Seamus Heaney, Irish poet, playwright, translator and lecturer, and the recipient of the 1995 Nobel Prize in Literature aged 74 died this morning in a Dublin hospital after a short illness
Seamus Heaney (13 April 1939 – 30 August 2013) was born and raised in County Derry. In the early 1960s he became a lecturer in Belfast after attending university there, and began to publish poetry. Heresided in Dublin from 1972 onward.
Mavi Boncuk |
Ortakcilara Agit
Agir paltolarimizin cepleri dolu arpa...
Kosturuken mutfaksiz, ne de grevde kampa...
Ilerledik cabuk ve ansizin yurdumuzda.
Rahip dustu kaldi berdusla geride bir cukurda .
Birakin uygun adimi bir halk.. oylece yurumekte...
Buluyoruz kendiliginden her gunun taktiklerini
Kargiyla biciyoruz surucu ve dizginini
Ve urkutuyoruz suruleri ustune piyadelerin
Sonra cekiliyoruz calilarin icinden suvariler atilinca
O ana. dek..Vinegar Tepesine...son bulusmaya.
Ust uste binlerce olu, orak sallarken toplara.
Tepenin yani kizarmis, kirilan dalgamizdan islanip
Gomduler bizi kefensiz ve tabutsuz
Ve bir Agustos...arpalar fiskirdi mezarimizdan.
MAM translation August 30, 2013
Requiem for the Croppies
The pockets of our greatcoats full of barley...
No kitchens on the run, no striking camp...
We moved quick and sudden in our own country.
The priest lay behind ditches with the tramp.
A people hardly marching... on the hike...
We found new tactics happening each day:
We'd cut through reins and rider with the pike
And stampede cattle into infantry,
Then retreat through hedges where cavalry must be thrown.
Until... on Vinegar Hill... the final conclave.
Terraced thousands died, shaking scythes at cannon.
The hillside blushed, soaked in our broken wave.
They buried us without shroud or coffin
And in August... the barley grew up out of our grave.
Seamus Heaney
Seamus Heaney (13 April 1939 – 30 August 2013) was born and raised in County Derry. In the early 1960s he became a lecturer in Belfast after attending university there, and began to publish poetry. Heresided in Dublin from 1972 onward.
Mavi Boncuk |
Ortakcilara Agit
Agir paltolarimizin cepleri dolu arpa...
Kosturuken mutfaksiz, ne de grevde kampa...
Ilerledik cabuk ve ansizin yurdumuzda.
Rahip dustu kaldi berdusla geride bir cukurda .
Birakin uygun adimi bir halk.. oylece yurumekte...
Buluyoruz kendiliginden her gunun taktiklerini
Kargiyla biciyoruz surucu ve dizginini
Ve urkutuyoruz suruleri ustune piyadelerin
Sonra cekiliyoruz calilarin icinden suvariler atilinca
O ana. dek..Vinegar Tepesine...son bulusmaya.
Ust uste binlerce olu, orak sallarken toplara.
Tepenin yani kizarmis, kirilan dalgamizdan islanip
Gomduler bizi kefensiz ve tabutsuz
Ve bir Agustos...arpalar fiskirdi mezarimizdan.
MAM translation August 30, 2013
Requiem for the Croppies
The pockets of our greatcoats full of barley...
No kitchens on the run, no striking camp...
We moved quick and sudden in our own country.
The priest lay behind ditches with the tramp.
A people hardly marching... on the hike...
We found new tactics happening each day:
We'd cut through reins and rider with the pike
And stampede cattle into infantry,
Then retreat through hedges where cavalry must be thrown.
Until... on Vinegar Hill... the final conclave.
Terraced thousands died, shaking scythes at cannon.
The hillside blushed, soaked in our broken wave.
They buried us without shroud or coffin
And in August... the barley grew up out of our grave.
Seamus Heaney