2018-11-20

In ainm bhriochtaí an tadhaill, is an radhairc, na crúbála, na héisteachta is an ghrá, scairtimid ar chumhachtaí an chosmais chun ár gcuid deasghnátha a chosaint in ainm Shéas, in ainm Anúbais, dia na marbh, in ainm na ndaoine sin go léir a maraíodh mar nár thuigeadar, in ainm na saighdiúirí go léir i Vítneam a maraíodh de dheasca droch-karma, in ainm Aifraidíté a rugadh san fharraige, in ainm Mhagna Mater, an Mháthair Mhór, in ainm Dhinísis, Sagreus, Íosa, Iáivé, an té nach féidir a ainmniú, croí-chuspóireacht thine na Sóróstarach, in ainm Hermes, in ainm Ghob Shoc, in ainm na scairibe, in ainm an Tyrone Power Pound Cake Society sa Spéir, in ainm Rá, Óisíris, Hórais, Neiptea, Ísíse, in ainm na cruinne beo ar snámh, in ainm bhéal na habhann, glaoimid ar an spiorad chun an Peinteagán a ardú óna chinniúint is é a chaomhnú.

AMACH, A DHEAMHANA, AMACH

SIAR CHUN AN DORCHADAIS LIBH, A SHEARBHÓNTAÍ SHÁTAIN,

AMACH, A DHEAMHANA, AMACH

AMACH, A DHEAMHANA, AMACH

AMACH, A DHEAMHANA, AMACH

AMACH, A DHEAMHANA, AMACH

AMACH, A DHEAMHANA, AMACH . . .
 
(féach scéal anseo)

2018-11-19

Ó do sheas an dall ar an ród is chaoin



Ó do sheas an dall ar an ród is chaoin
Ó do sheas an dall ar an ród is chaoin
Ó a Thiarna liom, sábháil mé
Ó do sheas an dall ar an ród is chaoin
Ar sé, cad iad na bróga sin ‘tá ort
Ar sé, cad iad na bróga sin ‘tá ort
Ar sé, Ó, a Thiarna liom, sábháil mé
Ó do sheas an dall ar an ród is chaoin
Ar sé, bróga an tSoiscéil iad na bróga seo
Ar sé, bróga an tSoiscéil iad na bróga seo
Ar sé, Ó, a Thiarna liom, sábháil mé
Ó do sheas an dall ar an ród is chaoin


O, de blin’ man stood on de road and cried
O, de blin’ man stood on de road and cried
Cryin’ O, my Lord, save-a me
Ó, de blin’ man stood on de road and cried
Cryin’ what kind o’ shoes am dose you wear
Cryin’ what kind o’ shoes am dose you wear
Cryin’ O, my Lord
Save-a me
Ó, de blin’ man stood on de road an’ cried
Cryin’ dese shoes I wear am de Gospel shoes
Cryin’ dese shoes I wear am de Gospel shoes
Cryin’ O, my Lord
Save-a me
Ó, de blin’ man stood on de road an’ cried.
 

2018-11-18

Haiku le Issa ón mbliain 1824

.猫の目や氷の下に狂ふ魚
neko no me ya kôri no shita ni kuruu uuo

faoin leac oighir
éisc bhuile á leanúint
ag súile an chait

2018-11-17

Conas Draíocht a Oibriú ar Mhún

le Parraruru

Déanann an t-íospartach a mhún.
Mo dhuine ag faire air.
Hmmm, hmmm, arsa mo dhuine leis féin.
Bailíonn an t-íospartach leis agus déanann dearmad glan ar an scéal,
Ach siúlann mo dhuine sall go dtí an mún,
Agus sánn ruball ann – an roc ga nimhe!
Déanann ruball an oilc
Póirseáil sa mhún.
Clúdaíonn mo dhuine le hithir thais é
Agus tugann aghaidh ar dhúiche eile,
Eagla air mar gheall ar an draíocht atá cruthaithe aige.
Fanann an t-íospartach sa dúiche seo.
Níl sé in ann a mhún a dhéanamh.
Braoinín beag, sin uile.
Brúnn sé, arís is arís eile.
Tagann fonn air sruthán a dhéanamh, brúnn sé,
Tugtar cógas dó, tagann cúpla braon.
Ach is mall an mún ag teacht, dá ainneoin sin.
Tá sé i bpian,
Téann an phian in olcas.
Líontar le mún é.
Tagann cúpla braon.
Glacann sé scíth, tógann sé an cógas, tá biseach air,
É beagnach ar a sheanléim.
Pian arís.
Suíonn sé síos. Ag éirí tanaí atá sé anois.
Na matáin go léir seargtha.
Is iad pianta an bháis iad.

Shon Arieh-Lerer a chuir Béarla air.

Bunteanga: Ngarluma

An file: Bard, scéalaí agus   mawarnkarra (draoi) ab ea Parraruru (1889 -1975).

2018-11-16

Agus Mé Fá Shuan



Agus Mé Fá Shuan

Chuir an t-am aois mhór orm
is mé fá shuan
ní mhaithfidh mé
an feall sin dó

Ní ghlacfadsa leis an tseanaois seo
a beangaíodh go slítheánta ar mo cholainn
raghad i bhfolach
i measc seamaidí féir
is braonta uisce.
Sleamhnód óna lámha
rocacha.

Navtej Bharati

While I Slept

Time aged me
while I slept
I will not forgive it
for this treachery

I will not accept this old age
grafted slyly on my body
I will hide in the
leaves of grass
in the drops of water.
Will slip away
from its wrinkled hands.

Navtej Bharati


Ο χρόνος με γέρασε
ενώ κοιμόμουν
Δεν θα τον συγχωρήσω
για αυτή την προδοσία

Δεν θα δεχθώ αυτό το γήρας
να μπει ύπουλα στο σώμα μου
Θα κρυφτώ
στα φύλλα της χλόης
στις σταγόνες του νερού.
Θα ξεγλυστρήσω
από τα ζαρωμένα του χέρια

Sarah Thilykou a dhein an leagan Gréigise


2018-11-15

Haiku le Issa ón mbliain 1804

Sa bhliain 1804
  • rugadh James Bronterre O’Brien, Cairteach
  • Rugadh Eliza Roxy Snow, file Mormannach
  • Rugadh Sean-Johann Strauss, cumadóir:
  • Rugadh an péintéir Éireannach Andrew Nicholl.
  • Rugadh Elizabeth Peabody, gníomhaí Tarchéimnitheach
  • Rugadh George Sand, scríbhneoir Francach
  • Rugadh Nathaniel Hawthorne, scríbhneoir Meiriceánach
  • Rugadh Eduard Mörike, file Gearmánach
  • Rugadh Chō Kōran, file agus péintéir.
  • Cailleadh Immanuel Kant, fealsamh Gearmánach
  • Cailleadh an file Tomás Ó Míocháin
  • Agus sa bhliain 1804 chum Issa an haiku seo:

sula n-imíonn an ghé
stánann sí
idir an dá shúil orm

 .立雁のぢろぢろみるや人の顔

tachi kari no jiro-jiro miru ya hito no kao

2018-11-14

Briathra an Bhúda

Manopubbaṅgamā dhammā;
manoseṭṭhā manomayā.
Manasā ce pasannena
bhāsati vā karoti vā,
tato naṃ sukhamanveti
chāyāva anapāyinī.

Éist leis an mbun-Pháilis: http://host.pariyatti.org/dwob/dhammapada_1_2.mp3

Roimh an uile ní tagann an aigne,
sí an aigne an taoiseach, sí an cruthaitheoir í.
Labhair nó déan gníomh
le haigne atá íon
is leanfaidh an suairceas
mar a leanann do scáth thú go deo.

2018-11-13

Haiku le Issa: agus roinnt nótaí

Léiríonn an haiku seo thíos meon ar leith, meon an mháistir haiku. Dá reofaí an ola sa lampa orainn, bheimis curtha amach mar gheall air. Conas a bhraitheann Issa?

 

うつくしく油の氷る燈かな

utsukshiku
abura no kôru
tomoshi kana
nach álainn!
an ola féin reoite
sa lampa

Codarsnacht a chruthaíonn soicind beag drámata go minic sa haiku; sa sampla thíos is é an gort ag lonrú faoi dhrúcht é agus ansin, préachán dubh ina lár!

白露にざぶとふみ込む烏哉

shiratsuyu ni
zabu to fumikomu
karasu kana
   
gort drúchta
gan choinne tumann
préachán ann


Tagann thuas agus thíos, neamh agus an domhan seo, le chéile sa haiku:
 

うつくしや障子の穴の天の川

utsukushi ya
shôji no ana no
ama no kawa
   
nach álainn!
bealach na bó finne
trí pholl sa chuirtín
 
Is iontach go deo cé chomh ceanúil ar 'sakura', bláthanna silíní, is atá na Seapánaigh, Issa san áireamh:

 

一夜さに櫻はさゝらほさら哉

hito yo sa ni
sakura wa sasara
hosara kana
   
na bláthanna silíní
thar oíche a d’imigh
imithe ar fad!


Iad a bheith chomh gearrshaolach sin a dhéanann álainn iad, ar ndóigh. Cuid de dhisciplín an haiku (faoi anáil an Bhúdachais) is ea é gan mór is fiú a dhéanamh d'aon ní ná díot féin:

féileacán ag eitilt
níl ionamsa leis
ach cáithnín deannaigh

蝶とんで我身も塵のたぐひ哉

chō tonde
wa ga mi mo chiri no
tagui kana

Ní thugtar breith sa haiku, déantar cur síos ar nithe mar atá, gan pápaireacht ná seanmóireacht a dhéanamh:

陽炎や新吉原の晝の體

kagerō ya
shin yoshiwara no
hiru no tei
 
ceo brothaill
i lár an lae . . .
ceantar na soilse dearga


Bímidne san Iarthar cráite ciaptha go minic ag an gceist, ‘Cad is brí leis?’ agus tá ár gcóras oideachais truaillithe ar fad ag an dearcadh sin. Cad is brí le rós? Cad is brí le solas na gealaí? Cad is brí le hoinniún?
 

葱買て枯木の中を歸りけり

negi kaute
karegi no naka o
kaerikeri

tá na hoinniúin ceannaithe aici...
abhaile léi
trí na crainn loma


Cad is brí le coinneal? Tá brí le gach aon ní i saol an haiku agus áit ann, leis, don rud nach bhfuil aon bhrí leis.
 

手燭して色失へる黄菊哉

teshokushite
iro ushinaeru
kigiku kana

a ndath á chailliúint acu
faoi sholas coinnle
criosantamaim bhuí
 
Tá gach aon ní gaolta lena chéile, ar shlí, agus ó am go a chéile tugann haiku mar a bheadh léargas pictiúrtha dúinn air sin:
 

 

鹿寒し角も身に添ふ枯木哉

shika samushi
tsuno mo mi ni sou
kareki kana

fuacht ar na fianna
is tá a mbeanna ag teacht
leis na crainn loma


Agus ar ndóigh is cuid den nádúr mórthimpeall orainn sinne leis, cuid de ríocht na n-ainmhithe. Radharc nach bhfeictear go minic na laethanta seo:
 

しら露やさつ男の胸毛ぬるゝほど

shira tsuyu ya
satsuo no munage
nururu hodo
ucht an tsealgaire
drúcht fuar ag sileadh
dá chlúmh

 

2018-11-12

Dá n-athródh sé m’ainm


Dá n-athródh sé m’ainm


Dúrt le hÍosa go mbeadh sé go breá
Dá n-athródh Sé m’ainm

Dúirt Íosa go gcaithfinn maireachtaint go humhal
Dá n-athródh Sé m’ainm

Dúirt Íosa go mbeadh an domhan go léir im’ choinne
Dá n-athródh sé m’ainm

Dúrtsa le hÍosa go mbeadh sé go breá
Dá n-athródh sé m’ainm.

Changed Mah Name


I tol’ Jesus it would be all right
If He changed my name

Jesus tol’ me I would have to live humble
If He changed mah name

Jesus tol’ me that the world would be ‘gainst me
If He changed mah name

But I tol’ Jesus it would be all right
If He changed mah name

2018-11-11

Mo Thiarna céasta tá


Mo Thiarna céasta tá
Is níor tháinig oiread is cnead uaidh
Mo Thiarna céasta tá
Is níor tháinig oiread is cnead uaidh
Siolla ar bith, siolla ar bith, siolla ar bith

Cheanglaíodar é de chrann
Is níor tháinig oiread is cnead uaidh
Cheanglaíodar é de chrann
Is níor tháinig oiread is cnead uaidh
Siolla ar bith, siolla ar bith, siolla ar bith

Do tholl siad a thaobh geal
Is níor tháinig oiread is cnead uaidh
Do tholl siad a thaobh geal
Is níor tháinig oiread is cnead uaidh
Siolla ar bith, siolla ar bith, siolla ar bith

An fhuil ag sileadh síos
Is níor tháinig oiread is cnead uaidh
An fhuil ag sileadh síos
Is níor tháinig oiread is cnead uaidh
Siolla ar bith, siolla ar bith, siolla ar bith

Do chrom a cheann is d’éag
Is níor tháinig oiread is cnead uaidh
Do chrom a cheann is d’éag
Is níor tháinig oiread is cnead uaidh
Siolla ar bith, siolla ar bith, siolla ar bith
 

Dey crucified my Lord

Dey crucified my Lord
An’ He never said a mumblin’ word
Dey crucified my Lord
An’ He never said a mumblin’ word
Not a word, not a word, not a word

Dey nailed Him to the tree
An’ He never said a mumblin’ word
Dey nailed Him to the tree
An’ He never said a mumblin’ word
Not a word, not a word, not a word

Dey pierced Him in the side
An’ He never said a mumblin’ word
Dey pierced Him in the side
An’ He never said a mumblin’ word
Not a word, not a word, not a word

De blood came tricklin’ down
An’ He never said a mumblin’ word
De blood came tricklin’ down
An’ He never said a mumblin’ word
Not a word, not a word, not a word

He bowed His head an’ died
An’ He never said a mumblin’ word
He bowed His head an’ died
An’ He never said a mumblin’ word
Not a word, not a word, not a word

2018-11-10

Ugo Mulas

Ugo Mulas
coinnigh an lag lag
is an láidir láidir...
a Thiarna, éist linn!
keep the weak weak
and the strong strong...
Lord, hear us!

2018-11-09

Im' sheasamh ar gach tairseach bím



Dán leis an bhfile Turcaise Nazim Hikmet. Jeannette Turner a chuir Béarla air. An leagan Gaeilge seo bunaithe ar an amhrán frithchogaidh de chuid Peter Seeger.

Im' sheasamh ar gach tairseach bím
Ní chloistear áfach mo choiscéim
An cnag ní chloiseann éinne fós
Mar 'is marbh mé, is marbh mé.

Seacht mbliana ó shin a cailleadh mé
In Hiroshima fad-fadó
Seacht mbliana fós atáim anois
Ní fhásann marbhán níos mó.

Barrdhódh mo ghruaig le lasair bhuí
Is táimse anois gan radharc na súl
Dusta anois mo chnámha bán'
Á scuabadh ag an ngaoth aduaidh

Níl torthaí uaim, ná gráinne rís'
Níl milseán uaim ná fiú arán
Níl rud ar bith ag teastáil uaim
Im' mharbhán, im' mharbhán

Níl uaim anois - sé seo mo ghuí -
Ach síocháin -  i gcroí gach n-aon -
Is lig do pháistí uil' an domhain
Bheith lánsásta leis an saol.

I Come and Stand at Every Door


I come and stand at every door
But no one hears my silent tread
I knock and yet remain unseen
For I am dead, for I am dead.

I'm only seven although I died
In Hiroshima long ago
I'm seven now as I was then
When children die they do not grow.

My hair was scorched by swirling flame
My eyes grew dim, my eyes grew blind
Death came and turned my bones to dust
And that was scattered by the wind.

I need no fruit, I need no rice
I need no sweet, nor even bread
I ask for nothing for myself
For I am dead, for I am dead.

All that I ask is that for peace
You fight today, you fight today
So that the children of this world
May live and grow and laugh and play.



2018-11-08

Geimhreadh: Haiku Zen

Natsume Sōseki (1869 -1916)
umhlaímid dá chéile...
as gruaig na mná
titeann cloch shneachta

muintir na cathrach
a chúram féin ar chách...
deireadh na bliana

chuiris tús
le d’óráid le broim –
a thiarcais!

imíonn préachán...
crann lom ar crith
faoi ghrian an tráthnóna

scuabaim díom é
scuabaim díom arís é
sneachta fós ar mo mhuinchille

shéid gaoth an gheimhridh
grian an tráthnóna
amach san fharraige

2018-11-07

Fómhair: Haiku Zen

Natsume Sōseki (1869 -1916)
tús an fhómhair...
leabhar nár léadh go hiomlán
fós

cuileog san fhómhar...
rugas uirthi
is scaoileas léi

gaotha fómhair...
ceathrúna na bó
ar a slí go dtí an seamlas

duilleoga na ndátphlumaí...
solas na gealaí
ar gach ceann díobh

fuacht na maidine
fuacht an tráthnóna...
ag taisteal liom féin

mo shaol athnuaite...
nach ársa é
an fómhar

tuirlingíonn ar mo ghualainn...
‘bhfuil cara uait?
snáthaid mhór dhearg

glanann an ceo...
an t-eas á nochtadh
beagán ar bheagán

go tobann
tosaíonn dreoilín teaspaigh ag canadh
stopann go tobann

gan sake
gan dán...
tost na gealaí!

braoinín sake
fós sa bhuidéal...
fuacht na hoíche

faoin ngealach dó ag siúl...
dearmad déanta ag Sōseki
ar a bhean chéile

is deas filleadh
ar an bhfód dúchais...
séasúr na gcriosantamam

corraíonn an Spiorad
díreach os mo chomhair...
barr mo phinn

gealach lán...
is cruinn í scáil
chloigeann an tsagairt

2018-11-06

Samhradh: Haiku Zen

Natsume Sōseki (1869 -1916)
titeann grian dhearg
san fharraige –
brothall samhraidh


imíonn an gadhar . . .
preabann lusanna an chromchinn aníos
athuair

ag breith ar mhuiscítí
is béal ar fad í –
buaf

cruinníonn siad
scaipeann siad  . . .
lampróga os cionn na habhann


breathnaigh ar bhreith is ar bhás –
bláth na loiteoige ar oscailt
cheana


osclaíonn leis féin
cumhra faoin ngrian –
leamhach beannaithe


a chuid adharc
á n-ardú aige  . . .
seilide cois tobair


isteach i ngort
na mbláthanna buí  . . .
grian an tráthnóna

an lampa múchta  . . .
fionnuaire na réaltaí
i bhfráma na fuinneoige


lampróg amháin . . .
ag scinneadh thart
sa seomra


bhuel, tá sé in am dul a luí
ach – gealach
an tsamhraidh

2018-11-05

EARRACH: Haiku Zen

Natsume Sōseki (1869 -1916)
na héisc go léir
ag streachailt in aghaidh srutha...
abhainn san earrach

faoin gcrann plumaí
buailid lena chéile...
gan focal eatarthu

bláthanna plumaí i ngar is i gcéin...
cleachtas laethúil
siúl fúthu

ba dheas liom
bheith athshaolaithe
is mé chomh beag le sailchuach

catachas air
is tanaí atá sé...
súile sin uile     nach mór

socraíonn sé síos
nuair a imíonn an féileacán...
piscín

báisteach earraigh...
cloíonn siad lena chéile
faoin aon scáth báistí amháin

bhláthaigh
an crann plumaí...
gan focal a rá

2018-11-04

John Delaney

John Delaney
an mac tíre féin
bíonn eagla a chraicinn air...
fiolar na Mongóile
even the wolf
lives in fear...
Mongolian eagle

Tabhair Dom Íosa

(Amhrán spioradálta de chuid na nDaoine Gorma)


http://sandlewoodlilakristen.blogspot.com/2011/04/jeremy-camp-give-me-jesus.html


Tabhair dom Íosa

Gach aon mhaidin, nuair ’éirím
Gach aon mhaidin, nuair ’éirím
Gach aon mhaidin, nuair ’éirím
Tabhair dom Íosa

Tabhair dom Íosa
Tabhair dom Íosa
Bíodh an domhan seo agat
Tabhair domsa Íosa

Nuair i m’aonar ’bhím
Nuair i m’aonar ’bhím
Nuair i m’aonar ’bhím
Tabhair dom Íosa

Tabhair dom Íosa
Tabhair dom Íosa
Bíodh an domhan seo agat
Tabhair domsa Íosa

Íosa
Tabhair dom Íosa

Is ar uair mo bháis
Is ar uair mo bháis
Is ar uair mo bháis
Tabhair dom Íosa

Tabhair dom Íosa
Tabhair dom Íosa
Bíodh an domhan seo agat
Tabhair domsa Íosa

Íosa
Tabhair dom Íosa

Bíodh an domhan seo agat [x 3]
Tabhair domsa Íosa
Íosa

"Give Me Jesus"


In the morning when I rise,
In the morning when I rise,
In the morning when I rise
Give me Jesus

(Chorus 1)

Give me Jesus
Give me Jesus
You can have all this world
Just give me Jesus


When I am alone,
When I am alone,
When I am alone,
Give me Jesus

(Chorus 2)


Give me Jesus
Give me Jesus
You can have all this world
Just give me Jesus,

Jesus
Give me Jesus


When I come to die,
When I come to die,
When I come to die,
Give me Jesus

(Chorus 3)
Give me Jesus
Give me Jesus
You can have all this world
Just give me Jesus

Give me Jesus
Give me Jesus

You can have all this world (X3)

Just give me Jesus

Jesus

2018-11-03

Mark Fearnley

Mark Fearnley
a full moon
slips from a cloud . . .
silvering the Blasket Islands
sciorrann gealach lán
amach as scamall -
airgeadaíonn an Blascaod

2018-11-02

Mark Fearnley

Mark Fearnley
cluasa an ghadhair ar bior
eisean amháin a chloiseann í . . .
fliúit dhiaga
a dog pricks his ears
he alone hears it . . .
divine flute

2018-11-01

Requiem

táid go léir imithe anois
ach ní dhearmadfar iad . . .
féileacáin
they are all gone now
but we will not forget them . . .
butterflies
έφυγαν όλες
αλλά δεν θα ξεχαστούν . . .
οι πεταλούδες 


Leagan Gréigise: Sarah Thilykou

2018-10-31

Tanka

Jason Symes
as spéartha gan chríoch a tháinig sí
is thugas Spéirbhean uirthi
b'i m'ansacht í
     faraor, ba sheachmall í
     grianghraf . . .mainicín
from infinite skies she came
i called her Spéirbhean, Skywoman
and adored her
     alas, she was unreal
     a photo . . . mannequin
ήρθ' απ' τα ουράνια
την κάλεσα Ουρανία
και τη λάτρεψα
αλίμονο, ήταν ψέμα
ένα φωτομοντέλο . . .

Leagan Gréigise: Sarah Thilykou

2018-10-30

Miyamoto Shufu

Miyamoto Shufu
an bhfuilir gach áit
féachaim thall féachaim abhus
tá tú gach aon áit
     a shearc, téir i bhfolach
     lig dom dul sa tóir arís ort
are you everywhere
this way I look and that way
you are everywhere
     beloved, hide from me now
     let me seek you out once more

2018-10-29

Graifítí an Lae

Éirí amach laistigh den tsochaí chun feabhas beag a chur uirthi, roinnt leasuithe a chur i gcrích, tá sé sin ar nós éirí amach na bpríosúnach chun feabhas a chur ar an saol laistigh de bhallaí an phríosúin; ní réabhlóid atá ansin ach ceannairc. An léir duit an difríocht eatarthu? Is ionann éirí amach laistigh den tsochaí agus ceannairc na bpríosúnach a bhfuil bia níos fearr uathu agus a dteastaíonn uathu go gcaithfí níos fearr leo sa phríosún; ach an t-éirí amach a tharlaíonn de bharr tuisceana, sin duine ag imeacht ón tsochaí agus réabhlóid chruthaitheach is ea é sin.

J. Krishnamurti

2018-10-21

CÓNAÍMID i bhFORMHUIREÁINÍN BUÍ


Rugadh mé fadó fadó
is is cuimhin liom duine amháin
agus d'inis sé a scéal
faoina shaol i bhfomhuireán

Agus sheolamar faoin ngréin
glas a bhí na farragí
cónaí orainn thíos fo thoinn
inár bhfomhuireáinín buí

Cónaimid i bhfomhuireáinín buí
Fomhuireáinín buí fomhuireáinín buí
Cónaímid i bhfomhuireáinín buí
Fomhuireáinín buí fomhuireáinín buí

Tá ár gcairde linn ar bord
Is tá comharsana ann ar ndóigh
Tá an banna ag déanamh ceoil

Cónaimid i bhfomhuireáinín buí
Fomhuireáinín buí fomhuireáinín buí
Cónaímid i bhfomhuireáinín buí
Fomhuireáinín buí fomhuireáinín buí

Lánluas ar aghaidh, a bhósain ghroí, lánluas ar aghaidh
Gearr an cábla! Scaoil an cábla,
aidhe, aidhe, sir, aidhe aidhe
Captaen! Captaen!

Táimid ar ár saimhín só - [sáimhín só]
Gach aon duine againn - [gach aon duine againn] -
go han-mhaith as - [go han-mhaith as]
Gorm an spéir, [gorm an spéir],
glas-fharraigí, [glas-fharraigí]
Inár bhfomhuir- [inár bhfomhuir] - áinín - áinín - á há!

Cónaimid i bhfomhuireáinín buí
Fomhuireáinín buí fomhuireáinín buí
Cónaímid i bhfomhuireáinín buí
Fomhuireáinín buí fomhuireáinín buí

2018-10-20

Vinalhaven

Ron Rosenstock
Vinalhaven
ó, a Vinalhaven . . .
is ann duit i gcónaí?
Vinalhaven
oh, Vinalhaven . . .
you are still there?

2018-10-19

Solas an Lae

 

 

Solas an Lae


Solas athuair
chun na leapa im' dhiaidh
Smaoiníos siar céad bliain ó shin, níos mó
ar ár sinsir liath'

Is léir dom measaim gleanntán
Dath gorm ar na cná'
Saighdiúirí cróga nach n-éiríonn níos óige
ag cur do thuairisc' tá

Glaonn an t-am fadó orainn
ar thaobh Harmagadón
Gach éinne i gcomhrá gan éinne ag éisteacht
N'fheadair éinne an ród

An bhfuil costas mór na Saoirse
adhlactha sa chré
Slogfaidh an Ollmháthair thú
síos leat síos go réidh

Daylight 

 Daylight again
Following me to bed
I think about a hundred years ago
How my fathers bled

I think I see a valley
Covered with bones in blue
All the brave soldiers that cannot get older
Been asking after you

Hear the past a' calling
From Armageddon's side
When everyone's talking and no one is listening
How can we decide

Do we find the cost of freedom
Buried in the ground
Mother Earth will swallow you
Lay your body down


Crosby, Stills & Nash

2018-10-18

Ruth Orkin

Ruth Orkin
dordán ag cuileog . . .
seoid ise
leis
buzzing fly . . .
it too
a treasure

2018-10-17

Balthus

Balthus
gan éinne ina dhúiseacht
ach mé féin is leamhan ...
solas a chéile
no one awake
but myself and a moth . . .
the light of one another
κανένας ξύπνιος
μόνον εγώ και ο σκόρος...
φως ο ένας του άλλου

Leagan Gréigise: Sarah Thilykou

2018-10-16

Joan Fontcuberta 2

Joan Fontcuberta
aimsir gharbh . . .
tá glór na ngéanna
ag eitilt ó dheas
harsh weather . . .
the sound of geese
is flying south
άγριος καιρός . . .
το πέταγμα της χήνας
ηχεί στον νότο

Leagan Gréigise: Sarah Thilykou

2018-10-15

Joan Fontcuberta

Joan Fontcuberta
fulaingt na gcrann . . .
is eol dóibhsean leis
oíche dhuairc an anama
suffering of trees . . .
they too know the dark night
of the soul
πόνος των δέντρων . . .
τη σκοτεινή γνωρίζουν
νύχτα της ψυχής

Leagan Gréigise: Sarah Thilykou

2018-10-14

Dylan: Creidimse thú


Fiafraíonn siad i mo thaobh,
Grá fíor mo ghrá, nó saobh
An éireoidh liom teacht slán arú
Agus, breathnaíonn siad orm go tur
Agus an ruaig orm á cur
Ba mhaith leo mé a scor
Mar go gcreidimse thú

Siod é an bóthar romhat
Is ná tar ar ais níos mó!
Mar nílimse i mo bhall dá gcriú
Agus amach liom faoin ngréin
I bhfad i bhfad i gcéin
Ach nílimse liom fhéin
Mar go gcreidimse thú

Mar creidimse thú fiú i measc na ndeor is an gháire
Mar creidimse thú fiú má táimid beirt scartha
Mar creidimse thú fiú ar maidin lá arna mhárach
Ó, is an lá ag breacadh
Ó, is an dorchacht ag scaipeadh
Ó, mothaímse é i gcónaí im’ lár.

Ná lig dom dul ar fán
Fanfad leat go brách
Is beidh mé seasta síoraí úr
An méid a fuaireas uait le mo linn
An grá nár chosain aon phínn
Siollaí uait ag teacht go binn
Mar creidimse thú

Mar creidimse thú, an geimhreadh ina shamhradh
Mar creidimse thú, ’s an dubh ina gheal
Mar creidimse thú cé gur líonmhar iad mo naimhde
Ó, ag an domhan seo céasta
Ó, ag mo chairde tréigthe
Ó, níor leor sin chun é a chur ar ceal. 


Ná lig dom’ phort athrú
Coinnigh mé inniu
Ó chleasa a chuirfeadh mé amú
Ó is cuma liom faoin bpian
An bháisteach atá dian
Mar domsa ’s tú an ghrian
Mar go gcreidimse thú.

I Believe In You

 They ask me how I feel
 And if my love is real
 And how I know I’ll make it through
 And they, they look at me and frown
 They’d like to drive me from this town
 They don’t want me around
 ’Cause I believe in you

 They show me to the door
 They say don’t come back no more
 ’Cause I don’t be like they’d like me to
 And I walk out on my own
 A thousand miles from home
 But I don’t feel alone
 ’Cause I believe in you

 I believe in you even through the tears and the laughter
 I believe in you even though we be apart
 I believe in you even on the morning after
 Oh, when the dawn is nearing
 Oh, when the night is disappearing
 Oh, this feeling is still here in my heart

 Don’t let me drift too far
 Keep me where you are
 Where I will always be renewed
 And that which you’ve given me today
 Is worth more than I could pay
 And no matter what they say
 I believe in you

 I believe in you when winter turn to summer
 I believe in you when white turn to black
 I believe in you even though I be outnumbered
 Oh, though the earth may shake me
 Oh, though my friends forsake me
 Oh, even that couldn’t make me go back

 Don’t let me change my heart
 Keep me set apart
 From all the plans they do pursue
 And I, I don’t mind the pain
 Don’t mind the driving rain
 I know I will sustain
 ’Cause I believe in you   

2018-10-13

Roberto De Mitri

Roberto De Mitri
má ba phianmhar í mo bhreith
aon fhocal nó gníomh . . .
pardún, a mháithrín
if my birth pained you
or any word or deed ...
mother, forgive me
αν σε πόνεσε η γέννα
λόγος μου ή πράξη . . .
μαμά, συγγνώμη

Leagan Gréigise: Sarah Thilykou

2018-10-12

Chiyo-ni



corrán gealaí  . . .
gabhann an ciúnas
isteach sa chroí

Mισοφέγγαρο . . .
η ησυχία
εισέρχεται στην καρδιά

Sarah Thilykou a rinne an leagan Gréigise

2018-10-11

Briathra an Bhúda

Uttiṭṭhe! Nappamajjeyya!

Dhammaṃ sucaritaṃ care.
Dhammacārī sukhaṃ seti
asmiṃ loke paramhi ca.
 
 
Éist leis an mbun-Pháilis:
Éirigh! Ná bí ar nós cuma liom!
Caith do shaol i gceart.
An té a chaitheann a shaol i gceart
beidh sé sona sa saol seo agus sa saol atá le teacht.

2018-10-10

Graifítí an Lae

Éirí amach laistigh den tsochaí chun feabhas beag a chur uirthi, roinnt leasuithe
a chur i gcrích, tá sé sin ar nós éirí amach na bpríosúnach chun feabhas a chur ar an saol laistigh de bhallaí an phríosúin; ní réabhlóid atá ansin ach ceannairc. An léir duit an difríocht eatarthu? Is ionann éirí amach laistigh den tsochaí agus ceannairc na bpríosúnach a bhfuil bia níos fearr uathu agus a dteastaíonn uathu go gcaithfí níos fearr leo sa phríosún; ach an t-éirí amach a tharlaíonn de bharr tuisceana, sin duine ag imeacht ón tsochaí agus réabhlóid chruthaitheach is ea é sin.

J. Krishnamurti

2018-10-09

Gadhar ag Rith i nDiaidh Cairr


Dá mba ghrianghrafadóir a bhí ionat agus tú ag tiomáint timpeall, is dócha go stopfá an gluaisteán chun grianghraf a ghlacadh de radharc éigin a thaitin leat.

Bhí smaoineamh eile ag Simon Baker, smaoineamh le haghaidh taispeántais – agus leabhair. Thabharfadh sé triúr grianghrafadóirí le chéile, Joel Meyerowitz, Daido Moriyama agus John Divola agus an treoir a thabharfadh sé dóibh gan stopadh ach grianghraif a ghlacadh agus an carr ag gluaiseacht, fuinneog an chairr a bheith ina fráma ar an ngrianghraf, más maith leat.

Gadhar ag rith i ndiaidh cairr le Divola atá mar chlúdach an leabhair Pictures from Moving Cars (Adad Books, £30, 78 leathanach, bog). Níor cuireadh ach trí chéad cóip i gcló, iad go léir uimhrithe. Deirtear faoin gclúdach nach bhfuil seans ag an ngadhar breith ar an gcarr agus cén seans atá ag an ngrianghrafadóir breith ar an rud atá ann más ag scinneadh thairis atá an domhan.



Smaoineamh simplí atá laistiar den leabhar. Is minic gurb iad na smaointe simplí na smaointe is fearr ar fad. ‘Simpligh, simpligh,’ an mana a bhí ag Thoreau.

Ba bhreá liom leabhair den sórt seo a bheith againn i nGaeilge, leabhar atá ag smaoineamh ‘lasmuigh den bhosca’, leabhar is fiú breathnú tríd ó am go chéile, leabhar le cur le bailiúchán leabhar. Níl aon rud níos measa ná ‘tuilleadh den saghas céanna arís is arís eile’.

2018-10-08

Graifítí an Lae

Iarracht is ea an t-ainrialachas chun fáil réidh le gach saghas forlámhais. Cuimsíonn sé sin ní hamháin na foirmeacha follasacha ar nós an náisiúnstáit a bhaineann leas as foréigean agus fórsa an dlí ar bhonn rialta, agus an chorparáid lena neamhfhreagracht institiúidithe, ach foirmeacha inmheánaithe chomh maith, mar shampla patrarcacht, ciníochas, homafóibe. Anuas air sin, iarracht is ea an t-ainrialachas chun breathnú ar na gnéithe sin dár saol a nglactar leo, mar chuid den chruinne, féachaint an bhfuil forlámhas acusan, leis, orainn nó an éascaíonn siad an forlámhas atá againne ar dhaoine eile.

John Zerzan


2018-10-07

Graifítí an Lae

Fíor-éirí amach is ea éirí amach in aghaidh na teicneolaíochta agus na sibhialtachta, fíor-ionsaí ar luachanna an chórais.

Theodore Kaczynski

2018-10-06

Graifítí an Lae

An chéad dualgas ar dhuine ná smaoineamh dó féin.

José Martí

2018-09-29

Talking to a Wounded Swan

Dr Micheál Ó hAodha, University of Limerick, interviews the bilingual poet, Gabriel Rosenstock


Why are you a poet?
 
Why is a beetroot a beetroot, why is the Pope a Catholic, why is the Dalai Lama a Buddhist, why are you asking these questions? I am a poet because it was decided that I would be a poet - a long, long time ago, before this current incarnation. I had nothing to do with it. The notion of deciding to become a poet strikes me as ridiculous. You recognise you are a poet when you thrill to lines of poetry for the first time – even Mother Goose rhymes! You fly like a poet when you have a transcendent experience as a result of reading poetry:
    Can it be the sun descending o’er the level plain of water
    Or the Red Swan floating flying, wounded by the Magic Arrow . . .
Quoting from memory. That was one of my first flying lessons, aged 10, my instructor had the wonderful name of Longfellow.

If you were to give advice to an aspiring poet in Irish today, what would it be?
 
Mastering the grammar and getting inside the 'dúchas' or soul of the language is very important. You don't have to show off with a vocabulary that sends us scurrying to the dictionaries but do acquire a knowledge of those surviving dialects which still have speakers.

Read widely - go outside the Anglosphere and stay outside for as long as is possible. Brush up on your linguistic acumen by translating something everyday, in to or out of Irish. Never forget what Irish poets (and the populace in general) had to experience in the course of history ever since the poet Spenser advocated the crushing of the Gaelic spirit. I was recently reading about the poet Diarmuid na Bolgaí and the satire he wrote on a priest who was more concerned about buying a new pair of boots than tending to his starving parishioners. Diarmuid himself died of of starvation in 1846. Never forget those poets. Keep their memory alive though everyone around you might say 'Forget them!' Understand such texts as Decolonising the Mind:

Recently I watched a documentary series on the flamenco singer Camarón de la Isla (1950 -1992). The feeling, the emotion he was able to express. Incredible! Much of today’s poetry – in English – is emotionless. My advice to an aspiring poet, in any language, is burn, burn, burn, with passion and emotion. Stop being clever and feel, feel language, feel emotion, feel poetry, write poems with feeling.

Many of your poems can be read in a number of different ways or finish with a question? Why is this?
 
Poetry is not a science which gives us definitive answers ... poetry is really more like a question mark that can look in different directions, rather like a seahorse:
 


For someone not brought up as a native speaker of Irish one might have thought that poetry would be the most difficult (as opposed to prose, drama/tv, or song say) of all the literary forms to forge your writing career in. What attracted you to the poetic form more than any other? 

 
I have tried many genres but the one that comes closest to the condition of the seahorse is poetry, that floating question mark! - it's the male seahorse that bears the young. Did you know that? Poetry in all its forms, including tanka and haiku, and translation of course, is the way to celebrate that question mark. To expect an answer - such as a full stop or an exclamation mark - that would  be blasphemy. I'm glad I'm not writing much in my native language, English. Writing in a second language keeps you alert all the time - at least, that's my experience - and means that people such as Diarmuid na Bolgaí cannot slip from your radar.

Some people who have read your poems say that they are poems in search of some type of enlightenment or a state of “peace”. Would this be true to say?

Maybe the reader is searching for enlightenment. I don't know. My search (in that department) is over. Poetry has a life of its own, whether the poet is ‘enlightened’ or not. Perfecting ‘the life’ or ‘the work’ is an old dilemma; if you are lucky, they can go hand in hand. 
 
Does the poet have a role still in modern society?
 
    A policeman has a role, a baker has a role (even a bread roll), a poet does not have one easily definable role. He has a thousand roles but he doesn't call them that - he calls them poems.

Tell us a bit about the background to the poems in your collection Glengower?

The background is, give or take a decade or two, about five to ten thousand years. Where would you like to begin? Poems are drawn from convoluted strands and to trace each strand back forensically is not something that interests me at all. The Urgrund is for literary critics, philosophers and detectives. I celebrate it – the origin and background of poetry – but I don’t attempt to analyse the mystery.

Both Independence and Nochtadh na Deilbhe are interesting poems. Can you tell us something about how you came to write them?

I have no idea - thank God. I don't even know what you mean by 'interesting'. An article by your favourite newspaper columnist might be interesting, or a guest on George Galloway's TV chat show, Sputnik Orbiting the World, might be interesting, but poetry is not meant to be interesting: the more interesting it tries to be, the more it turns me off. 

 What inspires you to write poetry?
 
Inspiration.

How do you think you’ve evolved as a writer over the years?

Oh, I'm devolving. Only way to go!

This is probably a ridiculous question in a way but where do you see yourself going next literature-wise?

Devolving, of course. To be serious: a driver can take a left or a right turn, or pause at a crossroads. The poet in me is flying: there are no left and right turns, no pauses at crossroads, no decision as to take this road or the next. Poetry has its own rules, its own dynamic. Poetry – and language itself – will tell you where to go. Of the many strands of spiritual enquiry I have immersed myself in over the years, such as Zen and Advaita, the devotional path of bhakti is the one which helped me to realize that language itself can be considered as a goddess, a living goddess. I have no interest in Ireland – as in the Thomas Davis doggerel, ‘Ireland, my Sireland’. That Ireland doesn’t even exist for me. The name of the tripartite goddess who gave her name to this country, Éire/ Banba/ Fádla, this is the matriarchal entity whom Gaelic poets have adored all throughout history and through the long colonial period. She is in my book Year of the Goddess/ Bliain an Bhandé. She will advise me how best to proceed. (Though I have also read about a so-called patriarchal entity governing Ireland. Poets get what they need from history and tradition …)

You often define yourself as an anarchist. What do you mean by this – what is an anarchist?

I don’t like defining myself as anything but certainly Anarchism has a moral authority which is lacking in Neo-conservatism and the politics of the right in general. The most interesting Anarchists for me are those in the devolving or primitivist mould.  John Zerzan says, “I would say Anarchism is the attempt to eradicate all forms of domination.” This resonates with me. Do I want to have a rational argument with you so that we can determine why it resonates with me? No, because rational arguments have nothing to do with poetry. Poetry is inspiration. One of the words for inspiration in Irish is tinfidh. The root of the word is tine, fire. The late Francisco X. Alarcón, a Chicano poet, was a dear friend; I translated two of his books, one of which was Cuerpo en llamas, (Body in Flames). A collection of my haiku in Irish is called Géaga Trí Thine, meaning Limbs Aflame. I believe in the purifying flame of inspiration. Here’s a short poem in which there may be a fusion of Anarchist and Buddhist ideas:

 Bratacha Bána

Tá bratach Mheiriceá
ar an ngealach
iompaithe bán,
tuartha ag an ngrian.
Ní faic anois iad
na réaltaí, na stríoca,
brionglóid.
Lá breá gréine
beidh gach brat tréigthe

White Flags

The American flag
on the moon
has turned white,
bleached by the sun.
The stars and stripes
are nothing now,
a dream.
All flags will pale
some sunny day
So, I wouldn’t like to be defined as an Anarchist or a Buddhist. I’m defined (if at all) by hundreds of poems, hundreds of tanka and thousands of haiku and photo-haiku and what goes into each of these creations individually contributes to the totality of my identity – but even that’s not enough to define me or anybody else. We cannot be defined, or labelled or successfully explained – we are the Red Swan, floating, flying, wounded by the magic arrow. I cannot put that in my CV if I go job-searching, can I? Which simply means that the world is false: poetry is true.

Is Irish-language poetry a particularly good medium for an outsider or Anarchist such as yourself?

 It’s ideal, in many ways. Given that the Anglosphere holds the key to so many forms of cultural and political domination, yes, Irish-language poetry is an ideal vehicle for cultural anarchism, cultural resistance.

 Do you think poetry has a purpose? Or to put it another way – “What is good poetry for?” 

I totally reject the notion of 'purpose' and the entire vocabulary of 'usefulness'. It is a notion much treasured by WASPS and other abject materialists. I toss them all to the purifying flames, with every thought, with every word, with every poem.
A book of poems should be like a pleasurable meal. Enjoy it - take time to digest it. Leave the chef alone. Stop asking him where he gets his ingredients from. Trust him that they are organic and fresh.  This desperate need to break everything down is a disease of the mind –  the need to identify this spice or that herb, quantify the amount of condiments used, or the time it took to prepare the meal and so on.  Many literary academics peddle irrelevancies and thereby contribute to the widespread notion that poetry is irrelevant. So, you might ask, what should academics be doing? I can't speak for them, of course, but shouldn't they begin to question a bit more, ask hard questions of the institutions for which they work? Is poetry alive on the campus?  If not, is it being dissected in their laboratories? Has poetry fled the campus, howling? In University College Cork, many moons ago, I stood in the quadrangle selling our Irish-language poetry journal INNTI. I will never forget the looks I got from some of the staff in their flowing robes as they swanned past me, including a Professor of History who could barely look me in the eye. If poetry is the voice of freedom, as I believe it is, then those who teach it must themselves be imbued with a holy thirst for freedom. I find that this is rarely the case.
But since you are asking these questions, it would be impolite of me to wander off too much. Glengower (meaning 'Glen of Goats') is a pun on where I live, Glenageary (meaning 'Glen of Sheep', a place without a glen and without sheep, by the way). Goats and place names also feature in my English-language novel, My Head is Missing. We have accepted the anglicisation of our place names because as a postcolonial (or neo-colonial) society, we prefer the shame and the meaninglessness of it all to anything else. We are 'evolving', we think, and the last thing we want to do is to 'devolve'. The Glengower section of poems is a satire on aspects of Irish society and the narrow belief systems of  certain types of people in our society; it is but one section of the book, of course, but it also gives the book its title. One of the preliminary pages has the name Glengower painted over and all we can clearly read is the Irish name, Gleann na nGabhar. It's a piece of graffiti in a book - and why not?  It's a page that I like. I'm glad that the Onslaught Press agreed to include it.

Many people (even people who read Irish-language poetry in translation) say that poetry in Irish became overly-academic in the last few decades which isn’t surprising given that many of its writers were academics and scholars involved in the language movement. Would you agree that this turned some people off poetry in Irish given that this wasn’t always the case as regards the Gaelic poetic tradition?

 There's a high tradition and a low tradition, if you like; the bardic tradition, one of baroque ornamentation, and the simple songs of the people, not without their own sophistication, of course. The line between the two styles isn't always very clear. With the collapse of Gaelic society after the Flight of the Earls, poets lost their aristocratic patrons and had to find new champions among big farmers and landlords; thus there was a trickling down of the bardic poetry into the lore and verse  of the peasants and the language of poetry and song was enriched in this way. Modern twentieth-century poets such as L S Gógan and Piaras Béaslaí were steeped in the Gaelic tradition and there's a whiff of the archaic about their work. But the true father of modern poetry in Irish was none other than the 1916 martyr P. H. Pearse and he favoured speech rhythms and straightforward language, thankfully. I'm sure that Pearse would be in perfect agreement with the Dos and Donts of Ezra Pound, such as,     "Pay no attention to the criticism of men who have never themselves written a notable work . . . " 
    "Use no superfluous word, no adjective which does not reveal something "
    "Don’t use such an expression as “dim lands of peace.” It dulls the image. It mixes an abstraction with the concrete. It comes from the writer’s not realizing that the natural object is always the adequate symbol."
    "Go in fear of abstractions." Makes sense to me.   

Many people (often privately) argue that much present-day Irish-language poetry is firmly rooted in the English-language or Anglophone poetry tradition and has little in common with Gaelic culture or the tradition from which it has allegedly emerged? Are the younger generation of Irish-language poets that you know "well-versed" (pardon the pun) in the tradition which they are writing in?

Again, I must return to Ezra Pound who said that poets should be widely read, in their own tradition and in other literatures. Pound says, 
    "Let the candidate fill his mind with the finest cadences he can discover,     preferably in a foreign language [This is for rhythm, his vocabulary must     of course be found in his native tongue], so that the meaning of the     words may be less likely to divert his attention from the movement; e.g.     Saxon charms, Hebridean Folk Songs . . ." 

 I try as much as possible to read outside of the Anglosphere, though I am grateful to English as a bridge-language which allows me access to so much work in translation. It's none of my business what other poets are up to or what they read or don't read. Amid all the doom and gloom about the future of poetry, a recent survey showed that 12% of the adult population of the USA (28 million) had read poetry in the past year. There may not have been many lovingly thumbed first editions bought by this mass of readers, but that's another matter, and we won't go into the question of social media – the good, the bad and the ugly. I'm a technical dodo: someone else manages my blog (Aonghus Ó hAlmhain), and the ekphrastic tanka and haiku on Pinterest (Derek Ball) and I'm ever so grateful for their assistance in these matters. I wouldn’t have been able to publish the bilingual volume of ekphrastic haiku Stillness of Crows without the technical assistance of Eoin McEvoy.

We know that in Gaelic tradition, similar to many other literary traditions – poetry was meant to be read aloud often as accompanied by music. One always gets the impression that sound and reading your poems aloud is a critical part of your work? Is this a very conscious part of your literary style, would you say?
   
If the voice is not there, the breath is not there; if the breath is not there, inspiration is not there; if inspiration is not there, the gods (or the Muse) are withholding their influence; if the gods (or the Muse) are withholding their influence, their divine music cannot be heard, so, if you haven’t got it [the voice] try something else, do something useful, become a veterinarian or apply for a job with Wikileaks.

Many of your poems have a subtle but very obvious humour in them that seems to have been ignored for the most part by many literary critics? Where does this come from and would why has it been ignored? 

Homo Ludens! Does anybody refer to that book anymore? The author makes a connection between play and poetry: 
    "Poiesis, in fact, is a play-function. It proceeds within the play-ground of the mind, in a world of its own which the mind creates for it. There things have a different physiognomy from the one they wear in ‘ordinary life’, and are bound by ties other than those of logic and causality."  

I have recently translated over 80 Mother Goose rhymes into Irish. Such anarchic fun, such an exposition of 'the play-ground of the mind'!  I'd like to see some of them as murals, not just in a crèche, but in all those grey car parks bestrewn across the land.  Now, if you will excuse me, it’s time for my Laughter Yoga.




2018-09-28

My Species -- Jane Hirshfield (Redux)

Mo Speiceas-Sa


an bliosán beag corcra
fiú
a bheirítear
ina chuid uiscí féin
goirt
ag dorchú
éiríonn bog,
milis is mín
foighne, a speicis liom,
ar mé i m’aignese
leanaíg’ oraibh ag tástáil na nduilleog spíonach
an croí spíonach

Jane Hirshfield

 

My Species

even
a small purple artichoke
boiled
in its own bittered
and darkening
waters
grows tender,
grows tender and sweet
patience, I think,
my species
keep testing the spiny leaves
the spiny heart

~ Jane Hirshfield ~

(The Beauty)

2018-09-27

Briathra an Bhúda


Kodhaṃ chetvā sukhaṃ seti,
kodhaṃ chetvā na socati.
Kodhassa visamūlassa
madhuraggassa brāhmaṇa;
vadhaṃ ariyā pasaṃsanti
tañhi chetvā na socatī.

Éist leis an mBun-Pháilis:
  http://host.pariyatti.org/dwob/samyutta_nikaya_1_187.mp3
 


Cloígh an fhearg is beidh tú sona,
cloígh an fhearg is ní bheidh tú buartha.
Nuair a chloítear an fhearg - gach saghas feirge -
lena fréamh nimhe is a cealg mhilis -
sin é an marú a mholann na saoithe go léir.
Cloígh an fhearg is ní chaoinfidh tú níos mó.

2018-09-26

Ryokan

(Íomhá: Sekka Kamisaka)
faighim dóthain duilleog tite
ón ngaoth
chun tine a dhéanamh

Ryokan Taigu