Speaking In Tongues

SEAMUS HEANEY






,
,
, ,
,


. , .
, .
-
, , .


, , .
... .
, , , --
. .

THE DIVINER

Cut from the green hedge a forked hazel stick
That he held tight by the arms of the V:
Circling the terrain, hunting the pluck
Of water, nervous, but professionally

Unfussed. The pluck came sharp as a sting.
The rod jerked with precise convulsions,
Spring water suddenly broadcasting
Through a green hazel its secret stations.

The bystanders would ask to have a try.
He handed them the rod without a word.
It lay dead in their grasp till, nonchalantly,
He gripped expectant wrists. The hazel stirred.





, .


--
, .


-- , ,
- , , .


, ,
, , ,


. ,
. .

SCAFFOLDING


Masons, when they start upon a building,
Are careful to test out the scaffolding;

Make sure that planks won't slip at busy points,
Secure all ladders, tighten bolted joints.

And yet all this comes down when the job's done,
Showing off walls of sure and solid stone.

So if, my dear, there sometimes seem to be
Old bridges breaking between you and me,

Never fear. We may let the scaffolds fall,
Confident that we have built our wall.






, , , ,
, , ,
, ,


.
, , --
.


, ?
, .
- . .

LOVERS ON ARAN


the timeless waves, bright, sifting, broken glass,
came dazzling around, into the rocks,
came glinting, sifting from the Americas

to possess Aran. or did Aran rush
to throw wide arms of rock around a tide
that yielded with an ebb, with a soft crash?

did sea define the land or land the sea?
each drew new meaning from the waves' collision.
sea broke on land to full identity.







,
, .
,
.


, ,
,
-- ,
.


, , ,
.


,
, .
--
.

VALEDICTION


Lady with the frilled blouse
And simple tartan skirt,
Since you left the house
Its emptiness has hurt
All thought. In your presence
Time rode easy, anchored
On a smile; but absence
Rocked love's balance, unmoored
The days. They buck and bound
Across the calendar,
Pitched from the quiet sound
Of your flower-tender
Voice. Need breaks on my strand;
You've gone, I am at sea.
Until you resume command,
Self is in mutiny.





,
, , ,
, -- .


.
,
, , .


,
. , ,
...
, .

SAINT 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 brother's 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.






: ,
, .
, , ,
, . ,
: -- ,
,
, ,
p .
, .
, , ,
,
. ,
, ,
.
, ,
. ,
, .
, p .

STORM ON THE ISLAND


We are prepared: we build our houses squat,
Sink walls in rock and roof them with good slate.
This wizened earth has never troubled us
With hay, so, as you see, there are no stacks
Or stooks that can be lost. Nor are there trees
Which might prove company when it blows full
Blast: you know what I mean - leaves and branches
Can raise a tragic chorus in a gale
So that you listen to the thing you fear
Forgetting that it pummels your house too.
But there are no trees, no natural shelter.
You might think that the sea is company,
Exploding comfortably down on the cliffs,
But no: when it begins, the flung spray hits
The very windows, spits like a tame cat
Turned savage. We just sit tight while wind dives
And strafes invisibly. Space is a salvo,
We are bombarded by the empty air.
Strange, it is a huge nothing that we fear.






LOS MARIACHES -



, ,
,
,
,
, .


,
,
,
,
, .


,
: ,
, .
, , ,
, .

THE FOLK SINGERS


Re-turning time-turned words,
Fitting each weathered song
To a new-grooved harmony,
They pluck slick strings and swing
A sad heart's equilibrium.

Numb passion, pearled in the shy
Shell of a country love
And strung on a frail tune,
Looks sharp now, strikes a pose
Like any rustic new to the bright town.

Their pre-packed tale will sell
Ten thousand times: pale love
Rouged for the streets. Humming
Solder all broken. Death's edge
Blunts on the narcotic strumming.