The last great academic don of Harvard wears no black robes and confines himself to no ivory tower. Seamus Heaney is a man of letters but not airs; he has the easy intellectualism of a scholarly master, yet retains an unassuming practicality that is surprisingly human.

Harvard’s Ralph Waldo Emerson Poet-in-Residence is one of the most stellar attractions the University counts among its rich wellspring of resources. The 1995 winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature doesn’t restrain himself to the poetry for which he won the prize; Heaney counts a definitive translation of Beowulf, over ten collections of radiant verse and several collections of critical essays among his impressively voluminous works.

Most recently, Heaney’s versatility as a thinker has revealed itself in a new translation of Sophocles’ Antigone, which he discussed last night in Yenching Auditorium. The talk was the final one of a three lecture series which covered a range of literary topics, from the importance of integrating poetry into everyday life to the context of his new book. The translation demonstrates the ways in which his wisdom has stemmed from a variety of sources far beyond his native Ireland.

At last week’s, “The Rite Words in the Rote Order: Poetry in a Life,” breathless first-years and English-department luminaries alike were captivated by Heaney’s deft weaving of lighthearted anecdotes with serious exploration of poetry’s role in the everyday.

Heaney spoke of the connection that a poem read out loud forms between speaker and listener, calling it “the thing that passed between us.” Heaney especially emphasized the oral tradition of memorized “rote” verse, citing what Yeats called “entering the belly of the whale.”

Heaney warned against dependency on the written word, quoting an Egyptian myth to remind his listeners that literacy-—while increasing the potential for wisdom to be stored and passed on through generations—also produces forgetfulness. Because it is possible to read but not understand a text, Heaney claims, the mere visual perception of words can actually disregard much of the wisdom they contain.

That his newest work is a play, Burial at Thebes, perhaps reflects Heaney’s emphasis on oral tradition best. Ireland’s Abbey Theatre commissioned him to pen this new translation of Antigone for its centenary celebration.

In the play, the title character defies her nation’s laws to give her brother—an alleged traitor—proper burial rights. As a result, the people of Thebes acquiesce to her execution.

“It’s historically a political play,” Heaney says. “In the 1940s, when it was presented in France, it was very well received; the Germans liked it because it was a play about the power of the state, while to the French it was about personal liberty. And in Ireland, the ramifications were especially obvious for its own political situation.”

While Heaney studied historical translations and their political implications in his translation, he also drew upon current events for inspiration. He says he saw clear parallels between President Bush before the Iraq War and Creon, the king of Thebes. Both were authoritative rulers who forced their people to make an absolute moral decision without full understanding of the moral ambiguity of their situation.

“The chorus and the people of Thebes know that something’s going on, that something’s not right; but they’re not sure what, exactly,” Heaney says.

The same, he implies, could be said for the American people before entering war in Iraq. “The word ‘patriot’ occurs naturally in the original text. The connections were there—‘patriot,’ the Patriot Act—but I didn’t want to underscore them too much,” he says. “I didn’t want to say, ‘Look here! NB!’”

Heaney reveals his reluctance in emphasizing the political aspect of Antigone most clearly in his adjustment of the title to Burial at Thebes. “I wanted to shift the focus to an anthropological, not political, interpretation of the text,” he says.

Heaney’s reliance on the most basic, visceral elements of the original Greek in his translation emphasizes the utterly human element of the drama. He underscores the rhythmic, oral quality that he prizes in his own work, and helps present unfettered what he calls the “fury of infinite feeling” of his characters.

When asked about his formative influences, “Well, first would be Gerard Manley Hopkins,” is Heaney’s reply. He then continues the list: “One of the greatest single works is Wordsworth’s Preface to his Lyrical Ballads. Patrick Cavanagh, and Ted Hughes, whom I later got to know.”