The Poems of Seamus Heaney

'This book is a landmark. [and] lets us see Heaney's work, whose ripples we are still learning to navigate, for the colossal achievement it is, and it reminds us that Heaney is not only a keeper but an enricher of the word-hoard.' Philip Terry, Guardian

This is the long-awaited, definitive edition of Seamus Heaney's poetry. It encompasses all the poems Heaney published in his lifetime as well as the small number that appeared after his death: twelve single volumes, from Death of a Naturalist (1966) to Human Chain (2010), and those poems published in pamphlets, journals and magazines or with limited circulation. In addition, the book includes a selection of unpublished material chosen by the poet's family.

It is a body of work that, in its entirety, resounds with the 'lyrical beauty and ethical depth' cited by the Nobel committee: poems 'which exalt everyday miracles and the living past.'

Critical introductions to each collection and notes that illuminate the history and development of the poems make this the essential volume for admirers of Heaney's work.

'Heaney's voice, by turns mythological and journalistic, rural and sophisticated, reminiscent and impatient, stern and yielding, curt and expansive, is one of a suppleness almost equal to consciousness itself.' Helen Vendler

'More than any other poet since Wordsworth he can make us understand that the outside world is not outside, but what we are made of.' John Carey

'His is "closeup" poetry - close up to thought, to the world, to the emotions. Few writers at work today, in verse or fiction, can give the sense of rich, fecund, lived life that Heaney does.' John Banville

'These poems find - in the dowser's gift and the child's perception of the world - images of the marvellous that are also wonderfully grounded. . . Heaney is a poet who deserves to be read in entirety.' Jamie McKendrick

'For Heaney, there were marvels enough in this world, and never mind the next. Ordinary objects and places - a sofa, a wireless, a satchel, a gust of wind, the sound of rain - were sanctified.' Blake Morrison