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Ashley P F

@ashleypf.bsky.social

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Reposted by Ashley P F

Faber Books

@faberbooks.bsky.social

‘Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I’ll dig with it.’

We’re getting started here on Bluesky, and thought the best possible way to introduce ourselves on a new platform would be our poem of the week, ‘Digging’ by Seamus Heaney.

My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner’s bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.

The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I’ll dig with it.
from ‘Digging’ by Seamus Heaney

November 20, 2024 at 11:43 AM

Reposted by Ashley P F

Bodleian Libraries

@bodleian.ox.ac.uk

Transparencies: a forgotten art of the Romantic Period

Friday 29 November 2024. 1–2pm @ the Weston Library.

Discover our collection of Transparencies (coloured prints, which were lit from behind and placed in windows).

Free event, booking recommended: visit.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/event/nov24/...