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Seamus Heaney

Seamus Heaney

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
Paralysed at an angle.
 
Then the twisting of wheat straw
into ropes, lapping them tight
Round stem and snout, then a light
 
That sent the pump up in a flame
It cooled, we lifted her latch,
Her entrance was wet, and she came.

#IrishWriters

Otras obras de Seamus Heaney...
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…
The Early Purges

I was six when I first saw kitten… Dan Taggart pitched them, 'the sc… Into a bucket; a frail metal sound… Soft paws scraping like mad. But… Was soon soused. They were slung…
 1
Keeping Going

The piper coming from far away is… With a whitewash brush for a sporr… Wobbling round you, a kitchen chai… Upside down on your shoulder, your… Pretending to tuck the bag beneath…
Mid-Term Break

I sat all morning in the college s… Counting bells knelling classes to… At two o’clock our neighbors drove… In the porch I met my father cryi… He had always taken funerals in hi…
Donati's Comet,, by William Turner of Oxford
Exposure

It is December in Wicklow: Alders dripping, birches Inheriting the last light, The ash tree cold to look at. A comet that was lost
The Perch

Perch on their water perch hung in… Near the clay bank in alder dapple… Perch they called ‘grunts’, little… I saw and I see in the river’s gl… That is passable through, but they…
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
Glanmore Sonnets

Vowels ploughed into other: opened… The mildest February for twenty y… Is mist bands over furrows, a deep… Vulnerable to distant gargling tra… Our road is steaming, the turned-u…
 1
Song

A rowan like a lipsticked girl. Between the by-road and the main r… Alder trees at a wet and dripping… Stand off among the rushes. There are the mud-flowers of diale…
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
Mossbawn: Two Poems in Dedication

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

As you plaited the harvest bow You implicated the mellowed silenc… In wheat that does not rust But brightens as it tightens twist… Into a knowable corona,
Truth Coming Out of Her Well to Shame Mankind, by Jean-Léon Gérôme
Punishment

I can feel the tug of the halter at the nape of her neck, the wind on her naked front. It blows her nipples
 3
Bogland

We have no prairies To slice a big sun at evening— Everywhere the eye concedes to Encrouching horizon, Is wooed into the cyclops’ eye



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