And, yes, perhaps we will. Because here, in a beautifully, apparently undemanding book, he's almost telling us so. In Age, he concludes that,
Poetry is shrinking almost to its bones.
That is late in the collection, long after the opening poem, The Magnifying Glass, about a gift from Fleur Adcock, which is a fine metaphor for his poetry in the close scrutiny of plants that he uses it for and the observation and deep appreciation of his natural environment, and we might remember how The Stairwell provided an alternative manifesto poem in his previous collection, as if some poets, quite rightly, can't help but justify their methods with some sort of parallel from life itself.
And if poetry itself is a theme that recurs here then so are other familiar subjects- the ornithology, nature, World War 1, family, now his fiftieth wedding anniversary and, inexhaustibly, Carrigskeewaun.
Blessed with the place names that they have, Irish poets rarely turn down the opportunity to cash in on them and Longley has one of his very own. At its best, though, poetry does more than would usually be expected with ordinary words and wouldn't rely on ready-made items available in the dictionary or on sign posts. All of which is a petulant objection to the work of an author who can provide Donkeys, that are 'obstinate, immune to wallopings', probably not unlike their author would be.
Longley's strength is the way he makes it look so effortless and is thus entirely convincing. He is not the only one who wasn't Seamus Heaney but you look, look again and wonder how much more is being achieved than first met your eye.
