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?