read “At the Wellhead” in the New Yorker, tore it out, and pinned it to the noticeboard in my Oxford study; slightly yellowed but enduringly magical, it was still there when I moved out after another twenty-odd years.

The New Yorker published thirty-eight Heaney poems. Foster refers to at least ten of them: “Casualty” (April 2, 1979), “Crossings” (April 17, 1989), “Keeping Going” (October 12, 1992), “At the Wellhead” (March 28, 1994), “Tollund” (October 3, 1994), “The Sharping Stone” (October 23, 1995), “The Perch” (January 18, 1999), “Electric Light” (June 19 & 26, 2000),  “The Turnip-Snedder” (March 20, 2006), and “In the Attic” (February 9 & 16, 2009). Of these, my favorite is “The Perch” (“Perch on their water perch hung in the clear Bann River / Near the clay bank in alder dapple and waver”). Foster calls it “a short and perfect poem of microscopic observation.” He’s right.

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