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Flicking (or clicking) through ,
I happen upon . Which reminds me. In 1996,

Cycling round Ireland, I found myself in
Glendalough with a newly-minted copy
Of in my backpack.

I took out the book and, standing in sight of
, read Heaney's poem
Aloud. Just as my mouth formed the word

"Blackbird", , a bird
Landed at my feet and stayed there, perfectly still,
Until I'd finished reading.

Memory can be a deceptive thing,
But I remember it as a blackbird.