BOSTON HAILS 'LOCAL BOY' HEANEY

Author: By Kevin Cullen, Globe Staff

Date: Friday, October 6, 1995
Page: 8
Section: METRO

But as news spread yesterday that the Irish poet had won literature's greatest prize, it was greeted on both sides of the Charles River as if a native son had grabbed the gold.

In fact, Boston and Cambridge have sort of adopted Heaney, who has taught the spring semester at Harvard University for more than a decade. And Heaney has returned the affection.

Over the years, Heaney has become part of the local landscape, as apt to be standing in the cramped aisles of a Cambridge bookstore as he is to be sitting in any number of the Irish pubs that abound on both sides of the Charles.

"He's very comfortable here," says Michael Sherlock, the manager at Mr. Dooley's Tavern in the financial district. "Boston is a good fit. Seamus is a great poet, a real academic, but he is also a regular Irishman."

Throughout Boston and Cambridge, stories about Heaney's lack of pretense and his down-to-earth accessibility, with students and working stiffs alike, are legion. The Irish call him "Famous Seamus." But around here, as in Dublin, where he lives the rest of the year, he does not act famous.

Conor O'Riordan remembers when he took up his post as the Irish consul general several years ago, he sent Heaney an invitation to a small party at his Cambridge home.

"I did it more out of courtesy, not expecting him to show up, but he rambled in, totally at ease," O'Riordan said. "Not only is he a super poet, he's a nice guy. I think most people don't expect the two to go together. I think they expect someone detached, intense, overly serious."

Leo Damrosch, chairman of the English Department at Harvard, said Heaney is unlike many internationally recognized writers.

"Famous writers usually want the affiliation but don't want to do the work. Seamus does everything we ask, and then some," he said.

But as his wife, Marie, once put it, when someone remarked how ordinary Heaney seemed in person, "Ah, yes, but you know, there's a big engine in there."

Of all the American cities he has been to, Heaney once observed at a small get-together in Charlestown, Boston reminds him most of Dublin. Heaney was born in Northern Ireland, whose Troubles have often inspired his work.

Heaney has given readings all over the area. He is a literary giant. And yet, while perhaps a cliche, he is also a poet of the people. Several years ago, Heaney was sitting at the bar at Dooley's, nursing a tumbler of Bushmills whisky and discussing poetry with a young Dubliner whose knuckles were stained, not from a canvas but from a house he was painting in South Boston.

Heaney's ability to feel as comfortable in the refined surroundings of Harvard as the funky confines of Central Square endears him to a broad section of locals.

Sherlock first met Heaney in 1978, when Sherlock was running the Black Rose, next to Faneuil Hall Marketplace.

"He came in, alone. He sat at the bar and I recognized him," he said. ''He's a gracious man, an extraordinarily accessible man, and that hasn't changed over the years."

No one can recall Heaney rebuffing an admirer or student.

"The only time I saw Seamus speechless was when we brought Brother Blue over to Harvard," said Sherlock, referring to the inimitable local storyteller. "Brother Blue did this strange dance, it was like snake charming. Seamus was stunned."

Heaney is expected here next month, when he is scheduled to give a reading at the Fogg Art Museum. The reception he will receive here, his home away from home, will confirm what one of his favorite poets, Patrick Kavanagh, once said: "Parochialism is universal. It deals with the fundamentals."

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