I bought this latest Heaney book while I was in Ireland recently and it lives in my nightstand, along with the other Heaney books in the series (his letters, and his translations). They are an endless marvel and constantly make me ponder. Part of the attraction for me is that Heaney is simultaneously a peerless transcendent writer, but also is very everyday. He came from a working class, or maybe lower middle class, background and stuck to Belfast and Dublin and lived a relatively humble life. When I think of Yeats I can only see him in Tweed suits, visiting country estates with servants, and making posturing speeches in the Irish Senate. Yeats was an expert commentator, but removed from many of the experiences and lives he documented. Heaney really lived them. It's so much more relatable.