Death of a Naturalist
Churning Day
Out came the four crocks, spilled their heavy lip
of cream, their white insides, into the sterile churn.
The staff, like a great whiskey muddler fashioned
in deal wood, was plunged in, the lid fitted.
My mother took first turn, set up rhythms
that, slugged and thumped for hours. Arms ached.
Hands blistered. Cheeks and clothes were spattered
with flabby milk.
Where finally gold flecks
began to dance. They poured hot water then,
sterilized a birchwood bowl
and little corrugated butter-spades.
Their short stroke quickened, suddenly
a yellow curd was weighting the churned-up white,
heavy and rich, coagulated sunlight
that they fished, dripping, in a wide tin strainer,
heaped up like gilded gravel in the bowl.
The house would stink long after churning day,
acrid as a sulphur mine. The empty crocks
were ranged along the wall again, the butter
in soft printed slabs was piled on pantry shelves.
And in the house we moved with gravid ease,
our brains turned crystals full of clean deal churns,
the plash and gurgle of the sour-breathed milk,
the pat and slap of small spades on wet lumps.
Heaney uses sensory imagery to convey the senses and feelings associated with the memory.
He uses similes and metaphors, adjectives and adverbs to make his descriptions more vivid and immediate in our minds.
1st stanza:
The poem begins with a detailed description of the four crocks in which the buttermilk is standing.
Likens the thick crust that has formed on the milk to "limestone rough-cast".
Uses a metaphor to describe the crocks as "large pottery bombs", which gives evidence for the shape of these vessels.
The use of the adjective "plumbing" is unusual and has an onomatopoeic effect, imitating the sound of the kettle boiling.
The word "purified" gives a religious sense to the rituals that have been carried out to prepare for the transforming of the milk into butter.
2nd stanza:
Personifies the crocks- the milk coming from their "white insides" as if it is part of them
Hard, physical nature of the work is expressed in the phrase "slugged and thumped for hours. Arms ached. Hands blistered."
As others take turns they are soon "spattered" with "flabby" milk as it begins to coagulate (change to a solid or semisolid state).
3rd stanza:
The verb "dance" is used to describe the gold flecks of butter as they begin to form, this suggests a kind of celebration for the feat.
The metaphor "coagulated sunlight" describes the coagulation of the milk into butter and suggests the colour and warmth and glow.
The final simile in the stanza repeats this image of a golden colour, with the use of the word "gilded" emphasizing its richness.
4th (last) stanza:
The use of the word "stink" at the beginning of the final stanza is unexpected, but describes the ever lasting smell of the curd. This is emphasized further by the simile "acrid as a sulphur mine", graphically giving a sense of the pervading/ permeating nature of the smell in the house.
The ending of the poem creates a sense of a job well done and of satisfaction. Their minds are like "crystals", the churns are clean and the onomatopoeic effect of "plash" and "gurgle", "pat" and "slap" gives a satisfying sense of the butter being slapped by the butter spades and turned into slabs.
All the year the flax-dam festered in the heart
Of the townland; green and heavy headed Flax had rotted there, weighted down by huge sods. (pieces of earth)
Daily it sweltered in the punishing sun.
Bubbles gargled delicately, bluebottles
Wove a strong gauze of sound around the smell.
There were dragon-flies, spotted butterflies,
But best of all was the warm thick slobber
Of frogspawn that grew like clotted waterIn the shade of the banks. Here, every spring
I would fill jampots full of the jellied
Specks to range on the window-sills at home,
On shelves at school, and wait and watch until
The fattening dots burst into nimble-
Swimming tadpoles. Miss Walls would tell us how
The daddy frog was called a bullfrog
And how he croaked and how the mammy frog
Laid hundreds of little eggs and this was
Frogspawn. You could tell the weather by frogs too
For they were yellow in the sun and brown
In rain.
Of the townland; green and heavy headed Flax had rotted there, weighted down by huge sods. (pieces of earth)
Daily it sweltered in the punishing sun.
Bubbles gargled delicately, bluebottles
Wove a strong gauze of sound around the smell.
There were dragon-flies, spotted butterflies,
But best of all was the warm thick slobber
Of frogspawn that grew like clotted waterIn the shade of the banks. Here, every spring
I would fill jampots full of the jellied
Specks to range on the window-sills at home,
On shelves at school, and wait and watch until
The fattening dots burst into nimble-
Swimming tadpoles. Miss Walls would tell us how
The daddy frog was called a bullfrog
And how he croaked and how the mammy frog
Laid hundreds of little eggs and this was
Frogspawn. You could tell the weather by frogs too
For they were yellow in the sun and brown
In rain.
Then one hot day when fields were rankWith cowdung in the grass the angry frogs
Invaded the flax-dam; I ducked through hedges
To a coarse croaking that I had not heard
Before. The air was thick with a bass chorus.
Right down the dam gross-bellied frogs were cocked
On sods; their loose necks pulsed like snails. Some hopped:
The slap and plop were obscene threats. Some sat
Poised like mud grenades, their blunt heads farting.
I sickened, turned, and ran. The great slime kings
Were gathered there for vengeance and I knew
That if I dipped my hand the spawn would clutch it.
Invaded the flax-dam; I ducked through hedges
To a coarse croaking that I had not heard
Before. The air was thick with a bass chorus.
Right down the dam gross-bellied frogs were cocked
On sods; their loose necks pulsed like snails. Some hopped:
The slap and plop were obscene threats. Some sat
Poised like mud grenades, their blunt heads farting.
I sickened, turned, and ran. The great slime kings
Were gathered there for vengeance and I knew
That if I dipped my hand the spawn would clutch it.
metaphor-
onomatopoeia-
simile-
alliteration-
negative-
anaphora-
caesera-
imagery-
oxymoron- Churning Day
A thick crust, coarse-grained as limestone rough-cast,
hardened gradually on top of the four crocks
that stood, large pottery bombs, in the small pantry.
After the hot brewery of gland, cud and udder,
cool porous earthenware fermented the butter milk
for churning day, when the hooped churn was scoured
with plumping kettles and the busy scrubber
echoed daintily on the seasoned wood.
It stood then, purified, on the flagged kitchen floor.
hardened gradually on top of the four crocks
that stood, large pottery bombs, in the small pantry.
After the hot brewery of gland, cud and udder,
cool porous earthenware fermented the butter milk
for churning day, when the hooped churn was scoured
with plumping kettles and the busy scrubber
echoed daintily on the seasoned wood.
It stood then, purified, on the flagged kitchen floor.
Out came the four crocks, spilled their heavy lip
of cream, their white insides, into the sterile churn.
The staff, like a great whiskey muddler fashioned
in deal wood, was plunged in, the lid fitted.
My mother took first turn, set up rhythms
that, slugged and thumped for hours. Arms ached.
Hands blistered. Cheeks and clothes were spattered
with flabby milk.
Where finally gold flecks
began to dance. They poured hot water then,
sterilized a birchwood bowl
and little corrugated butter-spades.
Their short stroke quickened, suddenly
a yellow curd was weighting the churned-up white,
heavy and rich, coagulated sunlight
that they fished, dripping, in a wide tin strainer,
heaped up like gilded gravel in the bowl.
The house would stink long after churning day,
acrid as a sulphur mine. The empty crocks
were ranged along the wall again, the butter
in soft printed slabs was piled on pantry shelves.
And in the house we moved with gravid ease,
our brains turned crystals full of clean deal churns,
the plash and gurgle of the sour-breathed milk,
the pat and slap of small spades on wet lumps.
Heaney uses sensory imagery to convey the senses and feelings associated with the memory.
He uses similes and metaphors, adjectives and adverbs to make his descriptions more vivid and immediate in our minds.
1st stanza:
The poem begins with a detailed description of the four crocks in which the buttermilk is standing.
Likens the thick crust that has formed on the milk to "limestone rough-cast".
Uses a metaphor to describe the crocks as "large pottery bombs", which gives evidence for the shape of these vessels.
The use of the adjective "plumbing" is unusual and has an onomatopoeic effect, imitating the sound of the kettle boiling.
The word "purified" gives a religious sense to the rituals that have been carried out to prepare for the transforming of the milk into butter.
2nd stanza:
Personifies the crocks- the milk coming from their "white insides" as if it is part of them
Hard, physical nature of the work is expressed in the phrase "slugged and thumped for hours. Arms ached. Hands blistered."
As others take turns they are soon "spattered" with "flabby" milk as it begins to coagulate (change to a solid or semisolid state).
3rd stanza:
The verb "dance" is used to describe the gold flecks of butter as they begin to form, this suggests a kind of celebration for the feat.
The metaphor "coagulated sunlight" describes the coagulation of the milk into butter and suggests the colour and warmth and glow.
The final simile in the stanza repeats this image of a golden colour, with the use of the word "gilded" emphasizing its richness.
4th (last) stanza:
The use of the word "stink" at the beginning of the final stanza is unexpected, but describes the ever lasting smell of the curd. This is emphasized further by the simile "acrid as a sulphur mine", graphically giving a sense of the pervading/ permeating nature of the smell in the house.
The ending of the poem creates a sense of a job well done and of satisfaction. Their minds are like "crystals", the churns are clean and the onomatopoeic effect of "plash" and "gurgle", "pat" and "slap" gives a satisfying sense of the butter being slapped by the butter spades and turned into slabs.
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