Seamus Heaney, Bernard O'Donoghue and Tom Paulin. The Sheldonian Theatre, 29/03/01.

The beauty of the Sheldonian was illuminated last night by the poetry of Seamus Heaney, Tom Paulin and Bernard O'Donoghue. This was a sell out performance in an imposing venue, and yet the triumvirate brought an intimacy and closeness to the occasion.

Heaney started proceedings with a reading of one of the final passages from Beowulf, when the King meets the dragon for a final encounter. He told us that the last time he had been at the Sheldonian was with Ted Hughes in 1995, and his elegy for heroism was melancholy and tender, his reading imbued with sadness for the death of Hughes.

He was followed by Bernard O'Donoghue. The transition from epic poetry to tender recollections of the Irish countryside was seamless, both poets united in mourning and celebration. The most striking poem was about an iron age boat, buried in wet ground in the mountains near where O'Donoghue lives. The preambles to the poems were wonderful, and all the poets gave us insights into their work. However, O'Donoghue's were particularly touching and funny, especially his poem about a peculiar anniversary that he celebrated a few years ago- reaching the age of 52, the age at which his father died.

Paulin felt rather like the cuckoo in the nest last night. His clean, modern style was striking and his reading style eerie and dramatic. The poems chosen last night were often political and always vivid- in Boca di Inferno, his reflections on the relationship between the Nazi Party and the Duke of Windsor were particularly engaging- the "iron cross welded to the crown". The Oxford crowd last night also seemed to enjoy the poem about the cold, English half light of flower shop on Walton Street.

Seamus Heaney took the floor again to conclude the evening. This was a venerable, warm performance and he concluded with beautiful poem, Electric Light, (the title of his latest collection) about his grandmother; his imagination as a young boy was seized by her calcified, quartz thumb nail. This was living, singing poetry and a fitting end to an extraordinary evening.

This was an excellent start to Oxford Literary Festival, which continues this weekend.

Sarah Montgomery.