I am still mad at Mr. Heaney for what he did to Beowulf. He turned it into an Irish poem, when it has a clear Germanic pedigree. I find his poetry turgid and thoroughly un-enjoyable. His poems seem as disconnected, random, thoughts. It does not even possess the clarity of stream of consciousness. So there. Read it yourself, and disagree, but I won’t change my mind. Only an occasional interesting lines enable me to give it any stars at all. (2 stars)

--Jim, 10/26/10 ( )

Heaney is my favorite contemporary poet and this is a great collection of his work. I particularly like the verses when he talks about playing with a bicycle wheel in a mud puddle. ( )