Seamus Heaney	No encuentro un caso en que los poemas hayan cambiado al mundo, pero lo que si hacen es cambiar el entendimiento que la gente tiene de lo que pasa en él.

Seamus Heaney The poet speaks	voz del autor ARGO RG 519 Record nine 1967

Título      When the poet speaks         Follower         Poor women in a city church         Poem for Mary         St Francis and the birds         texto      Death of a naturalist

Seamus Heaney Stepping Stones	voz del autor Faber - Penguin Audiobooks cassete 90101 1995

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Título "Mossbawn"      Sunlight         Personal Helicon         Bogland          texto      The Tollund Man         Punishment         Strange Fruit         Exposure         Oysters         Casualty    "Glanmore Sonnets"      2, 3, 7, 10    "Station Island"      VII         Ugolino    "The Haw Lantern"      Alphabets         From the Republic of Conscience    "Clearances"      Prologue, 2, 3, 5, 8         The Wishing Tree         Fosterling    "Lightnings"      i, ii, vi, vii, viii    "Crossings"      xxvii, xxxii, xxxiii, xxxiv         Tollund         St Kevin and the Blackbird          texto      Mint         At the Wellhead

Seamus Heaney Beowulf A new translation	voz de Seamus Heaney Faber - Penguin Audiobooks 3 CD´s 2000

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Título      Capítulo 1         Capítulo 2         Capítulo 3         Capítulo 4         Capítulo 5         Capítulo 6         Capítulo 7         Capítulo 8         Capítulo 9         Capítulo 10         Capítulo 11         Capítulo 12         Capítulo 13         Capítulo 14         Capítulo 15         Capítulo 16         Capítulo 17         Capítulo 18         Capítulo 19         Capítulo 20         Capítulo 21         Capítulo 22         Capítulo 23         Capítulo 24         Capítulo 25         Capítulo 26         Capítulo 27         Capítulo 28         Capítulo 29

Seamus Heaney	textos

St Kevin and the Blackbird And then there was St Kevin and the blackbird. The saint is kneeling, arms stretched out, inside His cell, but the cell is narrow, so One turned-up palm is out the window, stiff As a crossbeam, when a blackbird lands And lays in it and settles down to nest. Kevin feels the warm eggs, the small breast, the tucked Neat head and claws and, finding himself linked Into the network of eternal life, Is moved to pity: now he must hold his hand Like a branch out in the sun and rain for weeks Until the young are hatched and fledged and flown. * And since the whole thing's imagined anyhow, Imagine being Kevin. Which is he? Self-forgetful or in agony all the time From the neck on out down through his hurting forearms? Are his fingers sleeping? Does he still feel his knees? Or has the shut-eyed blank of underearth Crept up through him? Is there distance in his head? Alone and mirrored clear in love's deep river, 'To labour and not to seek reward,' he prays, A prayer his body makes entirely For he has forgotten self, forgotten bird And on the riverbank forgotten the river's name.

St Francis and the Birds When Francis preached love to the birds They listened, fluttered, throttled up Into the blue like a flock of words Released for fun from his holy lips. Then wheeled back, whirred about his head, Pirouetted on brothers' capes. Danced on the wing, for sheer joy played And sang, like images took flight. Which was the best poem Francis made, His argument true, his tone light.

textos de sus poemas