Ní Ceadmhach Neamhshuim

Níl cuil, níl leamhan, níl beach,
Dar chruthaigh Dia, níl fear,
Nach dualgas dúinn a leas,
Níl bean; ní ceadmhach neamhshuim
A dhéanamh dá n-imní;

Níl gealt i ngleann na ngealt,
Nár chuí dhúinn suí lena ais,
Á thionlacan an fhaid
A iompraíonn thar ár gceann,
Ár dtinneas-ne ’na mheabhair.

Níl áit, níl sruth, níl sceach,
Dá iargúlta iad, níl leac,
Bídís thuaidh, thoir, thiar nó theas,
Nár cheart dúinn machnamh ar a suíomh,
Le gean is le báidhíocht;
Dá fhaid uainn Afraic Theas,
Dá airde í gealach,
Is cuid dínn iad ó cheart:
Níl áit ar fuaid na cruinne
Nach ann a saolaíodh sinne.

Apathy Is Out

There’s not a fly, moth, bee,
man, or woman created by God
whose welfare’s not our responsibility;
to ignore their predicament
isn’t on.

There’s not a madman in Mad Valley
we shouldn’t sit with
and keep company,
since
he’s sick in the head
on our behalf.

There’s not a place, stream or bush, however remote;
or a flagstone
north, south, east or west
that we shouldn’t consider
without affection and empathy.
No matter how far South Africa,
no matter how distant the moon,
they’re part of us by right:
there’s not a single spot anywhere
we’re not a part of. We issue from everywhere.

Údar

Is é dúirt an t-údar so
Ná scríobhfadh focal
go mBeadh Gaeilge ar a thoil aige.

Do chaith sé a óige mhoch,
Is meán a aoise amach,
Is deireadh a laethanta,
Ag tóraíocht Gaolainne.

Ansan fuair bás de gheit,
Díreach is í aige.

Author

This particular author said
he’d not compose a word
until he was top notch in Irish.

He spent his youth,
middle age, right
to the end of his days
climbing Mount Irish.

Just as he made it,
he kicked the bucket.

Barra na hAille, Dún Chaoin, Lúnasa 1970

Dán Próis

Tá an dúthaigh seo ag rá rud éigin. Dá bhféadfaí é chur i bhfocail d’aithneofaí gurbh é an dúthaigh a dúirt. Tá an fharraige agus na carraigeacha, tá an féar agus gach fás á rá gur mar seo atá. Tá na daoine á rá. Bíd ina dtost á rá. Labhraidís nó bídís ina dtost is é atá siad a rá – cé nach é a deir siad. Ba mhór an fhuascailt dúinn ar fad é chlos i bhfocail, cé ná beadh aon nuacht ann. Tá sé ráite chomh tréan san ag an dúthaigh seo nach foláir é scagadh ó am go ham. Fulang is ea é.

Clifftop, Dunquin, August 1970

Prose poem

This locality is saying something. If it could be put in words then it would be known that this locality was saying something. The sea, the rocks, the grass, everything growing here says this is the way it is. The people say it. They say it when silent. It is what they say whether speaking or silent. Although it is not what they say. It would be a relief to hear it flushed out in words. It would be nothing new to us. It’s said so forcefully by this locality that it must be examined from time to time. It is endurance.

Fiabhras

Tá sléibhte na leapa mós ard,

Tá breoiteacht ’na brothall ’na lár,

Is fada an t-aistear urlár,

Is na mílte is na mílte i gcéin

Tá suí agus seasamh sa saol.

Atáimid i gceantar bráillín,

Ar éigean más cuimhin linn cathaoir,

Ach bhí tráth sar ba mhachaire sinn,

In aimsir choisíochta fadó,

Go mbímis chomh hard le fuinneog.

Tá pictiúir ar an bhfalla ag at,

Tá an fráma imithe ina lacht,

Ceal creidimh ní féidir é bhac,

Tá nithe ag druidim fém dhéin,

Is braithim ag titim an saol.

Tá ceantar ag taisteal ón spéir,

Tá comharsanacht suite ar mo mhéar,

Dob fhuirist dom breith ar shéipéal,

Tá ba ar an mbóthar ó thuaidh,

Is níl ba na síoraíochta chomh ciúin.

Fever

It’s a steep climb from the bed.

The sickly sweltering mound

is a long way from the ground.

Miles and miles away

folks still sit and stand.

We’re here in the terrain of sheets.

We can barely recall a chair.

Once we stood sound on level ground,

in a time of walking, long ago.

We stood as tall as the window.

A picture swells off the wall.

The frame melts into a haze.

Reason can’t stop it.

Things close in around me,

the dizzy world spins apart.

A locality is forming in the ether,

a parish perches on my finger.

I could easily pluck off a chapel.

There are cows on the road to the north.

The cows of eternity are not as tranquil.