Markéta Luskačová

Ginger ab ainm dó

ceoltóir sráide

thuig sé conas slua a tharraingt

his name was Ginger

a street musician

he knew how to draw a crowd

he wis cried Ginger

a causey busker -

he cud pou a crood

Béarla na hAlban John McDonald 

Tanka

Ealaíon Alice Zilberberg

do you remember?

we once saw an iguana

you said, 'It's laughing

        laughing at us and the world!'

        we laughed too and then we wept

an cuimhin leat, a stór

chonaiceamar ioguána

arsa tusa, "Féach air siúd

              ag gáire fúinn atá sé!"

              gháireamar is ghoileamar

Markéta Luskačová

lasmuigh d'Eaglais Chríost . . .

a Chríost, an gcloiseann tú

uaigneas an orgáin bhéil?

outside Christ Church . . .

Christ, can you hear

the mouth organ's melancholy strain?

    ootby Christ Church...

    Christ, can ye hearken

    tae the moothie's dowie souch?

 (Leagan Béarla na hAlban: John McDonald)

ibex

Grianghraf Alice Zilberberg

an t-ibeach

conas a bhain sé amach

an barr?

the ibex

how did he get

to the top?

ibex

Grianghraf Alice Zilberberg

an t-ibeach

conas a bhain sé amach

an barr?

the ibex

how did he get

to the top?

An talamh naofa

Ó https://museumreplicas.com/sir-godfrey-sword/

The Holy Land, a 'found poem' in English with an Irish translation by 'finder' Gabriel Rosenstock.

Scots version: John McDonald.

From Mark Twain's travelogue The Innocents Abroad (1869)

The Holy Land

 . . .The relic that touched us most 

was the plain old sword of that stout Crusader, 

Godfrey of Bouillon — King Godfrey of Jerusalem. 

No blade in Christendom wields such enchantment as this — 

no blade of all that rust in the ancestral halls of Europe 

is able to invoke such visions of romance

in the brain of him who looks upon it — 

none that can prate of such chivalric deeds 

or tell such brave tales of the warrior days of old. 

It stirs within a man every memory of the Holy Wars 

that has been sleeping in his brain for years, 

and peoples his thoughts with mail-clad images, 

with marching armies, 

with battles and with sieges. 

It speaks to him of Baldwin, and Tancred, the princely Saladin, 

and great Richard of the Lion Heart.

It was with just such blades as these

that these splendid heroes of romance

used to segregate a man, so to speak, 

and leave the half of him to fall one way

and the other half the other. 

This very sword has cloven hundreds of Saracen Knights 

from crown to chin in those old times 

when Godfrey wielded it. 

It was enchanted, then, by a genius

that was under the command of King Solomon

When danger approached its master's tent 

it always struck the shield

and clanged out a fierce alarm upon the startled ear of night. 

In times of doubt, or in fog or darkness, 

if it were drawn from its sheath

 it would point instantly toward the foe, 

and thus reveal the way — 

and it would also attempt to start after them of its own accord. 

A Christian could not be so disguised that it would not know him 

and refuse to hurt him — 

nor a Moslem so disguised that it would not leap from its scabbard and take his life. 

These statements are all well authenticated 

in many legends that are among the most trustworthy legends 

the good old Catholic monks preserve. 

I can never forget old Godfrey's sword now . . 

An Talamh Naofa

 (dán fríotha in The Innocents Abroad le Mark Twain)

 . . . an t-iarsma is mó a chuaigh i bhfeidhm orainn

ná seanchlaíomh pléineáilte an chrosáidí théagartha úd,

Godfrey Bouillon–Rí Godfrey Iarúsailéim.

Níl claíomh sa Domhan Críostaí chomh draíochtúil leis–

claíomh meirgeach ar bith i hallaí móra na hEorpa

atá in ann aislingí rómánsacha a dhúiseacht

in inchinn an té a dhearcann air–

níl claíomh ar bith in ann gníomhartha gaisce a insint

mar é, ná scéalta laochais go léir ón seanré.

Tosaímid ag cuimhneamh ar na Cogaí Beannaithe

nár smaoiníomar orthu leis na cianta,

agus ár gcuid smaointe breactha le híomhánna

agus cathéide orthu, airm ag máirseáil,

cathanna agus léigir.

Meabhraíonn sé Baldwin dúinn, Tancred, Saladan prionsúil,

agus an rí mór Risteard Leonchroí.

Ba le claíomh mar é a dhein na sárlaochra

an duine a scaradh ó féin, mar a déarfá,

a leath dhe ag titim ar dheis

agus an leath eile ar chlé.

Scoilt an claíomh ceannann céanna seo

agus Godfrey á bhagairt.

na céadta Ridirí Saraistíneacha

ó bhaithis go smig sna seanlaethanta.

Bhí ginid ghlinne sa chlaíomh an uair úd

agus an Rí Solamh i gceannas air:

má tháinig namhaid gar do phuball a mháistir

bhuaileadh an claíomh an sciath –

torann a dhúiseodh na mairbh.

In aimsir an amhrais, má bhí ceo ann nó scamaill dhorcha,

níor ghá ach é a tharraingt ón truaill

agus dhíreodh sé laithreach bonn ar an namhaid,

agus bheadh gach aon ní soiléir ansin–

agus thabharfadh sé faoin namhaid a leanúint as a stuaim féin.

Ní fhéadfadh Críostaí a bheith chomh mór sin faoi bhréagriocht

nach n-aithneodh an claíomh é, gan é a ghortú –

ná Moslamach faoi bhréagriocht nach léimfeadh sé

as an truaill agus deireadh a chur leis.

Tá na ráitis seo go léir fíordheimhnithe

in an-chuid finscéalta, na finscéalta is iontaofa

a chaomhnaigh na seanmhanaigh Chaitliceacha.

Ní dhearúdfaidh mé seanchlaíomh Godfrey go deo . . .

THE HALY LAN

...the relic that muived us maist

wis the ordnar sword o yon stoot crusader,

Godfrey o Bouillon - keeng o Jerusalem.

Nae bled in Chrisendie hauds sic glamourie -

Nae bled that hings rousty in Europe's faimilie ha's

Kin cry furth sic veesions o romance

i the harnpan o yin whae goves on't -

Nane whae kin threep o sic chivalric acks

or threep sic campie clash o the kempies o langsyne.

 It mynds a chiel o the Haly weirs

Myndins doverin in's harnpan sin langsyne,

an fous's thochts wi mail-hapt eemages,

wi mairchin airmies,

wi stoors'n sieges.

It threeps tae'm o Baldwin. an Tankred, the princely Saladin,

an the muckle Richard of The Lion Heart.

It wis wi sic bleds as thir yins

thit thae braw heroes o romance

yaised tae sinder a chiel

Leain hauf o him tae faw yin wey

a hauf tae faw the tither

This verra sword hus cloven hunners o Saracen Knights

Frae croon tae chaft in aulden tymes

whan Godfrey waged it.

It wis forespoken, then, bi a genius

Whae wis unner the bidden o Keeng Soloman

Whan the uncannie oncomes the maister's tent

it ayewis struck the shiel 

an dirlt oot a fell alarm on the lugs o nicht.

In tymes o doot, or haar or derkness,

If drawn frae'ts sheath

It wid pynt tae the foe richt awa,

An sae show the wey -

It wid take aff efter thaim on'ts ain acoont.

A Christian nae maitter whit guise yaised it kent

an sae wid nivver herm -

Nor the Moslem Nae maitter hou guised it wid lowp frae'ts scabbert an tak's life.

Thae threepins'r weel qualifeed

In monie legends, maist amang the maist suithfast

the guid auld Catholic monks preserve.

Ah kin nivver foryet auld Godfrey's sword nou...

Nicholas Roerich

Nicholas Roerich

go forth

the lantern of day

is lit

amach linn

tá laindéar an lae

lasta

gae furth

the bouet o day

is lichtit

                     

 (Béarla na hAlban: John McDonald)

αναχωρήστε

η λάμπα της ημέρας

είναι αναμμένη

         (Gréigis: Sarah Thilykou