Anahorish Poem by Seamus Heaney
Anahorish
My 'place of clear water,'
the first hill in the world
where springs washed into
the shiny grass
and darkened cobbles
in the bed of the lane.
Anahorish, soft gradient
of consonant, vowel-meadow,
after-image of lamps
swung through the yards
on winter evenings.
With pails and barrows
those mound-dwellers
go waist-deep in mist
to break the light ice
at wells and dunghills.
I enjoyed this poem. After Heaney's death folk tried to visit Anahorish and it doesn't officially exist as it is not on OS maps, but they are trying to change it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/22/2024 10:51:47 PM # 1.0.0.1119
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