In his critically acclaimed collection North, contemporary Irish poet Seamus Heaney reveals a very personal side of himself and his identity as a writer. While each individual poem explores its own plot and uses its own metaphors, one common thread seems to unravel throughout the collection: the past, particularly that of Ireland. And Heaney's anguished effort to chronicle this past, though perpetuated throughout the book, is particularly clear in the relationship between the two consecutive poems "North" and "Trial Pieces." By viewing these pieces as a consecutive development of the theme rather than as two separate entities, Heaney's readers are better able to grasp a fundamental constant in both his work and himself: a sense of obligation to preserve the past and a conflicting fear to misrepresent or exploit it. .Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on "Why Violent Video Games Shouldn't Be Banned"? Get an Original Essay As it gives the collection its name, the poem “North” takes on the responsibility of establishing the author's purpose and encapsulating the overall mood of the book, which it does successfully. The poem opens with the words “I have returned…”, immediately setting a precedent of memory and desire to go back. Heaney proceeds to describe the current condition of his environment as "secular" and "unmagical" and in stark contrast to those who had once been full of life and glory ("those fabulous marauders / those who lie in Orkney and Dublin") . He expands on this idea by describing the rust of their swords: the swords that embody those he wishes to preserve and the rust that implies their senescence. He pays attention to their “voices deafened by the ocean,” and his choice of word here is a particularly salient foreshadowing of his duty to write on behalf of those whose voices have metaphorically sunk. This ocean metaphor is supported in the next stanza when he describes their ships as “floating in hindsight,” reinforcing the necessity of memory as something that can literally keep a person or thing afloat. The last three stanzas of the poem take a personal turn as Heaney reveals what the memories have told him. It begins: “It said, 'Lie down / in the treasure of words, dig / into the coils and glow / of your furrowed brain.' This term “treasure of words” clearly refers to his own writing; the fact that he considers it a “treasure” indicates that perhaps he is ashamed of it in all its spontaneous, confused and obsessive glory. But despite any personal shame, Heaney feels compelled by these voices to contemplate the value of language. In the final stanzas, the voice tells him to “compose in the dark,” to “keep [his] eyes clean,” and to “trust the feeling of what the treasure/[his] hands have known.” The shift to the imperative mood is certainly worth noting; here, Heaney does not see his writing as a product of free will but rather as a command from the past. The task to be carried out has now become indispensable; it's not easy and not necessarily even pleasant, but rather anxious and absolutely necessary. By the end of "North," Heaney seems to have embraced his goal of preserving the past, relying on written memory to make the magical and unmagical again. “Trial Pieces” plays on this resolution and expands its struggle with it. The first part opens with Heaney examining an artefact, really any arbitrary bone or fossil, and becoming drawn in by its captivating appearance ("... lattice to conjure / Like a child's tongue / following the toils"). The first part ends ominously as this item begins.