In Heaney’s poem “An afterwards,” an unknown “she” places poets in the ninth circle of Dante’s inferno, the one saved for traitors. The unknown “she” remarks that for “backbiting in life,” poets will be forced to gnaw the necks and heads of those they “backbite” in hell. This punishment seems particularly apt because backbiting involves slandering an absent individual. For this reason, in hell, the poet is locked in a gruesome embrace for eternity with the object of their slander. One of the more obvious questions raised by placing the poets in this circle is who are they guilty of betraying? The poem seems to offer two suggestions: one’s family, and one’s nation. The “she,” who seems to be a proxy for Heaney’s wife, who asks ” why could you not, oftener in our years/Unclenched, and come down laughing from your room/ and walked the twilight with me and your children?” Consumed with his egocentric craft, the poet neglects familial obligations. Another suggestion is that the poet, or Heaney, is guilty of betraying his catholic heritage by using poetry to play devil’s advocate between the catholics and protestants in Northern Ireland. While imagining himself being gnawed by another, he is told by the man ” You weren’t the worst. You aspired to a kind/ Indifferent, fault on both sides tact.” Despite a sense of comfort in these words, Heaney the poet is nevertheless punished for his ambivalence. To me, I couldn’t help but think of Yeats’ words in the “second coming,” “The best lack all conviction, while the worst are filled with passionate intensity.” Heaney, in this case, is guilty of falling into the former category.