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Seamus Heaney

Seamus Heaney

Song

A rowan like a lipsticked girl.
Between the by-road and the main road
Alder trees at a wet and dripping distance
Stand off among the rushes.
 
There are the mud-flowers of dialect
And the immortelles of perfect pitch
And that moment when the bird sings very close
To the music of what happens.

#Irish #NobelPrize #XXCentury #XXICentury

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Otras obras de Seamus Heaney...
Ploughman, by Ilià Repin
Follower

My father worked with a horse-plou… His shoulders globed like a full s… Between the shafts and the furrow. The horse strained at his clicking… An expert. He would set the wing
Docker

There, in the corner, staring at h… The cap juts like a gantry’s cross… Cowling plated forehead and sledge… Speech is clamped in the lips’ vic… That fist would dropp a hammer on…
Limbo

Fishermen at Ballyshannon Netted an infant last night Along with the salmon. An illegitimate spawning, A small one thrown back
From Lightenings

Shifting brilliancies. Then winte… In a doorway, and on the stone doo… A beggar shivering in silhouette. So the particular judgement might… Bare wallstead and a cold hearth r…
The Skunk

Up, black, striped and demasked li… At a funeral mass, the skunk’s tai… Paraded the skunk. Night after ni… I expected her like a visitor. The refrigerator whinnied into sil…
 2
 6
Anahorish

My “place of clear water”, the first hill in the world where springs washed into the shiny grass and darkened cobbles
Black bird
The Blackbird of Glanmore

On the grass when I arrive, Filling the stillness with life, But ready to scare off At the very first wrong move. In the ivy when I leave.
 3
 6
Death of a Naturalist

All year the flax-dam festered in… Of the townland; green and heavy h… Flax had rotted there, weighted do… Daily it sweltered in the punishin… Bubbles gargled delicately, bluebo…
Lightenings viii

The annals say: when the monks of… Were all at prayers inside the ora… A ship appeared above them in the… The anchor dragged along behind so… It hooked itself into the altar ra…
Twice Shy

Her scarf a la Bardot, In suede flats for the walk, She came with me one evening For air and friendly talk. We crossed the quiet river,
Rite of Spring

So winter closed its fist And got it stuck in the pump. The plunger froze up a lump In its throat, ice founding itself Upon iron. The handle
Personal Helicon

As a child, they could not keep me… And old pumps with buckets and win… I loved the dark drop, the trapped… Of waterweed, fungus and dank moss… One, in a brickyard, with a rotted…
Mossbawn 1. Sunlight

There was a sunlit absence. The helmeted pump in the yard heated its iron, water honeyed in the slung bucket
The Otter

When you plunged The light of Tuscany wavered And swung through the pool From top to bottom. I loved your wet head and smashing…
Strange Fruit

Here is the girl’s head like an ex… Oval-faced, prune-skinned, prune-s… They unswaddled the wet fern of he… And made an exhibition of its coil… Let the air at her leathery beauty…



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