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There was a sunlit absence. The helmeted pump in the yard heated its iron, water honeyed in the slung bucket and the sun stood like a griddle cooling against the wall of each long afternoon. So, her hands scuffled over the bakeboard, the reddening stove sent its plaque of heat against her where she stood in a floury apron by the window. Now she dusts the board with a goose's wing, now sits, broad-lapped, with whitened nails and measling shins: here is a space again, the scone rising to the tick of two clocks. And here is love like a tinsmith's scoop sunk past its gleam in the meal-bin. SUNLIGHT for Mary Heaney, from Mossbawn: Two poems in dedication. de ©Seamus Heaney, do seu libro Norte (North). Traducción © 1997.

Houbo un baleiro soleado. A bomba da auga na eira quentaba o seu ferro, auga de mel no caldeiro colgado e o sol ergueito como unha grella enfriando contra a parede de cada longa tarde. Mentres, as súas mans amasaban sobre a artesa, o forno ía quecendo e a súa prancha candente alumeaba cara ela, en pé co mandil fariñento a carón da fiestra. Agora enfariña a taboa coa á dun ganso, agora séntase, ancho colo, coas brancas unllas e as canillas arroibadas: aquí un espacio outra vez, o molete medrando ó son de dous reloxos. E velaquí o amor como unha culler metálica afundido o seu brillo, na ola da comida. LUZ DO SOL

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