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

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 Death of a naturalist

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

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"Mossbawn" Sunlight    Personal Helicon    Bogland    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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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.

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