ELIZABETH FARNSWORTH: And then how did you find the tone and the
voice for your own translation? I read that a word, is it "polean,"
helped you.
SEAMUS HEANEY: Yeah, well, this poem is written down, but it is also
clearly a poem that was spoken out. And it is spoken in a very
dignified, formal way. And I got the notion that the best voice I could
hear it in was the voice of an old countryman who was a cousin of my
father's who was not, as they say, educated, but he spoke with great
dignity and formality. And I thought if I could write the translation in
such a way that this man-- Peter Scullion was his name--could speak it,
then I would get it right. That's, in fact, how I started it.
ELIZABETH FARNSWORTH: And you found words that had actually been words that you knew from childhood, right?
SEAMUS HEANEY: Yeah, that's right. My aunt used a word. In fact, all
the people around the district, in the countryside, use words that I
gradually began to realize the more I read were Anglo-Saxon words. They
would say, for example, of people who had suffered some bereavement,
"well, they just have to thole." And they would say it to you when
they're putting the poultice on your hand that was burning, "you'll have
to thole this, child."
Now thole... "Thole" means "to suffer," but it's there in the
glossaries of Anglo-Saxon, "tholian." So between the secret dialect
speech of my home ground and the upper level discourse of the
Anglo-Saxon textbook in university, there was this commerce. And I felt
my own ear, my own language lived between... lived between that
country-speak and learned-speak, and therefore, that I had some way of
translating it, of carrying over from one to the other. I felt there
was, like, a little passport into translating it, you know.
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