Le Dennis King |
Móg:
A turnip hollowed to take a candle and simulate a head, supported by a churn-dash...
Le Dennis King |
Fiú an té atá sona
faigheann sé leid éigin
nó teagmhaíonn ribe fuaime leis
agus pléascann a chroí le tnúthán
nach n-aithníonn sé
ní foláir nó gur ag cuimhneamh atá sé
ar chruthanna ar thug sé grá dóibh
in áit nach bhfuil teacht air
i saol roimhe seo
is a gcló ina chroí i gcónaí is iad ag feitheamh
Even the man who is happy
glimpses something
or a hair of sound touches him
and his heart overflows with a longing
he does not recognize
then it must be that he is remembering
in a place out of reach
shapes he has loved
in a life before this
the print of them still there in him waiting
AN MHÓRCHEIST | THE GREAT QUESTION |
Muineál an lasairéin comhartha ceiste ag dul sa treo eile an raibh ceist ann an chéad lá riamh (ní gá é seo a fhreagairt) loinnir an uisce ina leánn mórcheisteanna is mórfhreagraí an domhain |
the neck of the flamingo a question mark going the other way was there ever a question in the first place (no need to answer this) the water shimmers and the great questions and answers of the world disappear |
Íomhá Ron Rosenstock |
fothraigh ó aimsir an Ghorta á seachaint fiú ag giorraithe |
ruins from Famine times even the hares avoid them |
Ba ghóstaí iad go léir d’athair bocht do mháthair bhocht Gerard, do dheartháir bocht do mhná céile bochta d’iníon bhocht an bóthar ag cur thar maoil le góstaí scríbhneoirí, góstaí uile, Ginsberg, Burroughs, Snyder, Corso, Ferlinghetti gósta Thomas Wolfe Whitman Han-Shan scamaill sléibhte giall cnámhach Neal Cassady gósta an Chroí Ró-Naofa zen snagcheol haiku benzedrine uisce beatha an gósta sa bhuidéal folamh striapacha foilsitheoirí Ku Klux Klan góstaí Mheicsiceo Cheanada Mheiriceá is na Briotáine d’fhéadfaí dul ar aghaidh ach níl aon deireadh leis an mbóthar téann sé ar aghaidh is ar aghaidh an gósta ionatsa ar crith roimh an duine Oíche mhaith, Jack |
They were all ghosts your poor father your poor mother Gerard, your poor brother your poor wives your poor daughter the road teeming with ghosts writers, all ghosts, Ginsberg, Burroughs, Snyder, Corso Ferlinghetti the ghost of Thomas Wolfe, Whitman Han-Shan clouds mountains the bony jaw of Neal Cassady the ghost of the Sacred Heart zen jazz haiku benzedrine whiskey the ghost in the empty bottle prostitutes publishers Ku Klux Klan the ghosts of Mexico Canada America Brittany one could go on but there’s no end to the road it just goes on and on the ghost within you trembling before the man Good night, Jack |
Ich nannte mich
ich selber rief mich
mit dem Namen einer Insel.
Es ist der Name eines Sonntags
einer geträumten Insel.
Kolumbus erfand die Insel
an einem Weihnachtssonntag.
Sie war eine Küste
etwas zum Landen
man kann sie betreten
die Nachtigallen singen an Weihnachten dort.
Nennen Sie sich, sagte einer
als ich in Europa an Land ging,
mit dem Namen Ihrer Insel.
I named myself
I it was who called herself
after an island.
It’s the name of a Sunday
on a dreamed-up isle.
Columbus invented the isle
on a Christmas Sunday.
It was a coastline
somewhere to land
one can step ashore
the nightingales sing there at Christmas.
Name yourself, someone said
when I went ashore in Europe,
after your island.
Thugas
thugas-sa féin
ainm oileáin orm féinig.
Is ainm é ar Dhomhnach
ar oileán a aislingíodh.
Ba é Colambas a d’fhionn an inis
ar Dhomhnach Nollag.
Líne an chósta ab ea í
áit éigin le teacht i dtír
is féidir seasamh ann
canann filiméala ann um Nollaig.
Tabhair ainm d’oileáin ort féin
arsa duine éigin liom
nuair a thána i dtír san Eoraip.
Bhailigh dornán daoine ar Ché Éidin
Chun breathnú ar na héisc faoin droichead.
Ghabh duine beag tharstu faoina chaipín liath:
‘Lannaigh!’ ar sé,
‘Dea-shíon ar feadh sé seachtaine.’
Agus is mar sin a bhí.
Tháinig an ghrian amach.
Shoilsigh an solas céanna
Ar Ard-Eaglais Chríost
Ar na Ceithre Cúirteanna
Ar Choláiste na Tríonóide
Ar Bhanc na hÉireann
Ar shiopa beag a bhí dúnta le cláir
Ina ngearrtaí eochracha tráth
Is ina gcuirtí faobhar ar sceana.
Chuardaigh iarsmaí Lochlannach
Is Gael
Shoilsigh ar scoileanna
Ar ospidéil, ar thábhairní is ar phríosúin,
Ar pháirceanna, ar thithe is ar an Zú:
Bhí moncaithe ann is leathadar a ngéaga roimis.
Shoilsigh an ghrian ar shráideanna
Is ar chaolsráideanna duirleogacha
Ar ghúnaí samhraidh na mban óg
Ar an Life
Is ar na héisc
Nár chorraigh ach ar éigean:
Lannaigh ar léir dóibh an todhchaí.
A group had gathered on Eden Quay
To watch the fish under the bridge.
A little fellow with a grey cap went by.
‘Mullet!’ says he,
‘Fine weather for six weeks.’
And so it was.
The sun came out.
The same light shone
On Christ Church Cathedral
On Trinity College
On the Bank of Ireland
On a little shop boarded up
Where once keys were cut
And knives sharpened.
It searched for the remains
Of Viking and Gael
Shone on schools
On hospitals, on taverns and prisons,
On parks and houses and on the Zoo:
Monkeys there to welcome it with open arms.
The sun beamed down on cobbled streets
And alleyways
On the summer dresses of young women
On the Liffey
And on the fish –
That scarcely moved –
Mullet: they could peer into the future.
Íomhá Ron Rosenstock |
Letterkeen Wood Coill Leitir Caoin cé d’ainmnigh ar dtús thú? |
Coill Leitir Caoin Letterkeen Wood who first named you? |
Íomhá Ron Rosenstock |
cromtha os cionn na habhann géaga ag éisteacht le heachtraí ón imigéin |
bent over the waters branches listen to tales from afar |
Thursday 24 October | Dunamaise Arts Centre, Portlaoise | €20/16 | Box office 057 866 3355 www.dunamaise.ie |
Friday 1 November | An Grianán, Letterkenny | €20/16 | Box office 074 91 20777 www.angrianan.com |
Friday 15 November | Backstage Theatre, Longford | €18/16 | Box office 043 33 47888 www.backstage.ie |
Saturday 16 November | Town Hall Theatre, Galway City | €20/16 | Box office 091 569777 www.tht.ie |
Friday 22 November | Lime Tree Theatre, Limerick City | €20/16 | Box office 061 774774 www.limetreetheatre.ie |
Saturday 23 November | Glór Theatre, Ennis, Co Clare | €20/16 | Box Office 065 684 3103 www.glor.ie |
Friday 29 November | Siamsa Tíre, Tralee, Co Kerry | €20/16 | Box office 066 7123055 www.siamsatire.com |
Íomhá Ron Rosenstock |
Lómagnúpur coimirceoir chósta an deiscirt – fad saoil chugat! |
Lómagnúpur guardian of the south coast – long life to you! |
Íomhá Ron Rosenstock |
Hvítserkur – spalladh an dragain spalladh síoraí |
Hvítserkur – the dragon’s thirst everlasting |
You’ve Come a Long Way.
It's a long way to Tipperary,
It's a long way to go.
It's a long way to Tipperary
To the sweetest girl I know!
Goodbye, Piccadilly,
Farewell, Leicester Square!
It's a long long way to Tipperary,
But my heart's right there.
Tá sé tamall go Tiobraid Árann
Tá sé tamall is léir.
Tá sé tamall go Tiobraid Árann
Chuig an spéirbhean ins an spéir
Slán leat, Piccadilly,
Slán leat, Leicester Square!
Tá sé tamall go Tiobraid Árann
Ar m'anam, mo léir!
sioc trom
ar an seantigh, fear an tí
sa chré
lag trá . . .
ceo idir mé
agus mná na sliogán
Is leat mo chroí go hiomlán!
(Grianghraf: Mark Granier) |
Tnáite mé ag feitheamh
Sea, feitheamh fada fuar
An deoir ghorm á sileadh -
Tar, a dhaidí dhil, go luath.
Tá sneachta ar an bhfuinneog
Ní reofaidh sé mo chroí
Mar fuair sé bás nuair d'fhág tú mé,
Is scriosadh aislingí.
Tnáite mé ag feitheamh
Sea, feitheamh fada fuar
An deoir ghorm á sileadh
Tar, a dhaidí dhil, go luath
Ó, a dhaidí dhil, monuar.
Trí dheora feicim leannáin
Is iad ag siúl thar bráid
Is gach aon scéal nár tharla riamh -
Maith dhom, a Dhia, mo chrá.
Tnáite mé ag feitheamh
Sea, feitheamh fada fuar
An deoir ghorm á sileadh
Tar, a dhaidí dhil, go luath
Ó, a dhaidí dhil, monuar.
Weary blues from waitin’
Lord, I’ve been waitin’ so long
These blues have got me cryin’
Oh, sweet daddy please come home
The snow falls ’round my window
But it can’t chill my heart
God knows it died the day you left
My dream world fell apart.
Weary blues from waitin’
Lord, I’ve been waitin’ so long
These blues have got me cryin’
Oh, sweet daddy please come home
Oh, sweet daddy please come home
Through tears I watch young lovers
As they go strollin’ by
And all the things that might have been
God forgive me if I cry
Weary blues from waitin’
Lord, I’ve been waitin’ so long
These blues have got me cryin’
Oh, sweet daddy please come home
Oh, sweet daddy please come home
Ó dheas ó dheas in Dixie
(Briseann sé mo chroí)
Crochadh mo leannán dorcha
Ag Crosaire an Chrainn.
Ó dheas ó dheas in Dixie
(Corp basctha sa ghaoth)
D’fhiafraíos-sa de gheal-Íosa
‘An fiú an phaidir bhaoth?’
Ó dheas ó dheas in Dixie
(Briseann sé mo chroí)
An grá ina scáil tarnocht
Ar lomaghéag an chama-chrainn.
Way Down South in Dixie(Break the heart of me)
They hung my black young lover
To a cross roads tree.
Way Down South in Dixie
(Bruised body high in air)
I asked the white Lord Jesus
What was the use of prayer.
Way Down South in Dixie
(Break the heart of me)
Love is a naked shadow
On a gnarled and naked tree.
Ó neamhdhuine is fada an t-achar é
Póca mór í áit ar bith
Chun rudaí beaga deasa
A chur ann
Nár tharla riamh déanta na fírinne
D’éinne ach amháin
An dream sin a raibh an t-ádh leo
Nár saolaíodh iad
Ó droch-áit is ea uaigneach
Le bheith sáite ann i measc na bplód
Is gan éinne ann
Ach tú féin amháin ag marcaíocht anonn is anall
Ar
Each caoch bán
Ar bhóthar folamh
Is buaileann tú led chairde go léir
Is sibh i láthair a chéile
Is fada an t-achar é neamhdhuine
Níor theastaigh sé uaimse, is uaitse a bhí.
Tá sé agat anois is ní thaitníonn sé leat.
Níl aon éalú anois.
Muiceoil is pónairí, faicíní le ní,
Róbhocht le haghaidh scannáin, róthraochta le haghaidh babhta leathair.
Níl faic is féidir a dhéanamh.
Luathscríbhneoirí gnéasacha ar an traein faoi thalamh.
Tá ceann breá mór ag an mbuachaill grósaera.
Níl faic is féidir a dhéanamh ina thaobh.
Ní thagann an óige ach uair amháin,
Caithfear imeacht nuair a bheidh an t-am istigh.
Is mar sin a bhíonn. Níl éinne in ann é a athrú.
Leaideanna i ngluaisteáin mhóra ag feadaíl.
Ong na dtraenacha lastais istoíche.
Níl aon éalú uaidh.
Is mar sin atá an saol.
Gach éinne sa riocht céanna.
Ní athróidh sé go deo deo deo.
Nílimse ag magadh, a chairde, nílimse ag ligean orm
Ní chuirfinn an dubh ina gheal oraibh, nílimse ag ligean orm,
An tIndiach sa chomarclann, sa gheiteo an fear gorm.
Ar nós a bheith sa bhaile is tú ag iarraidh éalú
An mhiúil is í sa stalla, is í ag iarraidh éalú,
Tá tú istigh i ngeiteo agus fanfaidh tú ann arú.
Ní chuirfinn an dubh ina gheal oraibh, ná déan gáire fúm
Táthar ag faire orainn, ná déan gáire fúm
Ag faire ar ár ndroim, sea, ar a leagfaidh siad an úim.
Bíodh ciall agaibh, a chairde, amach linn as an gcampa
Nílimse ag magadh, amach linn as an gcampa
Mar tá fear ansin is é réidh lenár mbrandáil lena stampa.