Seamus Heaney

Aveam șase ani când am văzut cum se-neacă puii de pisică. Dan Taggart i-a aruncat, \'\'căcăcioșii ăștia mici\'\', într-o găleată; un sunet metalic

Spre sfârșitul lui august, după ploile grele și soarele de-o săptămână, se coceau murele. La început doar una, un cocoloș mov, strălucitor printre

Between my finger and my thumb The squat pen rests; as snug as a gun. Under my window a clean rasping sound When the spade sinks into gravelly

I He would drink by himself And raise a weathered thumb Towards the high shelf, Calling another rum And blackcurrant, without Having to

Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red,

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

We have no prairies To slice a big sun at evening-- Everywhere the eye concedes to Encrouching horizon, Is wooed into the cyclops\' eye Of a

I To-night, a first movement, a pulse, As if the rain in bogland gathered head To slip and flood: a bog-burst, A gash breaking open the ferny

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

There, in the corner, staring at his drink. The cap juts like a gantry\'s crossbeam, Cowling plated forehead and sledgehead jaw. Speech is clamped

My father worked with a horse plough, His shoulders globed like a full sail strung Between the shafts and the furrow. The horses strained at his

All the year the flax-dam festered in the heart Of the townland; green and heavy headed Flax had rotted there, weighted down by huge sods. Daily

The tightness and the nilness round that space when the car stops in the road, the troops inspect its make and number and, as one bends his

The piper coming from far away is you With a whitewash brush for a sporran Wobbling round you, a kitchen chair Upside down on your shoulder, your