2017-09-19

Foraideallaí


Oíche chiúin agus oíche an-fhliuch
Mé fá shuan, mé chomh ciúin le luch
Seo chugainn an boc a chuir an ruaig orainn
Bhuel, arbh é sin an forairdeallaí?

Aimsir gharbh, an t-am againn á mheilt
Sea, codladh ‘fháil i mball teolaí
Agus tháinig póilín, bhí sé in am sinn fhéin a cheilt
Hé, arbh é sin an forairdeallaí?

Bhuel abair cén fáth a n-iompraíonn sé é
Abair cén fáth a n-iompraíonn sé é
An gránghunna teasctha sin ina lámh’
A chomhdhaonnaí a leagan ar lár, an forairdeallaí, sea cén fáth?
Whoa!

Bhuel, seo ag fánaíocht mé, yé, ó áit go háit
Yé, seo ag fánaíocht mé, mmm, ó áit go háit,
Yé, is níl aon oidhre orainn, ach radharc éigin as an Táin,
‘Dhé
Arbh é sin d’fhorairdeallaí ?

Bhuel abair cén fáth a n-iompraíonn sé é
Sea cén fáth a n-iompraíonn sé é
Bata ár mbuailte ’na lámh’
An leagfadh sé fear ionraic ar lár, an forairdeallaí, sea cén fáth?

Wú, ó
Ó ó ó á
Wú, ó ó
Ó ó ó ó, ó
Wú, ó ó
Wú, ó ó á
Wú ó, á, á
Wú ó, á á.

Vigilante Man

Rainy night down in the engine house
Sleepin' just, just as still as a mouse
A man came along and chase us out in the rain
Well was that a vigilante man?

Stormy days, we pass the time away
Yeah, sleeping in some good warm place
And a cop come along, and we give him a little race
Say was that a vigilante man?

Well tell me why does a vigilante man
Tell me why does a vigilante man
Carry that sawed off shotgun in his hands
To shoot his brothers and sisters down, that no good vigilante man
Whoa!

Well, I ramble around, yeah, from town to town
Yeah, I ramble around, mm, from town to town
Yeah and they run us around like a wild herd of cattle, lord
Is that your vigilante man?

Well now why does that vigilante man
Why does that vigilante man
Carry that club in his hands
Would he beat an innocent man down, that no good vigilante man?

Whoo, ooh
Ooh ooh ooh ah
Whoo, ooh ooh
Ooh ooh ooh ooh, ooh
Whoo, ooh ooh
Whoo, ooh ooh ah
Whoo ooh, ah, ah
Whoo ooh, aaah ah

2017-09-18

Deamhain is Cré

Deamhain is Cré

Tá mo mhéar agam ar an truicear
Ach níl muinín agam as éinn’
Nuair a fhéachaim ort sna súil’
Níl ach deamhain is cré.
Táimid i bhfad ón seanfhód, Bobbie
Tá an baile i bhfad i gcéin
Braithim gaoth shalach ag séideadh
Deamhain is cré.

Tá Dia le mo thaobh
Is mé ag iarraidh teacht slán
Ach más é is brí le teacht slán
Teacht salach ar ghrá
Rud an-láidir uamhan, béibí,
Agus dubhaíonn an croí, sin é é,
Tógfaidh d’anam diaga
Le líonadh le deamhain is cré.

Bhuel, bhí taibhreamh a’m aréir
Do bhí fuil is cloch’ gach áit
An fhuil do thriomaigh sí
Is boladh ag éirí
Bhuel bhí taibhreamh agam fút, Bobbie
I ngort na láibe is na gcnámh
An fhuil do thriomaigh sí
Is an boladh ag éirí.

Tá Dia lenár dtaobh
Is sinn ag iarraidh teacht slán
Ach más é is brí le teacht slán
Teacht salach ar ghrá
Rud an-láidir uamhan, béibí,
Agus dubhaíonn an croí, sin é é,
Tógfaidh d’anam diaga
Le líonadh le deamhain is cré.

Níl aon bhean ar domhan ná fear ar bith
Nach mian leo seasamh leis an gceart
Faigh an grá atá Uaidh
Is an creideamh is an neart
Tá mo mhéar agam ar an truicear
Is anocht táim imithe ar strae
Nuair a fhéachaimse im’ chroí
Níl ach deamhain is cré.

Bhuel, tá Dia le mo thaobh
Is mé ag iarraidh teacht slán
Ach más é is brí le teacht slán
Teacht salach ar ghrá
Rud an-láidir uamhan, béibí,
Agus dubhaíonn an croí, sin é é,
Tógfaidh d’anam diaga
Le líonadh le deamhain is cré.
Yé, tógfaidh d’anam diaga
Le líonadh le deamhain is cré.

Devils and Dust

I got my finger on the trigger
But I don't know who to trust
When I look into your eyes
There's just devils and dust
We're a long, long way from home, Bobbie
Home's a long, long way from us
I feel a dirty wind blowing
Devils and dust

I got God on my side
And I'm just trying to survive
What if what you do to survive
Kills the things you love
Fear's a powerful thing, baby
It can turn your heart black you can trust
It'll take your God filled soul
And fill it with devils and dust

Well I dreamed of you last night
In a field of blood and stone
The blood began to dry
The smell began to rise
Well I dreamed of you last night, Bobbie
In a field of mud and bone
Your blood began to dry
And the smell began to rise

We've got God on our side
We're just trying to survive
What if what you do to survive
Kills the things you love
Fear's a powerful thing, baby
It'll turn your heart black you can trust
It'll take your God filled soul
Fill it with devils and dust
It'll take your God filled soul
Fill it with devils and dust

Now every woman and every man
They wanna take a righteous stand
Find the love that God wills
And the faith that He commands
I've got my finger on the trigger
And tonight faith just ain't enough
When I look inside my heart
There's just devils and dust

Well I've got God on my side
And I'm just trying to survive
What if what you do to survive
Kills the things you love
Fear's a dangerous thing
It can turn your heart black you can trust
It'll take your God filled soul
Fill it with devils and dust
Yeah it'll take your God filled soul
Fill it with devils and dust

2017-09-17

Issa agus bambúnna

涼風も隣の竹のあまり哉
suzukaze mo tonari no take no amari kana

tail end
of a a cooling breeze
through the neighbours’s bamboo

ruainne
de leoithne fhionnuar
trí bhambúnna na gcomharsan
竹の子の影の川こす旭哉
takenoko no kage no kawa kosu asahi kana

Bamboo are shooting shadows
across the stream…
morning sun

bambúnna ag scaoileadh scáileanna
trasna na habhann…
grian na maidine

.わか竹の起きんとすれば電り
waka take no okin to sureba inabikari

just as a young bamboo
rights itself…
lightning

díreach agus bambú óg
á dhíriú féin …
tintreach

.そよげそよげそよげわか竹今のうち
soyoge soyoge soyoge waka take ima no uchi
wiggle away for yourself
wiggle young bamboo…
while you can
 

bí ag luascadh leat
luasc, a bhambú óig
faid is atá seans agat     

.竹の子の兄よ弟よ老ぬ
takenoko no ani yo ototo yo toshiyorinu
bamboo shoots…
big siblings, little ones
all growing up

peacáin bhambú…
siblíní idir bheag is mhór
ag éirí aníos 

.今生えた竹の先也雀の子
ima haeta take no saki nari suzume no ko
atop
a newly sprouted bamboo…
baby sparrow

ar bharr
an bhambú nua-phéactha …
gealbhan óg  

.順々に大竹の子の曲りけり
jun-jun ni ôtakenoko no magari keri
one bends
now another…
tall bamboo shoots

ceann acu ag cromadh
ceann eile …
peacáin bhambú arda

.笹ツ葉の春雨なめる鼠哉
sasappa no harusame nameru nezumi kana

Spring rain
on a bamboo leaf…
a mouse licks it

báisteach earraigh
ar dhuilleog bhambú …
á lí ag luch

.笹の葉に稲妻さらりさらり哉
sasa no ha ni inazuma sarari-sarari kana

on bamboo leaves…
flickering flickering
lightning

ar dhuilleoga bambú …
tintreach
ag preabarnach


An bambú agus haiku na Seapáine Bamboo (take)

2017-09-16

Mantra chun eagla is imní a shárú


ਥਾਪਿਆ ਨ ਜਾਇ ਕੀਤਾ ਨ ਹੋਇ ॥
Thāpiā na jāe kīṯā na hoe.

Ní féidir É a bhunú, ní féidir É a chruthú.


 ਆਪੇ ਆਪਿ ਨਿਰੰਜਨੁ ਸੋਇ ॥
Āpe āp niranjan soe.

Íon gan teimheal atá Sé.

 ਜਿਨਿ ਸੇਵਿਆ ਤਿਨਿ ਪਾਇਆ ਮਾਨੁ ॥
Jin seviā ṯin pāiā mān.

Is onóir é a bheith umhal dó.

 ਨਾਨਕ ਗਾਵੀਐ ਗੁਣੀ ਨਿਧਾਨੁ ॥
Nānak gāvīai guṇī niḏẖān.

A Nanak, mol an Tiarna, Ciste na Foirfeachta.

 ਗਾਵੀਐ ਸੁਣੀਐ ਮਨਿ ਰਖੀਐ ਭਾਉ ॥
Gāvī▫ai suṇīai man rakẖīai bẖāo.

Can is éist, agus lig do d’aigne a bheith líonta le grá.

 ਦੁਖੁ ਪਰਹਰਿ ਸੁਖੁ ਘਰਿ ਲੈ ਜਾਇ ॥
Ḏukẖ parhar sukẖ gẖar lai jāe.

Cuirfear pian i bhfad uait agus cónóidh an tsíocháin i do thigh.

 ਗੁਰਮੁਖਿ ਨਾਦੰ ਗੁਰਮੁਖਿ ਵੇਦੰ ਗੁਰਮੁਖਿ ਰਹਿਆ ਸਮਾਈ ॥
Gurmukẖ nāḏaʼn gurmukẖ veḏaʼn gurmukẖ rahiā samāī.

Sruth fuaime an Naad é briathar an Ghúrú; gaois na Véidí é; gabhann briathar an Ghúrú ar fud na bhfud.

 ਗੁਰੁ ਈਸਰੁ ਗੁਰੁ ਗੋਰਖੁ ਬਰਮਾ ਗੁਰੁ ਪਾਰਬਤੀ ਮਾਈ ॥
Gur īsar gur gorakẖ barmā gur pārbaṯī māī.
Is é Síve é an Gúrú, is é Visniú agus Bráma é an Gúrú; Párvátaí agus Laicsmí.

 ਜੇ ਹਉ ਜਾਣਾ ਆਖਾ ਨਾਹੀ ਕਹਣਾ ਕਥਨੁ ਨ ਜਾਈ ॥
Je hao jāṇā ākẖā nāhī kahṇā kathan na jāī.

Fiú agus eolas agam air Dhia, nílim in ann cur síos Air; níl léamh ná scríobh ná insint béil Air.

 ਗੁਰਾ ਇਕ ਦੇਹਿ ਬੁਝਾਈ ॥
Gurā ik ḏehi bujẖāī.

Tá léargas amháin tugtha ag an nGúrú dom:

 ਸਭਨਾ ਜੀਆ ਕਾ ਇਕੁ ਦਾਤਾ ਸੋ ਮੈ ਵਿਸਰਿ ਨ ਜਾਈ ॥੫॥
Sabẖnā jīā kā ik ḏāṯā so mai visar na jāī.

Níl ann ach an tAon, Bronntóir gach anama. Nár dhéana mé dearmad Air choíche!

2017-09-15

Hé, Sarika, hé


Hé, Sarika, hé


Hé, Sarika, hé
Tabhair dom braoinín uisce
Hé, Sarika, hé!
Táim cosnochta
Ní bhfaighidh mé uisce duitse
D’éireodh mo chosa an-fhuar

Hé, Sarika, hé
Gleoite is ana –álainn
Hé, Sarika, hé
Fionn is lán de gháire
Cad ba mhaith leat ’fháil:

bróg’ ó Unkapán*
slipéir ó Chibali*


Níl faic in aon chor uaim
Ná faigh dom aon ní
Tá agam athair
Ceannaí mór na háite
Is ceannóidh seisean dom

bróg’ ó Unkapán
slipéir ó Chibali

Hé, Sarika, hé
Ard agus ana-álainn
Hé, Sarika, hé
Gleoite is lán de gháire
Tógfaidh mise thú
I do chéile agamsa

Mar chéile agamsa
Mar chéile agamsa

Ní theastaíonn tusa uaim
Nílimse le fáil
Tá deartháir agam
É ag treabhadh na farra’ge
Agus tabharfaidh sé
Céile leis abhaile.



*áiteanna in Iostanbúl




Bre Sarika, bre
Trayme un poco d’água
Sto deskalsa
Ay rosio’n basho
Me se hiela el pie

Bre sarika, bre
Linda i hermosika
Bre sarika, bre
Blonda y savrosika
Yo te vo merkar

Sapatos d’Unkapán
Chizmés de Chibali

No me prime a mi
Ke me merkes tú
Tengo un padre
Merkader muy grande
Y el me va merkar

Sapatos d’Unkapán
Chizmés de Chibali

Bre sarika, bre
Alta y hermosika
Bre sarika, bre
Linda i savrosika
Yo te va tomar
Por novia para mí

Novia para mí
Novia para mí

No me prime a mi
Ke me tomes tú
Tengo hermano
En la mar soldado
Y el me va traer
Novio para mí

 

2017-09-14

Cime Chugainn

Cime Chugainn

Tá an cime ag teacht chugainne
Is tá cimí eile léi.
Is ina measc siúd
Seo chugainn an cailín gléigeal
Níl ina lá geal, níl
Níl ina mhaidin bhán.
Canann an cailín gléigeal
Faoin mbuairt atá ina lár

Ó na goirt is glas iad
Ó na hológa gréine
Agus mo mháithrín Gracia
Amuigh ag ní ár gcuid éadaigh.
Ó, nach álainn an ghiúis sin
Mé féin agus m’fhear céile:
Luíomar ann gan dúiseacht
Inár gcodladh le pléisiúr.
Ó na tuamaí bána
Ó, tuamaí sin ár sinsir!
Eitlímse ar fán dom
I m’éan dom ar fud na síoraíochta . . .

Ya viene el cativo

Amhrán de chuid na ndaoine.

Spáinnis / Laidínis

Ya viene el cativo
con todas las cativas.
Dientro de ellas
esta la blanca niña.
Ni amanecía
ni era de día
cuando la blanca niña
cantava su manzia.

'O qué campos verdes
O campos de olivas
onde mi madre Gracia
lavava y espandía.
O, qué pino hermozo
onde con mi espozo
baxo su solombra
dormíamos con gozo.
O, qué tombas blancas,
o tombas de avuelos
Paso sobre ellas
como paxaro en su vuelo.

2017-09-13

Taibhse Tom Joad



Ar na ráillí tá na fir ag siúl
Dul áit éigin is níl dul ar gcúl
Tá na héileacaptair an mullach chugainn aniar
Súp te sa champa faoin droichead á riar.
Scuaine na mbochtán thar an gcoirnéal
Fáilte, tá ord nua i réim
Teaghlaigh san iardheisceart ina gcairt ina luí
Níl áit ná jab acu ná scíth.

Bhuel is beo don bhealach mór san oích’
Ach níl éinne ag cur dallamullóg ar éinne ar ndóigh
Táimse anseo cois na tine im’ shuí
Mé sa tóir ar thaibhse Tom Joad

As a mhála codlata an leabhar urnaí
Lasann Preacher is ólann sé a bhun toitín
Fanacht cé bheidh chun tosaigh, cé bheidh chun deiridh, mo léir
Insan íosbhealach, bosca cairtpháipéir

 Go dtí an tír tairngire ticéad aon treo
Tá gunnán i do ghlac is tá do bholg i mbun gleo
Ar philiúr cloch sea ligeann tú do scíth
Agus tú ag snámh san uiscerian.

Is is beo don bhealach mór san oích’
Cá bhfuil a thriall, is eol dúinn a threo
Táimse anseo cois na tine im’ shuí
Mé sa tóir ar thaibhse Tom Joad

Deir Tom, ‘’Mhaim, má tá duine á bhualadh ag póilín
 Má tá leanbh nuabheirthe ag lorg bia
 Má tá troid ann in aghaidh an phóir agus fuath san aer
 Cuardaigh, a Mhaim, agus féach
 Má tá duine ag troid ar son a phaiste féin
Nó ag súil le jab áit éigin faoin ngréin
Má tá duine ag streachailt chun a bheith saor
Féach air, a Mhaim, feicfidh tú mé.’

Bhuel is beo don bhealach mór san oích’
Ach níl éinne ag cur dallamullóg ar éinne ar ndóigh
Táimse anseo cois na tine im’ shuí
Mé sa tóir ar thaibhse Tom Joad



The Ghost of Tom Joad

Men walking 'long the railroad tracks
Going someplace and there's no going back
Highway patrol choppers coming up over the ridge
Hot soup on a campfire under the bridge
Shelter line stretching 'round the corner
Welcome to the new world order
Families sleeping in their cars in the southwest
No home, no job, no peace, no rest

Well the highway is alive tonight
But nobody's kidding nobody about where it goes
I'm sitting down here in the campfire light
Searching for the ghost of Tom Joad

He pulls a prayer book out of his sleeping bag
Preacher lights up a butt and he takes a drag
Waiting for when the last shall be first and the first shall be last
In a cardboard box 'neath the underpass
You got a one-way ticket to the promised land
You got a hole in your belly and a gun in your hand
Sleeping on a pillow of solid rock
Bathing in the city aqueduct

And the highway is alive tonight
Where it's headed everybody knows
I'm sitting down here in the campfire light
Waiting on the ghost of Tom Joad

Tom said, "Mom, wherever there's a cop beating a guy
Wherever a hungry newborn baby cries
Where there's a fight against the blood and hatred in the air
Look for me, Mom, I'll be there
Where there's somebody fighting for a place to stand
Or a decent job or a helping hand
Wherever somebody's struggling to be free
Look in their eyes, Mom, you'll see me"

The highway is alive tonight
But nobody's kidding nobody about where it goes
I'm sitting down here in the campfire light
With the ghost of old Tom Joad

2017-09-12

An Abhainn


Thána aníos as an ngleanntán is nuair a bhíos-sa óg
Do leanas-sa mo dhaid, dob é sin an nós,
Mise is Mary, bhuaileas léi ar scoil, bhí sise seacht mbliana déag
Amach linn as an ngleanntán síos go dtí an gort glas réidh.

Théimis síos chun na habhann is thumaimis insan abhainn síos
Ó thíos cois na habhann sin a bhíos.

Ansin bhí Mary ag iompar, is ní dúirt sí féin níos mó
Is nuair a bhíos-sa naoi déag is mé sa cheardchumann is pósta go hóg

Chuamar go dtí an giúistís agus dhein sé siúd an gnó
Gan gáire pósta, ná siúl síos an aidhill, ná gúna is gan flós.

Chuamar an oíche sin chun na habhann is thumamar san abhainn síos
Ó thíos cois na habhann sea do bhíos, yé yé yé

Fuaireas jab ag obair ar thógáil leis an Johnstown Company
Le tamall níl mórán ar siúl, cuir an locht ar an eacnamaíocht,
Bhuel na rudaí go léir a raibh tábhacht leo, bhuel mister do dh’imigh mar shneachta ar chnoc, Mary – cuma léi sa phoc*.
Ach is cuimhin liom sinn ag marcaíocht i gcairt mo dhearthár, a colainn fliuch is donn thíos ag an taiscumar,
Istoíche ar an mbruach gan suan le fáil, á tarraingt chugam chun go gcloisfinn a hanáil,
Is tá na cuimhní sin anois dom’ chrá, mar mhallachtaí im’ lár,
An bréag í brionglóid mura dtagann í gcrích, nó an seacht measa atá
A chuireann síos chun na habhann mé, cé gurb eol dom í bheith i ndísc
A chuireann síos chun na habhann mé anocht, aidhe yaidhe yaidhe,
Síos chun na habhann, mé féin is mo mhian,
Ó, síos chun na habhann ag marcaíocht, á, yé yé
Ó . . .



 [* nó b'fhéidir 'sa sioc'; is deacair an ls. a léamh]


The River


I come from down in the valley where mister when you're young
They bring you up to do like your daddy done
Me and Mary we met in high school when she was just seventeen
We'd ride out of that valley down to where the fields were green

We'd go down to the river and into the river we'd dive
Oh down to the river we'd ride

Then I got Mary pregnant and man that was all she wrote
And for my nineteenth birthday I got a union card and a wedding coat
We went down to the courthouse and the judge put it all to rest
No wedding day smiles, no walk down the aisle, no flowers no wedding dress

That night we went down to the river and into the river we'd dive
Oh down to the river we did ride, yay yay yay

I got a job working construction for the Johnstown Company
But lately there ain't been much work on account of the economy
Now all them things that seemed so important, well mister they vanished right into the air
Now I just act like I don't remember, Mary acts like she don't care

But I remember us riding in my brother's car, her body tan and wet down at the reservoir
At night on them banks I'd lie awake and pull her close just to feel each breath she'd take
Now those memories come back to haunt me, they haunt me like a curse
Is a dream a lie if it don't come true or is it something worse

That sends me down to the river, though I know the river is dry
That sends me down to the river tonight, ay yay yay
Down to the river, my baby and I
Oh down to the river we ride, ah yay yay
Ooh ooh ooh ooh, ooh ooh-ooh-ooh
Ooh-ooh-ooh ooh ooh ooh, ooh ooh-ooh-ooh
Ooh ooh ooh ooh, ooh ooh-ooh-ooh
Ooh-ooh-ooh ooh ooh ooh, ooh-ooh

2017-09-11

Hungry Heart/ Croí ar Bís


Yé!
Seo linn!
Whoa!

Céile is páistí i mBaltimore, Jack
Chuas amach ag marcaíocht is níor thána ar ais
Mar bheadh abhainn is nach bhfuil fhios aici a slí
Do chuaigh mé ar strae, táim ag imeacht de shíor.

Féach gach éinne is a chroí ar bís
Féach gach éinne is a chroí ar bís
Airgead síos agus lean ort ag spraoi
Féach gach éinne is a – a chroí ar bís.
Whoa
Do bhuaileas léi istigh i mbeár
Is thit i ngrá, ní fada a bhíos ar bís
Níorbh fhada go raibh gach aon diabhal rud ar lár:
Táimse ar ais i nDún Laoghaire* arís.

Féach gach éinne is a chroí ar bís
Féach gach éinne is a chroí ar bís
Airgead síos agus lean ort ag spraoi
Féach gach éinne is a – a chroí ar bís.

Lá lá lá lá lá lá
Ó yé
Lá lá lá lá lá lá
Tá gach éinne ag lorg ionad scíth’
Tá tigh ó chuile dhuine faoin ngréin
Is cuma sa sioc cad tá siad á rá
Ní maith le héinne a bheith leis féin
Hé yé hé

Féach gach éinne is a chroí ar bís
Féach gach éinne is a chroí ar bís
Airgead síos agus lean ort ag spraoi
Féach gach éinne is a – a chroí ar bís.
(Féach gach éinne is a chroí ar bís)
Ó yé
(Féach gach éinne is a-) a chroí ar bís
(Airgead síos agus lean ort ag spraoi)
Ó yé
(Féach gach éinne is a chroí ar bís)
Ó yé
Lá lá lá lá lá lá
Ó yé
Lá lá lá lá lá lá
Ó yé
Hmmm
Ó
----------------------
(*Kingstown)

2017-09-10

Abdul Sotalach

Abdul Sotalach

Rahul Rai

Samhlaigh le do thoil sotal Abdul bhoicht:
Arsa Abdul bocht: 'Bead i m'fhear mór lá breá éigin.'
Arsa Abdul bocht: 'Raghaidh mé ar scoil.'
Arsa Abdul bocht: 'Íosfaidh mé go dtí go mbeidh mé lán.'
Arsa Abdul bocht: 'Is mian liom a bheith saor'.
Arsa Abdul bocht: 'Is fuath liom an ricseá a tharraingt.'
Arsa Abdul bocht: 'Is fuath liom ragobair.'
Arsa Abdul bocht: 'Ní maith liom na saoistí ag tabhairt amach dom.'
Arsa Abdul bocht: 'Ní maith liom obair gan phá.'
Samhlaigh le do thoil sotal Abdul bhoicht,
a liacht sin éileamh aige, ainneoin é a bheith beo bocht.
Bunteanga: Hiondúis

Cocky Abdul

Rahul Rai

Just imagine the cockiness of poor Abdul:
Poor Abdul says – “I'll be a big man one day.”
Poor Abdul says – “I'll go to school.”
Poor Abdul says – “I'll eat till I am full.”
Poor Abdul says – “I want to be free.”
Poor Abdul says – “I hate pulling the rickshaw.”
Poor Abdul says – “I hate overtime.”
Poor Abdul says – “I don’t like being scolded by the babus.”
Poor Abdul says – “I hate unpaid work.”
Just imagine the cockiness of poor Abdul,
so many demands, despite being poor.


Ο ΦΑΝΤΑΣΜΕΝΟΣ ΑΜΠΝΤΟΥΛ

Για φαντάσου τη μεγάλη ιδέα του φτωχού Αμπντούλ:
Ο φτωχός Αμπντούλ λέει - "Θα γίνω μεγάλος μια μέρα."
Ο φτωχός Αμπντούλ λέει - "Θα πηγαίνω στο σχολείο."
Ο φτωχός Αμπντούλ λέει - "Θα χορταίνω την πείνα μου."
Ο φτωχός Αμπντούλ λέει - "Θέλω να είμαι ελεύθερος."
Ο φτωχός Αμπντούλ λέει - "Σιχαίνομαι να σέρνω το ρίκσο."
Ο φτωχός Αμπντούλ λέει - "Σιχαίνομαι την υπερωρία."
Ο φτωχός Αμπντούλ λέει - "Δε μ' αρέσει να με βρίζουν οι ανώτεροι."
Ο φτωχός Αμπντούλ λέει - "Σιχαίνομαι την απλήρωτη δουλειά."
Για φαντάσου τη μεγάλη ιδέα του φτωχού Αμπντούλ,
τόσες πολλές απαιτήσεις, αν και φτωχός.

Leagan Gréigise: Sarah Thilykou

2017-09-09

An Bás agus an Ainnir

File: Matthias Claudius
Cumadóir: Franz Schubert

Der Tod und das Mädchen

Das Mädchen
Vorüber! Ach, vorüber!
Geh wilder Knochenmann!
Ich bin noch jung, geh Lieber!
Und rühre mich nicht an.

Der Tod
Gib deine Hand, Du schön und zart Gebild!
Bin Freund, und komme nicht, zu strafen.
Sey gutes Muths! ich bin nicht wild,
Sollst sanft in meinen Armen schlafen!
An Ainnir:
An deireadh! Uch, an deireadh!
Ná fan a fhir na gcnámh!
Is óg dom fós, a stóirín!
Is coinnigh uaim do lámh.

An Bás:
Tabhair dom do lámh, a chraobh is milse bláth!
Táim séimh, ní mian liom tú a mhilleadh.
Bíodh ort lúcháir! Ní fiáin atáim,
Is sámh a chodlóimidne choíche.

2017-09-07

Tenth Avenue Freeze Out / Tenth Avenue Reoite


Deora ar an gcathair
Bad Scooter ag lorg a chlais’
Slí chun bogadh ann is deacair
Is an domhan go léir ag siúl go deas
Bhuel, b’fhearr do gach éinne bogadh i leataoibh
Ar an drochthaobh atáimse ag rith
Is leis an bhfalla atá mo dhroim.

Tenth Avenue reoite
Tenth Avenue reoite

Bhuel, bhí mé tréigthe insan dufair
Is shúigh mé isteach an teas go léir ‘bhí uathu
Bhí an oíche dubh, ach an cosán geal
Is solas na mbeo ag dul chucu
As fuinneoigín árasáin, raidió i mbun gleo
Timpeall an chúinne liom, is bhí an domhan ag reo
An chéad rud eile Tenth Avenue reoite
Tenth Avenue reoite

Is tá mé liom féin, go hiomlán
A mhic, ba cheart duit é a thuiscint!
Agus táim liom féin, i m’aonar táim
Agus táim ar fán.

Nuair a tharla athrú
Chuaigh an Fear Mór leis an mbuíon
Ón gcósta go dtí an chathair
A lámh in airde ag gach cailín
Táim chun luí siar agus gáire go deas
Mar Scooter is an Fear Mór, roinnfidh siad é ‘na leath, ó

Tenth Avenue reoite
Tenth Avenue reoite
Tenth Avenue reoite
Tenth Avenue reoite
Tá mé ag tagairt do – abair
Yé, tada ach an – abair
Tá mé ag tagairt don, abair
Ní tada é ach Tenth, Tenth, Tenth, Tenth, Tenth, Tenth, Tenth, Tenth, Tenth, Tenth, Tenth, Tenth, Tenth
Tá mé ag tagairt don Tenth, Tenth Avenue reoite
Tenth Avenue reoite
Tenth Avenue reoite


Tenth Avenue Freeze Out

Tenth Avenue freeze-out
Tenth Avenue freeze-out
Tenth Avenue freeze-out
Tenth Avenue freeze-out
I'm talking about a, tell me
Yeah, nothing but a, tell me
I'm talking about the, tell me
Ain't nothing but a Tenth, Tenth, Tenth, Tenth, Tenth, Tenth, Tenth, Tenth, Tenth, Tenth, Tenth, Tenth, Tenth
I'm talking about the Tenth, Tenth Avenue freeze-out
Tenth Avenue freeze-out
Tenth Avenue freeze-out

2017-09-06

Youngstown



 In oirthuaisceart Ohio, siar in ocht déag’s a trí
James is Danny Heaton fuair siad an mhian a bhí in Yellow Creek
Thóg siad foirnéis soinneáin, thóg siad í cois trá
Dhein siad caora gunnaí mhóir a thug an tAontas leo san ár.
Is in Youngstown, is in Youngstown,
A Jenny dhil, mé báite ann,
A stóirín in Youngstown.

Bhuel, mo Daidí is na foirnéisí, chomh te le leac na bpian,
Mise tagtha ó ‘Nam, d’oibríos i mo scairféir, jab ‘bheadh ag teacht leis an diabhal is a mhian,
 Cóc tacanaíte is aolchloch ‘chothaigh an chlann is thuill mo phá,
Na simléir ag síneadh mar lámha Dé chuig firmimint álainn de shúiche is láib.
 Is in Youngstown, is in Youngstown,
Jenny dhil, mé báite ann,
A stóirín in Youngstown.

Bhuel tháinig mo dhaidí chun na monarchan tar éis dó teacht ó pháirc an áir
Níl sa chlós ach dramh is spallaí, ar sé, ‘Scrios níos mó ná Hitler laistigh de lá.’
Yé, anseo a tógadh buama is tanc a bhuaigh na cogaí dúinn
Chuireamar iad dtí an Chóiré is Vítneam, an é gur chuireadar a saol amú.
Is in Youngstown, is in Youngstown,
A Jenny dhil, mé báite ann,
A stóirín in Youngstown.

Sea ón Monongahela Valley go dtí Mesabi Iron Range
Na mianta guail in Appalachia, níl athrú ar an scéal,
Seacht gcéad tonna miotail in aghaidh an lae, is deir tú gur athraigh an saol,
Mise a dhein an saibhreas duit, saibhir is ní heol duit cé mé.

Is Youngstown, is Youngstown,
A Jenny dhil, mé báite ann,
A stóirín in Youngstown.

T’réis mo bháis, ní shantóinnse na flaithis, ní bheadh an obair ar mo mhian,
Guímse go dtiocfaidh Fear na gCrúb chugam le bheith i measc na bhfoirnéis’ ar leac na bpian.

Youngstown

Here in northeast Ohio, back in eighteen-o-three
James and Danny Heaton found the ore that was linin' Yellow Creek
They built a blast furnace here along the shore
And they made the cannon balls that helped the Union win the war

Here in Youngstown, here in Youngstown
My sweet Jenny I'm sinkin' down
Here darlin' in Youngstown

Well my daddy worked the furnaces, kept 'em hotter than hell
I come home from 'Nam worked my way to scarfer, a job that'd suit the devil as well
Well taconite coke and limestone fed my children and made my pay
Them smokestacks reachin' like the arms of God into a beautiful sky of soot and clay

Here in Youngstown, here in Youngstown
Sweet Jenny I'm sinkin' down
Here darlin' in Youngstown

Well my daddy come on the Ohio works when he come home from World War Two
Now the yard's just scrap and rubble, he said "Them big boys did what Hitler couldn't do."
Yeah these mills they built the tanks and bombs that won this country's wars
We sent our sons to Korea and Vietnam, now we're wondering what they were dyin' for

Here in Youngstown, here in Youngstown
My sweet Jenny I'm sinkin' down
Here darlin' in Youngstown

From the Monongahela valley to the Mesabi iron range
To the coal mines of Appalachia, the story's always the same
Seven hundred tons of metal a day, now sir you tell me the world's changed
Once I made you rich enough, rich enough to forget my name

And Youngstown, and Youngstown
My sweet Jenny I'm sinkin' down
Here darlin' in Youngstown

When I die I don't want no part of heaven, I would not do heaven's work well
I pray the devil comes and takes me to stand in the fiery furnaces of hell

2017-09-05

Haiku le Issa ón mbliain 1815

ar bhláth na ráibe
ina suí go héadrom…
luch


.菜の花やふはと鼠のとまりけり

na no hana ya fuwa to nezumi no tomari keri

2017-09-04

Amhrán Grá/ Love Song

Amhrán Grá

Anon (Gondi)

Tá mo fhliút de bhambú glas agam á seinm,
mo mhéara agam ar an méarluí.
Conas a chuirfinn mo dhá lámh thart ort, a ghrá,
Agus mo fhliúit de bhambú glas agam á seinm?
Ith beagán silí agus fan tamall.
Tá mo lámha gafa, ní fhéadfainn tú a chuachadh le m'ucht.
Tá mo fhliúit de bhambú glas agam á seinm,
is mo mhéara agam ar an méarluí.

Love Song

Anon (Gondi)

I am playing on my flute of green bamboo,
My fingers are resting on the stops.
So how can I take you in my arms, O love,
When I'm playing on my flute of green bamboo?
Eat a little chilli and wait awhile.
My hands are full already, so how can we embrace?
I am playing on my flute of green bamboo,
And my fingers are resting on the stops.

Translated from Gondi by Shamrao Hivale and Verrier Elwin

2017-09-02

Océane Buret

Océane Buret
an chéad bhád againn
déanta as páipéar…
í fós ag seoladh
our first boat
made from paper…
still sailing
πρώτη μας βάρκα
φτιαγμένη από χαρτί…
πλέει ακόμη

Leagan Gréigise: Sarah Thilykou

2017-09-01

Springsteen - Amhrán 3: Factory / Monarcha



Monarcha


An-luath ar maidin, ón monarcha fead,
Gléasann an duine t'réis éirí ón nead,
Tógann a lón, siúlann faoi sholas an lae
Is saol oibre, saol oibre, is saol oibre é.

Trí árais na heagla, is trí árais na péin'
Tá mo dhaidí ag siúl leis faoin mbáisteach is é leis féin
Geataí na monarchan, geataí móra an tsaoil
Is saol oibre, saol oibre, is saol oibre é.


Deireadh an lae, á fhogairt ag fead ghéar,
Daoine ar a dtriall, na súile ag éag,
Agus creid uaimse a mhic ó, beidh duine éigin anocht i bpéin,
Is saol oibre, saol oibre, is saol oibre é.
Mar is saol oibre, saol oibre, is saol oibre é.

Factory


Early in the morning factory whistle blows
Man rises from bed and puts on his clothes
Man takes his lunch, walks out in the morning light
It's the working, the working, just the working life

Through the mansions of fear, through the mansions of pain
I see my daddy walking through them factory gates in the rain
Factory takes his hearing, factory gives him life
The working, the working, just the working life

End of the day, factory whistle cries
Men walk through these gates with death in their eyes
And you just better believe, boy, somebody's gonna get hurt tonight
It's the working, the working, just the working life
Cause it's the working, the working, just the working life

2017-08-31

Mustafa Seven

Mustafa Seven
ag stánadh
idir an dá shúil orainn…
aislingí ár n-óige
staring at us
in the face…
dreams of our youth

κοιτάζοντάς μας
καταπρόσωπο…
όνειρα της νιότης μας

Leagan Gréigíse: Sarah Thilykou

2017-08-30

Haiku le Issa on mbliain 1804

Loiteog is Snáthaid Mhór le Qi Baishi
snáthaid mhór -
eitlíonn dhá throigh
ansin dhá throigh eile

.蜻蛉や二尺飛では又二尺

tombô ya ni shaku tonde wa mata ni shaku


2017-08-29

Graifítí an Lae

Arsa Íosa, 'Tar go múinfidh mise rúin duit nach bhfuil feicthe ag aon neach beo. Mar tá ríocht mhór fhairsing ann gan teorainn, ríocht nach bhfuil feicthe ag glúin aingeal ar bith ina bhfuil Spiorad mór dofheicthe nach bhfuil feicthe ag súil aingil ar bith, Spiorad nach  raibh aon smaoineamh riamh a bhí sa chroí in ann a thuiscint agus nár tugadh ainm ar bith riamh air.'

Soiscéal Iúdáis

2017-08-28

Bruce Springsteen: Is le Leannáin an Oíche

Tóg mé a stóirín, faoi mar atáim
Bímis dlúth, agus tuig a ghrá
Gur airc is ea mian, is tine m'anál' -
Grá is ea féasta  a bheathaíonn cách.

Seo leat is tuig é seo, a ghrá
An mothú sin is mé faoi do lámh
T'rom do lámh, tar liom faoin mbraillín
Níl teacht acu ort
Teacht acu ort
Teacht acu ort

Is le leannáin, leannáin an oíche
Is leis an oíche í an drúis
Is le leannáin, leannáin an oíche
Fúinne an oíche, [an] oíche fúinn.

Má bhíonn amhras orm liom féin
Cligeann grá ó ghuthán i gcéin
Grá is ea aingeal i bhfoirm drúis'
Anseo sa leaba go mbreacfaidh an lá

Seo leat is tuig é seo, a mhian
an mothú sin agus mé id' ghiall
T'rom do lámh is an ghrian 'dul faoi
Níl baint acu leat
Baint acu leat
Baint acu leat

Is le leannáin, leannáin an oíche
Is leis an oíche í an drúis
Is le leannáin, leannáin an oíche
Fúinne an oíche, [an] oíche fúinn.

Le grá bíonn dabht sa suan
An fáinne fí ag dó, a ghrá gan tú
Ní mhairfidh mé beo, maith dhom an tnúthán,
Dóiteán, tá an t-am sin ann, thar gach mothú
Sín chugam do lámh
Chugam do lámh
Chugam do lámh

Á, is le leannáin, leannáin an oíche
Is leis an oíche í an drúis
Is le leannáin, leannáin an oíche
Fúinne an oíche, [an] oíche fúinn.
Le beirt leannán anocht an oíche
Má tá an oíche seo inár gcúis
Is le leannáin, leannáin an oíche
Is leis an ngrá, an grá, an oíche
Is le leannáin, leannáin an oíche
Is leis an oíche í an drúis
Dá mbeadh an oíche seo inár gcúis
Is le leannáin, leannáin an oíche

Because the Night


Take me now baby here as I am

Pull me close, try and understand
Desire is hunger is the fire I breathe
Love is a banquet on which we feed

Come on now try and understand
The way I feel when I'm in your hands
Take my hand come undercover
They can't hurt you now
Can't hurt you now
Can't hurt you now

Because the night belongs to lovers
Because the night belongs to lust
Because the night belongs to lovers
Because the night belongs to us

Have I doubt when I'm alone
Love is a ring, the telephone
Love is an angel disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes

Come on now try and understand
The way I feel under your command
Take my hand as the sun descends
They can't touch you now
Can't touch you now
Can't touch you now

Because the night belongs to lovers
Because the night belongs to lust
Because the night belongs to lovers
Because the night belongs to us

With love we sleep with doubt
The vicious circle turns and burns without
You I cannot live, forgive the yearning
Burning, I believe it's time, too real to feel
So touch me now
Touch me now
Touch me now

Ahh because the night belongs to lovers
Because the night belongs to lust
Because the night belongs to lovers
Because the night belongs to us

Because tonight there are two lovers
If we believe in the night we trust
Because the night belongs to lovers
Because the night belongs to love
Because the night belongs to lovers
Because the night belongs to lust
Could we believe the night we're lovers
Could we believe in the night we trust
Because the night belongs to lovers...

2017-08-27

Inis dom, a Éin, má fheiceann tú mo charasa

Inis dom, a Éin, má fheiceann tú mo charasa!
Má fhilleann sé ar an mbean mhí-ámharach seo,
A Éin, suigh ar chraobh ard
Is breathnaigh ar an domhan braonach seo. An eol duit
Cá bhfuil mo charasa, a Éin?
Beir chuige an nóta seo a scríobhas-sa dó,
Tabhair an scríbhinn seo do mo chara dil!
Má thagann mo shearc abhaile
Taispeáin dó cá bhfuil mo thigh, a éinín.
Tá mo thighse faoin kadam ar bhruach na habhann.
Tá mo thighse san uaigh, a éinín.






2017-08-26

Nuair a tháinig an bord

Tháinig an bord,
I dteannta an bhoird, tháinig an ghloine, tháinig an cupán
Tháinig an scian, tháinig an spúnóg, tháinig an forc
Tháinig an pláta
Deireadh le suí is éirí
Tháinig an bord, i dteannta an bhoird, an chathaoir
Tháinig an chathaoir, deireadh leis an stól, áilleacht an Rangoli,
Deireadh le suí an táilliúra, deireadh leis an  seál
Deireadh leis an mbréid gabhail, leis an snáth, leis an éadach deasghnách,

Deireadh leis an bpláta duilleoige, uisce á spraeáil timpeall,
An scaraoid bhán, an cupán deasghnách, na cúig dúile
Deireadh leis an spúnóg dheasghnách, an clog, an 'tikkli'
An marc dearg ar an gclár éadain, an mantra
an marc bán, an 'pranayam', an luaithreach bheannaithe
Deireadh leis an taos santail.
Tháinig an bord, tháinig an chathaoir
Tháinig na bróga, leis an gculaith éadaigh
Tháinig an bruscar ó gach áit
Tháinig an léine, tháinig an carbhat
Deireadh le ní na gcos is na lámh
Deireadh leis an aghaidh a ní, na fiacla
Tar isteach, suigh, tar isteach, suigh
Sábhálann sé am agus airgead
Tháinig an bord, deireadh leis an gcanji, mangó amh
Ruainne cnó cócó
Tháinig an bord, tháinig an tae, an caife
Tháinig an t-arán, an t-im, an t-anraith
Deireadh le cumhracht túise, solas ón lampa ola,
Cad a cailleadh, cad a baineadh amach?
Cad a baineadh amach, cad a cailleadh?
Tháinig an bord, an bord, an bord


Manohar Sardessai
File Concáinise as Goa

When the table came [Mez Ailem]

Came the table,
Along with the table, came the glass, came the cup
Came the knife, came the spoon, came the fork
Came the plate
No more sitting and rising
Came the table, with the table, the chair
Came the chair, exit the stool, the beauty of the Rangoli
No more sitting cross legged, no more shawl
No more loin cloth, no thread around, no ceremonial drape,
Gone is the leaf plate, the water sprinkling around,
The white cloth, the ritual cup, the five elements
Gone is the ritual spoon, the bell, the ‘tikkli’
The red mark on the forehead, the mantra
The white mark, the ‘pranayam’, the holy ash
Gone is the sandalwood paste.
Came the table, came the chair
Came the shoes, with the suit
Came the garbage from all around
Came the shirt, came the tie
No washing of feet, of hands
No washing the face, the teeth
Enter, sit, enter, eat
Saves time, profits
Came the table, exit the canji, the raw mango
The coconut bit
Came the table, came the tea, the coffee
Came the bread, the butter, the soup
Gone the fragrance of the incense stick, the light of the oil lamp
How much lost, how much gained?
How much gained, how much lost?
Came the table, the table, the table…

 

2017-08-25

An Tír Tairngire

Ar luasraon nathrach i ngaineamhlach Utah
Piocaim suas m’airgead is ar ais liom arís
Tiomáint liom thar Waynesboro, fógra glas,
Tá an raidió ar siúl, an t-am ag dul as
Garáiste dhaid, mé ag obair go dian
Tóir ar bhrionglóidí, ag tiomáint istoích’
Is gearr go mbeadsa féin i gceannas, a mhian.

Tá glam ó ghadhair na sráid’
Már dóibh siúd is léir
Dá bhféadfainnse nóiméad a choinneáil im’ lámh
Mister, ní garsún mé, táimse i m’fhear
Tír tairngire atá uaim go géar

Dheineas mo chion le bheith mar atáim
Éirímse gach aon mhaidin, ag sclábhaíocht gach lá,
Ach dalltar an tsúil is fuaraíonn an fhuil
Uaireanta bím chomh lag go bpléascfainn le fonn goil
Phléascfainn is an baile seo a lot
Scian im ghlac, an phian á stróiceadh ó m’ucht
’Bhfuil duine ar bith ann mar táimse anocht?

Tá glam ó ghadhair na sráid’
Már dóibh siúd is léir
Dá bhféadfainnse nóiméad a choinneáil im’ lámh
Mister, ní garsún mé, táimse i m’fhear
Tír tairngire atá uaim go géar

~     ~      ~
Bhuel tá néal dubh ag éirí ón ngaineamh aníos
Phacálas cás is tá m’aghaidh caol díreach ar an stoirm
Tornádó a bheidh ann is beidh gach rud ar lár
Nach seasfaidh an fód go teann más gá
Scaipfear an aisling a dhein tú a chloí
Scaipfear an aisling a bhris do chroí
Scaipfear na bréaga a d’fhág caillte thú, gan aon ní is bristechroíoch.

Tá glam ó ghadhair na sráid’
Már dóibh siúd is léir
Dá bhféadfainnse nóiméad a choinneáil im’ lámh
Mister, ní garsún mé, táimse i m’fhear
Tír tairngire atá uaim go géar
Tír tairngire atá uaim go géar
Tír tairngire atá uaim go géar

Bruce Springsteen



On a rattlesnake speedway in the Utah desert
I pick up my money and head back into town
Driving cross the Waynesboro county line
I got the radio on and I'm just killing time
Working all day in my daddy's garage
Driving all night chasing some mirage
Pretty soon little girl I'm gonna take charge

The dogs on Main Street howl
'cause they understand
If I could take one moment into my hands
Mister I ain't a boy, no I'm a man
And I believe in a promised land

I've done my best to live the right way
I get up every morning and go to work each day
But your eyes go blind and your blood runs cold
Sometimes I feel so weak I just want to explode
Explode and tear this whole town apart
Take a knife and cut this pain from my heart
Find somebody itching for something to start

The dogs on Main Street howl
'cause they understand
If I could reach one moment into my hands
Mister I ain't a boy, no I'm a man
And I believe in a promised land

Hmm
Hmmm
Hmmmm

Well there's a dark cloud rising from the desert floor
I packed my bags and I'm heading straight into the storm
Gonna be a twister to blow everything down
That ain't got the faith to stand its ground
Blow away the dreams that tear you apart
Blow away the dreams that break your heart
Blow away the lies that leave you nothing but lost and brokenhearted

Well the dogs on Main Street howl
'cause they understand
If I could take one moment into my hands
Mister I ain't a boy, no I'm a man
And I believe in a promised land
And I believe in a promised land
And I believe in a promised land

2017-08-24

Aubade

Dúisigh, óir tá an oíche caite.
I dtobar na spéire, tumann
an maidneachan a shoitheach réaltaí
le tionlacan ó chantain luath na n-éan.
Is caille iad
na duilleoga óga, ag luascadh.
Nach bog ar an bhféith iad bachlóga an Earraigh.

Dúisigh, óir tá an oíche caite.
An bheatha ar do bheola, ina tost;
an ghaoth aniar aneas gafa ag do dhlaoithe.
Á, codlaíonn tú is laoi na hoíche id' shúile.
Dúisigh. Tá an oíche caite.

Jayshankar Prasad

2017-08-23

An Rún

Nuair a fhéachaimse ar do chneas
níos fíneáilte ná duilleoga plantáin,
tuigim rún scil an fhíodóra.
Nuair a fhéachaim ar do shúile,
daite níos gleoite ná an fhearthainn,
tuigim rún an pheintéara.

Nuair a chloisim do ghuth,
chomh maorga leis an each ag siúl,
tuigim mistéir an cheoltóra.
Nuair a fhéachaim ar do mhéara is ar do ladhracha,
níos draíochtúla ná peitil na loiteoige,
tuigimse na healaíona go léir.

D. R. Bendre

2017-08-22

Mo Chuid Dánta

Baineann mo chuid dánta le scata rudaí.
Baineann mo chuid dánta le féilte filíochta.
Scríobhadh mo chuid dánta do dhaoine ar do nós féin.
Tógann mo chuid dánta aicearra. Bíonn mo chuid dánta ar muin cúlsruthanna.
Tá mo chuid dánta ar an ngannchuid.
Is mian le mo chuid dánta go dtaitneoidís leat.
Éilíonn mo chuid dánta go gcuirfeá de ghlan mheabhair iad.
Tá duaiseanna ó mo chuid dánta.
Ní chuirfidh mo chuid dánta isteach ar chomórtais.
Tá duaiseanna ó mo chuid dánta ar a shon san.
Is mian le mo chuid dánta a bheith ar an siollabas agus ar an gcuraclam.
Is mian le mo chuid dánta go n-aistreofaí iad go Hiondúis, Maraitis,
Tamailis, Teileagúis, Gúisearáitis, Gearmáinis, Fraincis, Iodáilis, Polainnis,
 Afracáinis agus Meiriceánais.
 Tá díolúine thaidhleoireachta ag teastáil ó mo chuid dánta.
Tá víosa ó mo chuid dánta ar theacht isteach dóibh.
Is mian le mo chuid dánta go ndófaí go poiblí iad ach fir a bheith ann a chaitheann an saghas ceart éadaigh chuige.
Is mian le mo chuid dánta nach n-áireofaí mar chuid den chanóin iad, go fóill.
Ba mhaith le mo chuid dánta go dtiocfaidh an chéad Eliot eile orthu.
Tiocfaidh mo chuid dánta ar an gcéad Eliot eile. Aithneofar é ar mo chuid dánta a athaimsiú.
Is mian le mo chuid dánta a bheith ina n-eipeagraif.
Is mian le mo chuid dánta a bheith ina ngrianghraif d’fhionnmhná broinnfhairsinge a bhfuil nithe míne síodúla acu.
Tugann mo chuid dánta dúshlán don réaltacht fhíorúil.
Is ceannlínte beo agus bunlínte dearga iad mo chuid dánta.
Is mian le mo chuid dánta go suífeá aniar agus éisteacht leis an tost ollmhór nó tiocfaidh siad sa tóir ort.
Tarraingítear mo chuid dánta as na hinní agus as an gcroí agus as an amagdala agus as an drólann shiogmóideach.
Is síolta a cuireadh i do cheann iad mo chuid dánta; péacfaidh siad nuair a chaillfear thú.
Is víris iad mo chuid dánta; athchruthóidh siad iad féin mar nithe beo bíodh is gur nithe neamhbheo iad mar tá siad in ann iompú ina gcriostal.
Cláir is ea mo chuid dánta; scriosfaidh siad do thiomántán crua agus imphléascfaidh siad.
Tá mo chuid dánta dainséarach; aosaigh amháin atá in ann iad a cheannach, aosaigh a bhfuil teastas neamhlitearthachta acu.
Tá mo chuid dánta á gcosaint ag Amnesty International ach má mheabhraíonn tú é sin dóibh ní chloisfidh tú uathu ach gáire bréagach.
Tá mo chuid dánta á lorg ag Interpol.
Tá lorg mo chuid dánta á leanúint ag an FBI.
Nílimse cosúil le mo chuid dánta in aon chor.


Jerry Pinto

2017-08-21

Teanga Dhúchais

Faoi mar a fhilleann seangáin

ar an nead,
an cnagaire adhmaid
ar an gcoill,
agus na heitleáin ar an aerfort
ceann i ndiaidh a chéile,
a gcuid sciathán á leathadh acu sa spéir dhearg

Ó, a theanga liom,
is ortsa a fhillimse
nuair is righin atá mo bhéal
ó bheith balbh,
is m'anam ag fulaingt.

Kedarnath Singh

 

2017-08-20

Haiku le Issa ón mbliain 1816

domsa amháin…
an ghealach mhór!
cumhracht na mbláthanna plumaí

.身一つに大な月よ梅がかよ

mi hitotsu ni ôkina tsuki yo ume ga ka yo

2017-08-19

Graifítí an Lae

Dá mhéid dlíthe agus srianta atá ann

is ea is boichte a bheidh na daoine.

Dá ghéire iad a gcuid arm

is ea is mo trioblóid a bheidh sa tír.

An Bealach (Dao)


Ar nós go leor ainrialaithe a tháinig ina ndiaidh, féachann na Daoigh ar an gcruinne agus í ag síorathrú. Staid is ea an réaltacht, staid atá ina próiseas, níl aon ní daingean. Chomh maith leis sin, tá coincheap dialachtaiciúil acu: athrú mar idirghníomhú idir fórsaí atá in aghaidh a chéile. Gabhann fuinneamh gan stad idir dhá mhol, yin agus yang. Ag an am céanna, cuirtear béim ar aontacht an nádúir agus gach rud ag teacht le chéile ann. Tá an nádur neamhspleách agus neamhchruthaithe; ní gá cruthaitheoir comhfhiosach a shamhlú. Is dearcadh é seo a mheabhródh an fealsamh Gréagach Heraclitus duit gan trácht ar an gcur síos ar an gcruinne a thugann an fhisic nua-aimseartha dúinn. An éiceolaíocht shóisialta nua-aimseartha a chuireann béim ar aontacht san éagsúlacht, fás orgánach agus ord nádúrtha, is léargas breise í ar chruinneshamhail na nDaoch.

Josh

2017-08-14

Rásaíocht ar an tSráid



 Tá Chevy seasca naoi agam le trí nócha sé
Cinn sorcóra is Hurst ar an urlár
Ag feitheamh anocht thíos sa chlós páirceála
Lasmuigh den Seven-Eleven ‘tá:
Mise ‘s mo chara Sonny thógamar í ón mbonn
Agus bíonn sé liom ó áit go háit
Is ar son an airgid é is sin a bhfuil ann
Is sin mar ‘bhíonn againne ó lá go lá.

Anocht, anocht tá an stráice i gceart
Is beidh pléascadh ann mar táimse faoi dháir
Tá an samhradh ann, gach ní i gceart
Le haghaidh rásaíocht’ ar an tsráid.

Bíonn an t-aicsean uainn gach uile lá
Is clúdaímidne an stát thoir thuaidh
Nuair a dhúntar an stráic’ ritear iad ar an tsráid
Ó na bóithríní tine is lú


Tá daoine a éiríonn as an rás
Is faigheann siad bás de réir a chéile gach lá
Daoine a dhéanann naoi go dtí a cúig
Roimh dóibh rásaíocht ar an tsráid

Anocht, anocht tá an stráice i gceart
Is beidh pléascadh ann mar táimse faoi dháir
Glaoigh os ard ar fud an domhain, bí ag rásaíocht ar an tsráid.

Do bhuaileas léi fadó ar an stráic’
I gCamaro bhí, leis an mboc ó L.A.
Shéideas an Camaro de mo dhroim is chuaigh mé féin is mo stór i gcéin
Ach féach na roic atá faoi shúile mo ghrá
Is caoineann go gcodlaíonn sí istoích’
Abhaile liom tá an tigh faoi smúit
Osnaíonn sí, Stóirín ‘bhfuil tú ceart go leor,
Ina suí sa phóirse i dtigh a daid
Na brionglóidí aici á ndó
Ag stánadh ar an oíche go deo
Na súile a deir gur fuath leo a bheith beo
Do na stróinséirí uile is d’aingil an luais
I dtír challánach seo na n-óg
Anocht me féin is mo stór, síos, chun na farraige síos
Ár lámha á ní, ó bhó.

An mótarbhealach sé tá geal
As ár mbealach, mister, fág an áit,
An samhradh ann, agus seo ár seal
Le haghaidh rásaíocht’ ar an tsráid.

"Racing In The Street"


I got a sixty-nine Chevy with a 396
Fuelie heads and a Hurst on the floor
She's waiting tonight down in the parking lot
Outside the Seven-Eleven store
Me and my partner Sonny built her straight out of scratch
And he rides with me from town to town
We only run for the money got no strings attached
We shut 'em up and then we shut 'em down

Tonight, tonight the strip's just right
I wanna blow 'em off in my first heat
Summer's here and the time is right
For racing in the street

We take all the action we can meet
And we cover all the north east state
When the strip shuts down we run 'em in the street
From the fire roads to the interstate
Some guys they just give up living
And start dying little by little, piece by piece
Some guys come home from work and wash up
And go racing in the street

Tonight, tonight the strip's just right
I wanna blow 'em all out of their seats
Calling out around the world, we're going racing in the street

I met her on the strip three years ago
In a Camaro with this dude from L.A.
I blew that Camaro off my back and drove that little girl away
But now there's wrinkles around my baby's eyes
And she cries herself to sleep at night
When I come home the house is dark
She sighs "Baby did you make it all right"
She sits on the porch of her daddy's house
But all her pretty dreams are torn
She stares off alone into the night
With the eyes of one who hates for just being born
For all the shut down strangers and hot rod angels
Rumbling through this promised land
Tonight my baby and me we're gonna ride to the sea
And wash these sins off our hands

Tonight tonight the highway's bright
Out of our way mister you best keep
'Cause summer's here and the time is right
For racing in the street

2017-08-13

Domingos José Soares Rebelo (1873-1922)

Fia-Chailleach

Samhlaigh duine de na mná gránna sin
colainn chraptha, gialla tite,
srón chromógach mhíchumtha, fiacla ag gobadh amach,
braoithe fiata dlútha bána,

Dlaoithe fada giobacha suaracha
ag titim thar a guaillí cama,
lámha meata agus méara cranraithe,
míle splanc ag éalú as a dhá súil.

Sceitse den bháirseach lofa é sin
í á léiriú le gualach.
Arsa an duine stuama a d’fheicfeadh í, ‘A leithéid de bhrúid!’

An gnáthdhuine, beireann ar mhaide, gearrann fíor na croise air féin
is ar sé de mhonabhar: “Mo ghraidhin í! Bean téagartha!
Is treise í ná Rí Solamh!’

The Witch

Imagine one of those vile old women
 shrunken body, sunken jaws,
aquiline and ugly nose, jutting teeth,
thick, fierce and white eye-brows,

Long, shaggy and squalid tresses,
crowding over her bent shoulders,
shrunken hands and knotted fingers,
her eyes blaze out a thousand sparks.

This is the sketch of that vile shrew
delineated only in charcoal.
The serious man see her and exclaims “What a beast!”

The common man grabs a stick,
blesses himself and mutters “Hail! Such a tough woman!
More powerful than King Solomon!!!”

Slánú

(Chrom sé a cheann agus thug uaidh a spiorad, Eoin, 19:30)

A cheann cromtha, é ag foghlaim an bháis,
slán á rá aige den uair dheireanach
-    siombail den fhiúntas lonrach –
an Fáidh ardchéimiúil, Dia ina Dhuine.

Chrith an domhan ar a insí suaracha
 an duairceas ina bhrat anuas air,
eirmín ina néal
ó Gheitséamainí go Calvaire

Á! Uafás! Lá na barbarachta!
Muire ag geonaíl
i ndeireadh na feide: ‘Mo chreach!’
An taoiseach céid ag breathnú ar íobairt seo
an anama ghlé agus liúnn a choinsias os ard
‘Dar mo lámh, ní fhéadfadh éinne é a fhulaingt
ach Mac Dé féin.’

Redemption

(And he bowed his head and gave up his spirit. Jn., 19:30)
Head bowed, dying,
he had uttered his last goodbye,
 - a symbol of all that is worthy and radiant -
the eminent Prophet, the Man-God.

The earth shook on its mean hinges
gloom enveloped it like a shroud,
ermine turned to pall
from Gethsemane to Calvary!

Ah! Horror! What a barbaric moment!
Disconsolate, Mary
murmured between sobs: “O me!”
The centurion beheld the host of innocence
sacrificed, and with a hand over his conscience
cried out “Only the Son of God
can suffer so.”

(Almanach de Recreio, Nova Goa, edited by Carmo Caraciolo Coelho, 1893)



An tAinrialaí

Tigh tábhairne ainnis agus diabhal bocht
darbh ainm Tadeu ina shuí sa doras
oíche gheimhridh is é ag machnamh  . . .
cad air? . . .  cá bhfios.

Taobh leis bhí laindéar,
sháigh sé a lámh thanaí  ina phóca,
tharraing amach scian agus d’fhógair
‘Díoltas go deo!’ le fuarchúis an aindiachaí!

Agus chuir sé leis: ‘Obair gan mhaith í obair an bháicéara;
Triallfad ar ghiúistís na cathrach féachaint an gcabhródh sé liom
is cóisteoir a dhéanamh díom;

Mura ndéanfaidh, má dhéanann sé neamhshuim díom,
leis an laindéar agus leis an scian seo
Beidh marú is loisceadh ann anocht is go brách!’
 

The Anarchist

At the door of a miserable tavern
a poor devil named Tadeu
could be seen sitting, one winter night
pondering… who knows what?

By his side he had a lantern,
he thrust his bony hand into his pocket,
pulled out a knife, and “Eternal vengeance”
 he exclaimed with an atheist’s indifference!

Then he added “The work of a baker
is bad; I am going to find out if the municipal magistrate
will help me and make me his coachman;

if he does not, if he disregards me,
with this lantern, with this knife
I will cause fires and death without end!!!”


Almanaque Litterário, 1895. Bastora, Goa, edited by J. do R. Crisólogo Borges, 1894.

2017-08-12

False Markets (Margaí Falsa)

An English translation by Gabriel Rosenstock of Margaí Falsa, a poem by the late Danny Sheehy.

This poem was published in his first volume of poems, Súil Seilge (Coiscéim 2008) and reprinted in Poetry Ireland Review (No. 122). It reveals a philosophy that can only be defined as the native anarchism of the Gael.
 

 False Markets

Never got it. Still don’t get it,
I’ll never get it,
don’t really want to get it;
Footsie, Iseq Overall Index, Dow Jones,
sell off of equities, financial centres,
stock market, shares, stock bonds,
the Irish market down three per cent,
trading, marketing, buying and selling
on the false markets of the world.
How can I get my head around it
when I see no one at all buying or selling,
nothing but spectres in silk suits
tussling and scrambling in a flurry.
How good is the fire and something to chew on.

Don’t know where Wall Street is
Hong Kong or Singapore
but there are places I know well:
Sliabh Bhaile an Chalaidh
and Portach an Fhearainn, An Leacain,
Newcastle, Sheffield, Dagenham of Ford fame
and the Middle East
because that’s where
I’ve always got
my turf and coal for the fire,
a fork and a knife
to deliver food to my mouth,
diesel and petrol
to keep the old jalopy on the road
as I travel from coast to coast.
How good is the fire and something to chew on.

What care I for Wall Street
without a spud or a scallion to its name.
Canary Wharf I heard of – who hasn’t –
where the IRA planted a bomb
splintering the minds of silken spectres.
How good is the fire and something to chew on.

What’s all this fuss about Dow Jones?
why such demand
for these ludicrous markets
not a loaf of bread to be got or a gallon of oil –
it’s all trickery, treachery and fear.
There’s some fairy goings on at work here
it seems to me! All stuck in their power game
by dint of dark magic, deception and gambling
on the folly of life’s damned stock.
It’s all jiggery-pokery, a play on words
as the air burns and the skies –
God’s own children ravished alive.
How good is the fire and something to chew on.

Forget world trade
let’s just live within our means,
give a helping hand to our neighbour in time of need,
Serve the local community and the meitheal.
Buy, sell and exchange as need demands
and bring home the bacon.
We have all we require
for a night’s sleep, health and contentment,
a glowing hearth, warmth . . . food.
How good is the fire and something to chew on.
 =============================

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Contemporary_anarchism

2017-08-11

Jörg Heidenberger

Jörg Heidenberger
fiafraigh
fiafraigh go dtí go dtite an masc:
cé mé
ask
keep asking until the mask falls off:
who am I
ρώτα συνέχεια
μέχρι να πέσει η μάσκα:
ποιος είμαι εγώ

Leagan Gréigise: Sarah Thilykou

2017-08-10

Krishnamurphy agus Ashtavakra

Ainmnigh duine amháin
(seachas tú fein)
a chonaic an solas
arsa na deisceabail, go himpíoch.
Ashtavakra, arsa Krishnamurphy, gan smaoineamh.

Conas is féidir a bheith ar nós Ashtavakra
an cheist atá acu go léir.


Líontar Krishnamurphy le hatrua.
Le bheith cosúil leis siúd, ar sé,
ní mór daoibh a bheith cam –
chomh cam le hadharc reithe!

Cam?
Baineadh siar go mór as na deisceabail.

Tagann sibh anseo le bhur gcolainn fhoirfe
agus sibh ag súil leis an solas?
Le bheith ar nós Ashtavakra
ní mór daoibh a bheith níos caime na corcscriú!

 

Krishnamurphy and Ashtavakra

Name one enlightened person
(apart from yourself)
the disciples ask, pleadingly.
Ashtavakra! says Krishnamurphy, without thinking.

How do we become like Ashtavakra?
The question on everyone’s lips.

Krishnamurphy is filled with compassion.
To be like him, he says,
you must be crooked –
as crooked as a ram’s horn!

Crooked?
The disciples are aghast.

You come here with your perfect bodies
and expect to be enlightened?
To be like Ashtavakra you must be
crookeder than a corkscrew!

2017-08-09

A Ego Basctha ag Krishnamurphy

Tvuíteáil Krishnamurphy a chuid deisceabal:
Tá sé basctha agam!
Smidiriríní, a chairde ionúine!
Faic fágtha!

Fuair na meáin gaoth an fhocail
Is dhein cosán dearg go dtí a dhoras.

An fíor, a Krishnamurphy?
Tá d’ego basctha go hiomlán agat, an bhfuil?

D’fhéach Krishnamurphy orthu go nimhneach:
Nach bhfuil meas ar bith agaibh orm?!
Tugaigí Sri Sri Krishnamurphy-ji orm!
Sea, sea, sea: tá sé basctha agam!
Is d’at a ucht le bród.
 

Krishnamurphy Smashes His Ego

Krishnamurphy tweeted his disciples:
I have smashed it!
Smithereens, my beloved ones!
Nothing left!

The press got wind of it
And beat a path to his door.

Is it true,
Krishnamurphy?
You have completely smashed the ego?

Krishnamurphy looked at them with disgust:
Have you no respect?!
Call me Sri Sri Krishnamurphy-ji!
Yes, yes, yes: I have smashed it!
His chest swelling with pride.

2017-08-08

An pleidhce úd Koslowski arís!

‘Ar mo leabhar!’ arsa Koslowski, ‘blianta fada ó shin, bhuaileas le Huckleberry Finn’.
‘Ach,’ arsa duine éigin, ‘níl ann ach carachtar liteartha!’
‘Mo dhála féin,’ arsa Koslowski.

*****

‘Le cabhair ó mhaide a shiúlann tú anois?’ arsa cara leis agus deargiontas air.
‘Níl tú i gceart in aon chor,’ arsa Koslowski ar ais leis. ‘Ní hé go bhfuilimse ag siúl le cabhair ó mhaide; an maide atá ag siúl – le cabhair uaimse.’

2017-08-07

Krishnamurphy - cúpla dán

Krishnamurphy ar an ragairne

Sin é an t-ochtú pionta IPA ólta agat!
A fhógraíonn deisceabal.
Nach bhfuil eagla ort go mbeadh cloigeann ort
maidin amárach?

Cloigeann, ab ea? Cloigeann?
An é sin atá á theagasc agam?
Níl aon bhaint ag an gcloigeann leis seo.
Baint dá laghad!
Ná bí ag smaoineamh ar an gcloigeann!
 

Krishnamurphy goes on the batter


That’s your eighth pint of pale Indian ale!
Exclaims a disciple.
Aren’t you afraid you’re going to have a head
in the morning?

A head, is it? A head?
Is this what I have been teaching you?
It has nothing at all to do with the head!
Nothing whatsoever!
Stop thinking of the head!
 

Ar Strae agus Aimsithe Arís


Dúirt U.G. Krishnamurti
‘Ná lean mise. Táimse ar strae . . .’
An bhfuil tusa ar strae leis? arsa deisceabal.

Freagraíonn Krishnamurphy:
An Ghaeilge ar Lost and Found Office
Ná Oifig na nEarraí Caillte
Tuigeann tú an méid sin.
Cén fáth nach bhfuil ‘Aimsithe‘ ann?

Nuair a bheidh an freagra ar eolas agat
Tar ar ais chugam
Mar ní thuigimse beag ná mór é.
 

Lost and Found

U.G. Krishnamurti said:
‘Don’t follow me. I’m lost . . .’
Are you lost as well? asks a disciple.

Krishnamurphy replies:
The Irish for a Lost and Found Office
Is Oifig na nEarraí Caillte
Meaning: Office of Lost Things
Why do they not include ‘Found’?

When you find the answer
Let me know
Because it’s a complete mystery to me.
 

Aigne an Mhoncaí


‘Cuireadh an aigne i gcomparáid le moncaí,
Nár cuireadh, a Mháistir?
Guagach de shíor
Ag léim ó chraobh go craobh  . . .’

‘Hoips! Is beag nár thit sé ansin!’
Gáire ó gach éinne.

‘Tá cathú orm! Do cheist?’

‘Conas aigne an mhoncaí a cheansú.’

‘Ceist neamhbhailí.
Níl aon mhoncaithe againn in Éirinn.
An chéad cheist eile?’              

 

Monkey Mind

‘The mind has been compared to a monkey,
Has it not, Master?
Ever restless
Jumping from branch to branch . . .’

‘Ooops! It nearly fell there!’ says Krishnamurphy.
Laughter all round.

‘I’m sorry! Your question?’

‘How to still the monkey mind’.

‘Not a valid question.
No monkeys in Ireland.
Next question?’
 

Tohi Mohi

Bímis ag cantaireacht! arsa K.:
Tohi Mohi, Mohi Tohi
Antar Kaisa
Tusa mise – mise Tusa
Cén difríocht atá eadrainn?
Sin é, dáiríre!
Cad eile atá ann?
Níl i ngach rud eile ach  . . .
Bímis ag cantaireacht!
Tohi Mohi, Mohi Tohi
Antar Kaisa
Tohi Mohi, Mohi Tohi
Antar Kaisa

Tohi Mohi, Mohi Tohi
Antar Kaisa

Tohi Mohi, Mohi Tohi

Tohi Mohi

Let’s chant! says K.:
Tohi Mohi, Mohi Tohi
Antar Kaisa
You are me – I am You
What’s the difference between us?
That’s it, really!
What eile is there?
Everything else is . . .
Let’s chant!
Tohi Mohi, Mohi Tohi
Antar Kaisa
Tohi Mohi, Mohi Tohi
Antar Kaisa

Tohi Mohi, Mohi Tohi
Antar Kaisa
Tohi Mohi, Mohi Tohi
Antar Kaisa

 

2017-08-06

An Fhírinne Lom

après  Hafiz

'An bhféadfainn iasacht d'asal a fháil?'
arsa an chomharsa leis an gCaomhánach

a d'fhreagair: 'Tá cathú orm,
thugas uaim inné ar iasacht é.'

Díreach ansin, thosnaigh an t-asal ag grágaíl
sa scioból. Mheas an chomharsa

gur bréagnaithe a bhí an Caomhánach ag an asal
is ar sé, 'Cad é sin a chloisimse mar sin?'

Arsa an Caomhánach á fhreagairt: 'A chara,
cé a chreideann tú, mise nó an t-asal?'


Rafiq Kathwari

2017-08-05

Lang Jinshan

Lang Jinshan
nuair nach mbíonn ceist ann
ná freagra…
bile
when there are no questions
no answers…
sacred tree
δεν έχει ερωτήσεις
ούτε απαντήσεις…
ιερό δέντρο

Sarah Thilykou a chuir i nGréigis

2017-08-04

Tithe Sinseartha, Goa

(do Nina Caldeira)

An mhuir amháin, an ghrian, na fiolair a thimpeallaíonn
Gach bá ar sciatháin theirmeacha os cionn an róis dheirg
Is na loiteoige bándeirge, spíonta brúite ag an teas bán,
Iadsan amháin a thuigeann i gceart conas a mhaolaíonn sibhse,
Foirgnimh ó thús an tsaoil, an t-am. Cuireann sibh loinnir i móimintí,
Á dtástáil, a scriosadh, á gcomóradh go seasmhach ina dtréimhsí
Nótáilte. Bhreathnaigh sibh ar laethanta iontacha ómra,
Startha ísle, scliúchais; colm ag tuirlingt;
Glúin i ndiaidh glúine; a gcluichí
Á dtaifeadadh, dhá theanga á láimhseáil agaibh chun déileáil
Leis na searbhóntaí; umhlú nó cúirtéis a dhéanamh ar mhaithe
leis na Seanóirí,
Gaolta, cairde dúthrachtacha. Déantar matrarcaí
De chuid acu, bhí an chumhacht i ndán dóibh, a gcuid tostanna
Rúnda, casadh beag á bhaint as polaitíocht teaghlaigh
Nó mac drabhlásach a chosc ar chrúbáil oíche,
Ar chiorrú coil ar uairibh.

Sa tóir ar Chríostaithe is ar spíosraí a thána

Is mar sin a d’eascair siad, dearúdadh ceann acu, deineadh
An ceann eile a shábháil, ag gabháil thar an Veinéis, timpeall Mhurascaill
Na Guine chun daoir a phiocadh suas.  Those were the
days, my friend, We thought they’d never end
Ó thránna leathana, radharc ar bhóithre ag éirí
Scuab sibh isteach go cnoc, go sruthán, nó áit
Ar tháinig tuirse ar chuspóir, ar chumhacht, ar shaint. Is mar sin
A d’fhás na Tithe Móra. Luso nó Indo ag iompú ina stíl
Ghoach, uathúil ó thaobh cumhachta de, insealbhú, a cruthaíodh
Le breithiúnas is saibhreas, stuaim agus préamhachas. Tarraingt fós
Ag an néatacht, an Clós Cúirte gan athrú is an gairdín.
Féach go géar; leag lámh ar threilís fhíneáilte,
Colúin is frámaí fuinneoige faoi mar gur bróidníodh iad.
Staighrí d’adhmad costasach ar chuir dearnana boga snas orthu;
Síleálacha breac le cuimhní is cumha, speabhraídí is creideamh.
In íomhánna a bheireann greim ar an tsúil chun an tsamhlaíocht a chothú . . .

. . . scéalta laistigh de scéalta, miotais, taibhrimh, finscéalta . . .
Portaingéalaigh, Afracaigh, measc is meaitseáil Indiach.
Pósadh, bualadh leathair, an saol is teagmhálacha, féiniúlachtaí
Deartha, eochairinsintí ar nós Skin ina ngnóthaíonn
Afonso Miranda maoin agus clú. Ceannaíonn talamh
Is daoine i mBassein, Goa agus Daman.
Téann a gharmhac le trádáil. Agus é glan ar meisce, éigníonn
An leaid daor, banphrionsa treibhe. Gan fhios, maraíonn sé
A bpáiste, Perpetua, le teann cruálachta.
Pósadh déanach, éagumas ainsealach, mar phionós
B’fhéidir, tréigeann sé Maria Miranda Flores, spéirbhean
Nótáilte, maighdean. Faobhar curtha ar a ceathrúna ag capall
Is stíoróip, a gabhal ar leathadh le fonn chun plibe. Uaigneach.
Dúilmhear. Tuigeann sé. Is cuma léi faoi ionadaithe mealltacha.
Arraing thar fóir, an mhóimint lom sin, gabhann súile glasa sagartúla
Inti is athnochtann mar shine aonair Ghor-gor. Draíocht
Ghéiniteach. B’fhéidir go seachadann géinte cuimhní cine chomh maith.
Níos mó ná bríce is moirtéal, mórthaibhse, solas
An lae, réaltaí istoíche, gnáth-ghiúmar is giúmar ríoga,
Comhchuimhne is ea sibh ar theaghlach, ar fhine, ar cheast;
Achoimre náisiúnta; súil ar an diaspóra. Sibhse go deimhin
Dialachtaic áite, ama, luaile; ciúnas glan; foirm
Is dath; meas ar chéimseata ach an saor-shreabhadh á cheapadh,
Ligean don spiorad príomhúil a ailtireacht féin a shocrú.
Siúlaimid. Braithimid do chuisle a dhéanann traidisiúin a mheabhrú
Dúinn is a athbheochan, fréamhacha, cá seasaimid, ár n-ullmhú chun
Weltschmerz a fhulaingt, fiabhrais idirnáisiúnta, tubaistí. Socracht, stuaim:
Mar is eol daoibh buanna lonracha is cúinní dorcha; titim
Is aiséirí. Saint, paisean; laigí teicteonacha.
Leigheas is ea sibh le bhur suáilcí glana réamh-charrac; móimintí
Léargais. Gach úrchluiche solais is dathanna, radharc éigin nua
Ar an domhan, cuirimse beagán leis an teanga
Sinne á dtabhairt chugaibhse, chuig compánaigh agus isteach ionainn féin.

Gloria in excelsis.
 

Edwin Thumboo
Samhain/ Nollaig 2014
Singeapór/Goa      



Ancestral Houses, Goa

(for Nina Caldeira)
 

Only the sea, the sun, the eagles circling
Each bay on thermal-wings above red rose
And pink lotus bruised listless by white heat,
Truly know how you, immemorial edifices,
Mitigate time. You burnish, endure, test,
Delete or memorialise moments into notable
Epochs. You watched brilliant amber days,
Low histories, skirmishes; a dove descend;
How generation beget generation; log them
At play, intoning two languages to manage
Menials; bow or curtsey to impress Elders,
Relatives, earnest friends. Some become
Matriarchs, pre-destined to power, keeping
Secret silences, tweaking family politics or
Caging a randy, hot and spicy son from
Prowling nubile nights, some incestuous.

I come in search of Christians and spices

They grew therefrom, forgot one, harvested
The other, bypassing Venice, curved the Gulf
Of Guinea picking up slaves. Those were the
days, my friend, We thought they’d never end
From broad beaches, vantage of rising roads
You swept deep inland to hill, stream, or where
Purpose, power, greed turned weary. Thus grew
Great Houses. Luso or Indo merging into a Goan
Style, unique in power, investiture, called forth
By taste and wealth, tact and rootedness. Neat,
Timelessness Courtyard and garden still pull.
Look close; touch perhaps. Delicate trellises,
Pillars and window frames as if embroidered.
Staircases of fine wood polished by soft palms;
Ceilings depicting nostalgia, fancy and faith.
In images that grip eye to feed imagination….

..stories within stories, myths, dreams, legends…

Of Portuguese, African, Indian mix and match.
Marriage, rutting loins, life and contacts, design
Identities, lead narratives such as Skin. There
Afonso Miranda makes fortune, fame. Buys
Earth and people in Bassein, Goa and Daman.
Moves grandson into trade. When drunk, the lad
Rapes a slave, a princess of her tribe. Unbeknown,
He kills Perpetua - their child - by his cruelty.
A late marriage, chronic impotence, punishment
Perhaps, leaves Maria Miranda Flores, a great
Beauty, intact. Honed by horse and stirrup, her thighs
Wait endlessly to grip his flanks. Lonely. Hungry. He
Knows. She ignores tempting surrogates. In helpless
Ache and agony, that bare moment, green priestly eyes
Enter her to reappear, like Gor-gor’s single nipple. Gene
Magic. Perhaps they transmit racial memories as well.

Beyond brick and mortar, great appearances light
Of day, nightly stars, ordinary and the regal moods,
You are collective memory of family, clan, caste;
National summation; watched its diaspora. You embody
Dialectics of place, time, motion; pure stillness; form
And colour, respecting geometry yet invent free flow,
Letting the primal spirit settle its own architecture.
We walk. We feel your pulse recall, revive traditions,
Roots and bearings, readying us to digest global angst,
International fevers, misadventures. Steadiness, sanity:
For you know gifts of radiance and dark corners; fall
And resurrection. Greed, passion; tectonic frailties.
You cure, purify with pre-carrack virtues; moments
Of epiphany. Each fresh play of light and colour, some
New angle to view the world, I add a little to the language
Bringing us to you, to companions, and into our selves.

Gloria in excelsis.

Edwin Thumboo
Nov/Dec 2014
Singapore/Goa

Féach freisin: A Poem Never Ends…