And if you ask me how, I do not know. I only feel it, and I’m torn in two. Seamus Heaney’s love-poem to marriage, The Skunk, combines exile and erotica, moving from an American wilderness ...

She would defer to everyone else, saying nothing, but storing up every glance and gesture, silently skewering the bourgeois pleasantries in her mind, and later in a poem. I keep a complete copy of ...