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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.

#IrishWriters #NobelPrize

Otras obras de Seamus Heaney...
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…
 1
 4
Requiem for the Croppies

The pockets of our greatcoats full… No kitchens on the run, no strikin… We moved quick and sudden in our o… The priest lay behind ditches with… A people hardly marching... on the…
Anahorish

My “place of clear water”, the first hill in the world where springs washed into the shiny grass and darkened cobbles
Digging

Between my finger and my thumb The squat pen rests; snug as a gun… Under my window, a clean rasping s… When the spade sinks into gravelly… My father, digging. I look down
 2
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…
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
Tankas for Toraiwa

I loved to carry Her violin case, its nose In air, its back end Nice and heavy, the balance Factored in and factored out.
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
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
Blackberry-Picking

Late August, given heavy rain and… For a full week, the blackberries… At first, just one, a glossy purpl… Among others, red, green, hard as… You ate that first one and its fle…
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
Oysters

Our shells clacked on the plates. My tongue was a filling estuary, My palate hung with starlight: As I tasted the salty Pleiades Orion dipped his foot into the wat…
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…
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…
The Grauballe Man

As if he had been poured in tar, he lies on a pillow of turf and seems to weep the black river of himself.



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