2013-04-01

Dán do Hatto/A poem for Hatto


Rud ab ea é nach bhfaca mé cheana

do Hatto

Rud ab ea é nach bhfaca mé cheana
Lon dubh
Ag piocadh as éan dá chineál féin
Ó thráth go chéile féachann sé i leataobh
San áit ina bhfuilimse
Ciontach mar dhea
Loinnir fhuar ina shúil
Ciontacht dá laghad ní bhraitheann sé ar ndóigh
Is cuma gur éan dá chineál féin a thit go talamh
Níl geis ar bith ann
A choiscfeadh lon dubh ar éan dá chineál féin a chéasadh

Is mar sin, leis, le briathra a ghoineann
Conas a éiríonn siad
Conas a ligtear dóibh éalú
As cuas éigin sa chroí nár caitheadh solas fós air?
It was something I hadn’t seen before

for Hatto

It was something I hadn’t seen before
A blackbird
Pecking at one of its own
Now and again it would look to one side
To where I was
As if in guilt
A cold glint in its eye
But of course it knew no guilt at all
It didn’t matter that one of its kind had fallen to the ground
No taboo exists
Forbidding a blackbird to torture one of its own

And so it is with hurtful words
How do they arise
How do we allow them escape
From some cavern in the heart not yet explored?