My eight-year-old daughter made me realise that Michael Longley's poems go straight to the heart. Her schoolteacher had completely ignored Halloween, and she was hungry for words when I read Longley's poem Hallowe'en to her on October 31:
"It is Hallowe'en. Turnip Head / Will soon be given his face, / A slit, two triangles, a hole. / His brains litter the table top. / A candle stub will be his soul."
My daughter's laughter was one of agreement and surprise. The poem not only gave her a description of her own experience, but also illuminated it. Michael Longley's poems don't explain. They just focus and describe, evoking memories and insights. Excellent edition, with indexes of titles and first lines.