Colección Voces que dejan Huellas

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
Record nine

     When the poet speaks   
     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

Oír el disco completo
     Personal Helicon   
     Bogland          texto
     The Tollund Man   
     Strange Fruit   
"Glanmore Sonnets"
     2, 3, 7, 10   
"Station Island"
"The Haw Lantern"
     From the Republic of Conscience   
     Prologue, 2, 3, 5, 8   
     The Wishing Tree   
     i, ii, vi, vii, viii   
     xxvii, xxxii, xxxiii, xxxiv   
     St Kevin and the Blackbird          texto
     At the Wellhead   

Seamus Heaney

A new translation

voz de Seamus Heaney
Faber - Penguin Audiobooks
3 CD´s

Oír el disco completo
     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

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