Haiku le Issa ón mbliain 1816

Is dócha nach rithfeadh sé le héinne againn fear sneachta a dhéanamh i bhfoirm Íosa. Tá sé faoi mar a bheadh  úinéireacht ag an Eaglais agus ag séipéil ar dhealbha d'Íosa. In aimsir Issa, áfach, ní rithfeadh sé le héinne GAN fear sneachta den Bhúda a dhéanamh. Cé acu dearcadh is sláintiúla, is nádúrtha, is naofa?

     an chéad chith -
      an sneachta, leis,
          ina Bhúda

    .初ものや雪も仏につくらるる
    hatsumono ya yuki mo hotoke ni tsukuraruru

Ar an lá seo, 31 Nollaig

Ar an lá seo, 31 Nollaig, 1988, cailleadh Nicolas Calas, file Gréagach-Mheiriceánach:

“Ní bhíonn an ealaín riamh maoithneach ná morálta, tá sí in aghaidh an oird bhunaithe, in aghaidh na haicme ceannasaí . . .”

Cé hiad scríbhneoirí Gaeilge ár linne atá in aghaidh an oird bhunaithe, in aghaidh na haicme ceannasaí? Freagraí ar chúl stampa poist le bhur dtoil!

Haiku le Issa ón mbliain 1810

Is iad na haiku nach bhfuil aon mhíniú orthu - ó thaobh na heolaíochta ná ó thaobh na réasúnaíochta de - na haiku is fearr liom. Tá mistéir sa haiku seo ach is mistéir í a thuigimid. Measaim.

an sliabh glas
á iomlánú aige-
éamh an phiasúin

     .青山を拵へてなく雉哉
    ao yama wo koshiraete naku kigisu kana

Ar an lá seo, 30ú Nollaig

Ar an lá seo, 30 Nollaig, 1944, cailleadh Romain Rolland, scríbhneoir, Duaiseoir Nobel. Tharraing sé aird an domhain ar naoimh is ar shaoithe na hIndia, Vivekananda agus Ramakrishna ach go háirithe:

Ar an lá seo, 29 Nollaig

Ar an lá seo, 29 Nollaig, 1876, rugadh Pablo Casals. Leigheas anama is ea a bheith ag éisteacht leis: 

Ar an la seo, 28 Nollaig

Ar an lá seo, 28 Nollaig, 1885, rugadh Vladimir Tatlin. Ar nós gach fíorealaíontóra, theastaigh uaidh eitilt – thuas ansin ina éanfhear! Chruthaigh sé an Letatlin, meaisín eitilte. Bhí Tatlin den tuairim gur bhain an eitilt linn ó thús, ar chuma éigin, ach gur chailleamar an bua sin le linn ár n-éabhlóide! Táim an-tógtha ar fad leis an teoiric sin, caithfidh mé a rá. Dhein Tatlin an-staidéar ar phatrúin eitilte na n-éan is na bhfeithidí.

Lenár linn féin, bhain lucht TM triail as an eitilt! Preab san aer a tháinig as ach tá siad dóchasach go dtiocfaidh níos mó ná sin as i gceann na haimsire. Tiocfaidh, le cúnamh Dé. Go n-éirí leo.

Ar an lá seo, 27 Nollaig

Inniu an 27 Nollaig, 1920, Ernie O’Malley gafa ag fórsaí na Breataine i gCiarraí.


Sliocht as On Another Man’s Wound:

“Ours was a shoneen town, as I knew it. A shoneen, little John Bull, was anyone who aped the manners and fashions of the English as interpreted through the Anglicized Irish; who adapted his mentality, or lack of it, to theirs, who despised and, actively or passively, ignored the remnant of the older Gaelic civilization of the people…”

Ar an lá seo, 26 Nollaig

Ar an lá seo, 26 Nollaig, 1997, cailleadh Cornelius Castoriadis.

“Is mian liom agus éilímse go mbeadh éifeacht le mo chuid oibre, go mbeinn ag teacht lena cuid cuspóirí agus an tslí ina gcuirtear i gcrích í, go ligfí dom mo dhúthracht a chaitheamh i gceart léi, leas a bhaint as mo chumas agus ag an am céanna mé féin a shaibhriú agus a fhorbairt. Agus deirimse go bhfuil sé sin indéanta, ach an tsochaí a bheith eagraithe ar bhealach eile, gur féidir a leithéid a bheith ann, domsa agus do gach éinne eile. Bunathrú sa treo sin, a deirimse, dá ligfí domsa agus dá ligfí do chách cinneadh a dhéanamh faoin méid a chaithfinnse a dhéanamh agus, i gcomhar le mo chomhoibrithe, conas é sin a dhéanamh.

Ba mhaith liom a fháil amach, i gcomhar le cách, cad atá ag titim amach sa tsochaí, a bheith in ann méid agus cáilíocht an eolais a fhaighim a rialú. Iarraimse go mbeadh ar mo chumas a bheith rannpháirteach go díreach in aon chinneadh sóisialta a mbeadh baint aige le mo shaol agus leis an saol i gcoitinne. Ní ghlacaimse leis go bhfuil mo chinniúint leagtha síos cheana féin, lá i ndiaidh lae, ag daoine ar naimhdeach liom a gcuid tionscadal, nó mé aineolach orthu, agus nach bhfuil ionainne, is é sin mise agus gach éinne eile, ach uimhreacha, díreach, i bplean ginearálta, nó inár gceithearnaigh ar chlár fichille…”

Ar an lá seo, Lá Nollag

Ar an lá seo, 25 Nollaig,rugadh Íosa.

Cailleadh Samy Rosenstock – nó Tristan Tzara mar is fearr aithne air – ar an 25 Nollaig, 1963, an té a bhunaigh an ghluaiseacht DADA:

“Gné eile a bhaineann le Dada is ea ár gcairde ag imeacht uainn. Tá siad i gcónaí ag scarúint linn agus ag éirí as. An chéad duine a d’éirigh as an ngluaiseacht Dada ná ‘mé féin’. Tuigeann gach éinne gurb é is brí le Dada ná dada. Scaras-sa le Dada agus liom féin chomh luath is a thuigeas na himpleachtaí a bhaineann le ‘dada’….”

Ar an lá seo, 24 Nollaig

Ar an lá seo, 24 Nollaig, 1964, cailleadh Claudia Jones:

“Cailleadh mo mháthair, meaisíneoir i monarcha éadaí, nuair a bhí sí 37 mbliana d’aois, an aois chéanna is atá agamsa inniu. Is ansin, measaim, a thosaigh mé ar thuiscint a fháil ar fhulaingt mo chine is m’aicme agus ar bhealach a lorg chun deireadh a chur leis an bhfulaingt sin.”

Ar an lá seo, 23 Nollaig

Ar an lá seo, 23 Nollaig, cailleadh Chan K’in Viejo, in aois 104.

http://www.culturalsurvival.org/publications/cultural-survival-quarterly/mexico/death-chan-kin

Haiku le Issa ón mbliain 1820

náire air
go bhfuil a bheanna teilgthe -
poc an tsléibhe

.角おちて恥しげなり山の鹿
tsuno ochite hazukashige nari yama no shika

Ar an lá seo 22 Nollaig

Ar an lá seo 22 Nollaig, 1989, cailleadh Samuel Beckett.

Rud éigin ann

rud éigin ann
cén áit
amuigh ansin
cén áit amuigh
lasmuigh
cén rud
an cloigeann cad eile
rud éigin ann áit éigin lasmuigh
an cloigeann

glór lag an-ghairid
is tá sé imithe is an chruinne uile
ní lom fós í
leathann
an tsúil
go leathan
go dtí sa deireadh
nach ndallfadh aon ní
arís choíche í

corruair mar sin
amuigh ansin
áit éigin amuigh ansin
mar a bheadh
rud éigin ann
ní gá
gurb é an saol é

Fear an Bhata

Grianghraf nach bhfaca mé cheana, mé féin agus triúr deartháireacha liom. Col ceathrair liom a thug an grianghraf dom. 'Cén fáth sa diabhal a bhfuil bata im ghlac?' arsa mise leis. 'Ó,' arsa mo chol ceathrair, 'bhíodh bata agat an uair úd.' Agus chuimhníos siar ansin agus sea, bhí an ceart aige. Bhíodh bata agam an uair úd. Bhíos chun an domhan ar fad a threascairt.  Féara arda is mó a bhuaileas. Bhuailinn  scáileanna, leis, naimhde nárbh ann dóibh, púcaí.  Ar bhuaileas éinne de mo dheartháireacha? Is dócha gur bhuail, go maithe Dia dhom é. Ba é Michael an té ba shine. Bádh é i nGleann Dá Loch. Scríobhas marbhna dó. Níor fhoilsíos riamh é. Is i mBéarla a scríobhas é. Ní fhéadfainn é a scríobh i nGaeilge mar is ag caint leis féin a bhíos sa dán. Focal Gaeilge níor labhras riamh leis:

To a Brother Drowned

Cold the waters of Glendalough in June
divers searching for your body
luckless cormorants

You give them no clue
waiting in silence
your eyes do not see the dawn

In the Glen of Two Lakes where Kevin prayed
you now perform unwilling austerities
night after wave-cursed night

What fishes gape
as your body turns sour
and changes hue

What last poems pound in your brain
bubbling up to the astonished air!

It may well have been that blackbirds sang that day
clouds scudded
linnets dashed for cover
on secret missions
a ladybird emerged from lungwort


We witnessed nothing
something in us forgot to surface
lingering dumbly
in umbrous, uncharted zones

(We were not of the O’Byrnes or the O’Donoghues
whom the banshee might have wailed…)

Decked out in your coffin
in the robes of the Children of Mary
an illustration from some exotic book –
a sacrifice to an unpronounceable god
who had long lost touch with his people.

Ar an lá seo, 21 Nollaig

Ar an 21 Nollaig, 1860, rugadh Maud Gonne/Maud Nic Ghoinn.

“Ní raibh gráin agamsa ar aon ní riamh ach ar Impireacht na Breataine …”

Scéilíní Am Soip

Ar an lá seo, 20 Nollaig

Inniu, an 20 Nollaig, Lá Fhéile Zephryinus a bhí ina Phápa idir c. 198 agus 217. Chuir an frithphápa (antipapa) an focal amach gur Modalach ab ea Zephryinus. Ionann sin agus eiriceacht a chur i do leith. Is dóigh leis na Modalaigh nach bhfuil mar thagairt do Dhia sa Bhíobla ach tagairt don Aon agus ní ghéilleann siad don Tríonóid Naofa dubh bán ná riabhach.

Ar an lá seo, 19 Nollaig

Ar an lá seo, 19 Nollaig, 1910, rugadh Jean Genet:

“Theastaigh uaim mé féin a shlogadh trí mo bhéal a oscailt an-leathan agus é a chasadh os cionn mo chloiginn i dtreo is go slogfaí mo cholainn ar fad, is ansin an Chruinne, sa tslí nach mbeadh fágtha díom ach meall ite agus diaidh ar ndiaidh go gcuirfí ar neamhní é: is mar sin a fheicimse deireadh an domhain.”

Twameva Mata, Chapita Twameva

Twameva Mata, Chapita Twameva. Twameva Bandhu, Cha Sakha Twameva. Twameva Vidya, Dravinum Twameva. Twameva Sarvam Mama Deva Deva.

Tusa mo mháthair, is is tusa m'athair Is tusa mo ghaol, tusa mo chompánach, Is tusa m'eolas, is is tusa mo shaibhreas Is tusa gach a mbaineann liom, a Thiarna

Ar an lá seo, 18 Nollaig

Ar an lá seo, 18 Nollaig, 1834, le linn Chogadh na nDeachúna in Éirinn, mharaigh póilíní agus saighdiúirí dosaen duine in Ráth Chormaic, Co. Chorcaí agus gortaíodh 42 eile san eachtra.

Sa léaráid iontach seo, feictear ministir gallda agus deachú á lorg aige!

Haiku le Issa ón mbliain 1808

amárach -
an mbeidh siad ann amárach?
bláthanna silíní

.翌あらばあらばと思ふ桜哉

asu araba araba to omou sakura kana

Sea, go deimhin, an mbeidh éinne againn ann amárach? Neamhchinnteacht agus giorracht an tsaoil! Tá na milliúin haiku ann faoi na sakura (bláthanna silíní). Seo ceann a thaitníonn liom, le file as Kerala na hIndia:

conas a tharla sé?
bláth silíní
i dtaibhreamh seo an gheimhridh

Narayanan Raghunathan

Ar an lá seo, 17 Nollaig

Ar an lá seo, 17 Nollaig, 1493, rugadh Paracelsus:

“Cruthaíonn smaointe Neamh nua, firmimint nua, foinse nua fuinnimh as a n-eascraíonn nua-ealaíona.”

Spiorad na hIndia agus Spiorad na hÉireann

D’éirigh le Ravi Shankar spiorad ársa na hIndia a thabhairt dúinn san albam aoibhinn cantaireachta a léirigh George Harrison, Chants of India:

Cad faoin gcantaireacht in Éirinn? Tháinig mé air seo ar na mallaibh:

The Dinn Seanchus, compiled by Amergin MacAmalgaid (MacAwley), circ. A.D. 544, relates that "in the time of Geide, monarch of Ireland, … the people deemed each other's voices sweeter than the warblings of a melodious harp; such peace and concord reigned among them that no music could delight them more than the sound of each other's voice."

Nach deas é sin!

Samplaí breátha de chantaireacht na nGael anseo:

Ar an lá seo, 16 Nollaig

Ar an lá seo, 16 Nollaig, 1964, cailleadh W. Somerset Maugham:

“Rud liosta leadránach amach is amach is ea an bás agus chomhairleoinnse duit gan aon bhaint in aon chor a bheith agat leis.”

Dán & Aistriúchán/ Poem & Translation

NOLLAIG

Tá na fámairí imithe i gcéin,
an chuach agus an traonach
imithe ó dheas chuig an teas
ach tá tusa anseo go fóill,
a spideoigín, ag déanamh ceoil
ar thairseach lom na Nollag.
Tá mise agus tusa linn féin
ag canadh go teasaí amhráin
bheaga bhroinndearga uchtaigh,
a choinníonn caor sa chroí
i ndúlaíocht seo an gheimhridh.

CATHAL Ó SEARCAIGH (Gúrú i gClúidíní, CIC, 2006)

DECEMBER

Summer visitors have gone away
the cuckoo and the corncrake
southwards flown to warmer climes
but you, dear one, have stayed behind,
little robin, chirping
on December’s  threshold bare.
All alone the two of us here
singing songs lustily
red-breasted songs defying doom –
a sod aflame in the heart
of wintry gloom.

Mallacht (an leagan iomlán)

Mallacht Chromail... tochas gan ingne ort!

Ar an lá seo, 15 Nollaig

Ar an lá seo, 15 Nollaig,1890, dúnmharaíodh an Taoiseach Tarbh ina Shuí (Tatanka lyotake):

“Féachaigí, a chairde, tá an t-earrach tagtha; ghlac an talamh go fonnmhar le barróg na gréine agus is gearr go bhfeicfear toradh a ngrá!”

Seoladh leabhar san Siopa Leabhar Dé Máirt 17/12 ag 8

Ar an lá seo, 14 Nollaig

Ar an lá seo, 14 Nollaig, rugadh Paul Éluard:

Rugadh mé chun aithne a chur ort
Chun ainm a chur ort –
Saoirse!

Ar an lá seo, 13 Nollaig,

Ar an lá seo, 13 Nollaig, 1947, rugadh Marilyn Buck, príosúnach polaitíochta, file. Eagla go dtabharfaí Sceimhlitheoirí Orainn i bPeiriú cuireadh stop le léirsiú in aghaidh ardú ar phraghas an aráin toisc gur bagraíodh go dtabharfaí sceimhlitheoirí orthu siúd a bhí ag éileamh aráin nach scanraithe atáimid roimh theanga brod leictreach chun sinn a chur isteach i gcúinne mar eallach is sinn ag creathnú ansin eagla orainn go dtabharfaí sceimhlitheoir cumannaí nó coirpeach orainn conas a thugamar cead dóibh siúd (ar cuma sa riach leo an 80% eile againn a bheith beo nó marbh) ár dteanga a robáil sinn a imeaglú chomh mór sin go sracfaimis ár dteanga féin amach is ceangal na gcúig gcaol a chur orainn féin? conas gur mó an eagla atá orainn go nglaofaí sceimhlitheoirí orainn ná bás a fháil sa dorchadas is gan éinne ann a labhródh ar ár son?

Ar an lá seo, 12 Nollaig

Ar an lá seo, 12 Nollaig, 1531, nocht Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe. Is i Nachuáitlis a labhair an Mhaighdean.

Agallamh

Ceisteanna á gcur ag Ars Poetica na Slóvaice:

1. Poetry, a little alien? Why care about it?

Poetry is an act of renewing the Imagination and reshaping it for our times and maybe even for all time. Poetry always exists, though not necessarily always on the page. It has been around for thousands of years and links us with Reality in a special way, often in a memorable way, and links us as well to ancestors whom we may have forgotten, links us to history and to landscape and renews the language that is on our lips.

2. Who are  you as a poet?

I am a bilingual poet-translator and haikuist working in Irish and English. Writers create national literature, translators create world literature, says Saramago.

3. What kind of literary tradition, particular authors or modes of literary thinking have you found inspirational for your work?

In three volumes of sacred poetry from around the world, fashioned into Irish (Gaelic), saints and sinners rub shoulders with shamans, sages and seers. This is good company for poets. This is the type of poetry I like to read and translate, Sufi poetry, Bhakti poetry, Taoist poetry, tribal poetry from everybody and anybody on earth, Aztec or Inuit. This is timeless poetry. Much of modern poetry in the West is arid and intellectualized and has been so polluted by university learning that the music and the heart has been squeezed out of it, alas.

4. Please give several examples of contemporary European or international poets that you believe are most significant (in any possible sense) and comment briefly on their merit.

I have translated into Irish (using English as a bridge language) poets such as Kristiina Ehin from Estonia and Nikola Madzirov from Macedonia who are not afraid of magical realms. They are in tune with something that is magical and Real.

5. If asked about transnational influences in today’s international or European poetry, what examples would most readily account for? 
   
   Rumi is very popular, as is Hafiz. One might have academic doubts sometimes about the actual translations but the popularity of Rumi is no bad thing, if only to remind us that poetry is essentially a spiritual activity. Turning to poets of our own time, Milosz, too, is quite popular.
6. In all likelihood, some of the innovative patterns in contemporary poetics have not yet reached the acknowledgment of either the national or international literary canon. Can you provide some examples of specific authors or poetics that you believe are still undeservedly flying below the radar screen of broader critical community? What makes these patterns innovative and makes them supersede established modes of writing and/or reading?

Innovation is not all that important. The true voice of poetry is unmistakable, whether innovative or not. The huge problem we have today is the dominance of English and the neglect of poets writing in lesser-spoken languages and also the work of dialect poets. There are a number of poets in former British colonies around the world who write in English and many of them write very badly in English; they should be encouraged to return to the wellsprings of their own culture where they will find the idiom, the colour and the music to serve their aesthetic needs and challenges.

8. Are there any influences or inspirations emanating from the poetries and poets from the former “communist countries” that you have been able to recognize as having an impact in the countries of “the West”? If yes, how would you describe this inspiration and the possible reasons for it receiving acclaim or resonance in certain artistic or social communities?

The only good reason to read poetry is the passion and sincerity behind it which deepens our own sense of humanity and the mysterious layers of the universe within and without and, of course, there are dozens of poets from the former communist block who are outstanding,

9. How do you see the poet–reader relationship’s current state and its evolution in the contemporary cultural landscape? Please share any possible examples of that very relationship as being alienated, or, on the opposite side enlivened, re-energized, or newly franchised.

Code Poetry in Greece recently posted a haiku of mine as stenciled graffiti. That’s one way of doing things as bookshops close down. We have to be innovative and ‘urban guerilla’ tactics with stencils and paint is something I would strongly approve of.

10. What kinds of fresh genres or types of poetry do you see emerging in today’s international landscape? Can you see any identifiable new kinds of “ars poetica”?

Again, the emphasis is on the ‘new’. Why? Good poetry is always ‘new’. It should not try to be new. This is putting the cart before the horse!

11. Both the discourses of poetry and politics seem to carry an aspiration to win human hearts and minds, or even change lives. What examples do you see of fruitful interaction between political and poetic discourses and agenda?

Is capitalism undergoing a crisis? Do groups such as ‘Anarcho-Primitivists’ have something to say about the economic, social and ecological crisis we are living through?

I think Wendell Berry’s Mad Farmer is one type of effective response to the world’s anguish:

The Mad Farmer Revolution

Being a Fragment
of the Natural History of New Eden,
in Homage
To Mr. Ed McClanahan, One of the Locals

The mad farmer, the thirsty one,
went dry. When he had time
he threw a visionary high
lonesome on the holy communion wine.
"It is an awesome event
when an earthen man has drunk
his fill of the blood of a god,"
people said, and got out of his way.
He plowed the churchyard, the
minister's wife, three graveyards
and a golf course. In a parking lot
he planted a forest of little pines.
He sanctified the groves,
dancing at night in the oak shades
with goddesses. He led
a field of corn to creep up
and tassel like an Indian tribe
on the courthouse lawn. Pumpkins
ran out to the ends of their vines
to follow him. Ripe plums
and peaches reached into his pockets.
Flowers sprang up in his tracks
everywhere he stepped. And then
his planter's eye fell on
that parson's fair fine lady
again. "O holy plowman," cried she,
"I am all grown up in weeds.
Pray, bring me back into good tilth."
He tilled her carefully
and laid her by, and she
did bring forth others of her kind,
and others, and some more.
They sowed and reaped till all
the countryside was filled
with farmers and their brides sowing
and reaping. When they died
they became two spirits of the woods.

On their graves were written
these words without sound:
"Here lies Saint Plowman.
Here lies Saint Fertile Ground." 

How would you envisage an optimal cohabitation of the two “pos” (poetry & politics) that would be beneficial to your co-citizens?

I would keep them apart, I’m afraid. The world of politics is a world of patronage and privilege. It corrupts everything it touches. In this I am in agreement with Ed Abbey:

Anarchism is not a romantic fable but the hardheaded realization, based on five thousand years of experience, that we cannot entrust the management of our lives to kings, priests, politicians, generals, & county commissioners."

12. What kinds of values and qualities do you think media poetry (sound poetry, visual poetry, kinetic poetry, digital poetry and poetic performance) can offer in comparison with poetry conceived of as a traditional written fixed text form? Please exemplify.

I like visual poetry and for years now I have been creating Photo-Haiga, haiku in Irish and English in response to nature photography by Ron Rosenstock (no relation). We hope to have an audio-visual show, with a music track, based on this material and present it as an installation in a gallery space near you! The South African composer and musician Eugene Skeef, based in London, is creating the sound track. I’m all for YouTube presentations of poetry as well, such as this one by Chicano poet Francisco X. Alarcón (one of the first poets I translated into Irish), talking about being bilingual and bicultural:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TMBSb_6LjCE

13. How would you describe the difference between the kinds of creative inspiration that you may experience as generated by your imagination as opposed to the potence emanating from the appropriative process of handling meaningful contexts and patterns already existing?

All genuine works of art emanate from the imagination, and the degree to which pre-existing forms are present in the new work is not relevant at all.

14. Would it be fair to say that we have witnessed a gradual shift in a broader understanding of the very notion of (creative) writing due to the rise of the media and programming?

Possibly. But today, everybody is an ‘artist’ and this is boloney because not everybody is an artist!

15. What kind of unique experience does media/experimental poetry mediate to you (your mind and body) that you would not be able to find otherwise?

Every imaginative work of art is a unique experience and media/experimentation are secondary matters.

16. What do you think poetry stands for today? Has the recent advancement in the natural sciences and humanities influenced our very understanding and possibilities of poetry?

Poetry is at a low ebb in our TV-saturated age. Pop songs now provide poetic emotion for the masses. Poets have retreated to academic towers. They should be hunted out of these towers, back in to the fields and the woods and the riverbanks where they might recover their senses.

17. What makes a poem a poem? Has this apparently notorious question been in any sense reinvigorated or revisited in the wake of the rise of the global and globalized civilizational experience?

Nothing that has ever happened, or that will ever happen, can ever change what a poem is. Its essential nature is timeless, unpredictable and inviolable. Here is a Navaho poem taken from the Poetry Chaikhana site. I am unable to appreciate it in its original language and yet it sings to me in a way that few poems from our age do: the refreshing innocence it contains is also in us and actually exists in the core of our own hearts if we knew how to get in there, find it and sing from that space.

Gabriel Rosenstock, Éire (Ireland)

Beauty is Before Me

by Navaho (Anonymous)
Original Language Navaho/Dine

Beauty is before me,
And beauty is behind me.
Above and below me hovers the beautiful.
I am surrounded by it.
I am immersed in it.
In my youth I am aware of it,
And in old age I shall walk quietly
The beautiful trail.

Fóta-Haiga

Íomhá Ron Rosenstock

siúd ag gliúcaíocht     thall is abhus iad -         gabhair sa tóir ar na flaithis

this way and that     they peer and gaze -         goats looking for heaven

Ar an lá seo, 11 Nollaig

Ar an lá seo, 11 Nollaig, 1969,  tharla sceitheadh gáis san Ionad Tástála um Chogadh Ceimiceach, Dugway, Utah:

Graifítí an Lae: John Zerzan

Tá gach éinne ar an bhfón póca an t-am ar fad, ar nós zombaithe ...

John Zerzan (1943 -)

Ag teacht go luath ón nGúm: Haiku, más é do thoil é!

Haiku? Cad é sin?

Gheobhaidh tú freagra na ceiste sin, chomh maith le mórán ceisteanna eile faoin haiku, sa saothar seo. Bainfidh idir óg agus aosta sult as an léargas a thugtar sa leabhar seo ar dhomhan iontach an haiku.

Ar an lá seo, 10 Nollaig

Ar an lá seo, 10 Nollaig, 1968, sa Téalainn, cailleadh Thomas Merton, file, Trapach.

Sa chiúnas

Bí ciúin.
Éist le clocha an fhalla.
Bí ciúin, táid ag iarraidh
d'ainmse

a rá.
Éist leis na fallaí beo.

Cé thú féin?
Cé
thú? Cé leis
an tost atá ionat?

Cé (bí ciúin)
thú (faoi mar atá na clocha seo
ciúin). Ná smaoinigh
ar an tusa atá
ná go deimhin ar an tusa a bheidh lá éigin.
Seachas sin
bí mar atá tú (cé, n'fheadar?)

bíse eisean, an té gan smaoineamh
nach eol duit.

Uch, bí ciúin
fad is beo duit,
is an uile ní beo id thimpeall

is tú ag caint (ní chloisim)
le do bheith féin,
ag caint tríd an ní thar eolas
atá ionat is iontu go léir.

"Déanfadsa iarracht a bheith mar atáid is a bheith im chiúnas-sa féin:
agus is deacair: Tá an domhan go léir
ar bharr lasrach faoi rún. Dónn na clocha
na clocha féin, dónn siad mé.
Conas is féidir do dhuine bheith ciúin
nó éisteacht le loisceadh an uile ní?
Conas suí leo
is a gciúnas go léir ar bharr lasrach?"

Graifítí an Lae: Ethel Mannin

D'fhéadfadh domhan a bheith ann agus daoine - pé teanga a labhraíonn siad, pé dath atá ar a gcraiceann, pé creideamh atá acu - agus iad ina mbráithre sa chiall cheart den fhocal, aontaithe sa chomhchine agus sa chomhdhaonnacht ar díobh iad, gach éinne ag cur leis an tsochaí de réir a acmhainne agus ag baint de réir a riachtanais, gan aon dua gan tairbhe ann, gan dúshaothrú ar an móramh ag mionlach na pribhléide; domhan ina mairfeadh daoine de réir chomhar na gcomharsan, i sochaí gan stát, gan airgead, sochaí chomharchumannach, domhan liberté, égalité, fraternité gan bhréag.

Ethel Mannin (1900 -1984)

Im bhraon báistí

Justin McCarthy, fear an hata san fhíseán, a d'iarr orm liricí Gaeilge a chur le Sukiyaki, amhrán a bhí go mór i mbéal an phobail sa tSeapáin.

Im bhraon báistí

 (Fonn: Sukiyaki)

Mar gheall ortsa, a rún
Is mé atá faoi bhrón
Ó d’imigh tú
Lá báistí ’sea mo shaol is tá an grá fós im chroí
Grá 'fhanfaidh go síoraí
Ó d’imigh tú is mé ‘tá uaigneach

Cuimhní nach gcaillfear choíche
Cuimhní chomh sean le ceo
An grá mar bhogha sa spéir
An grá a scaip an brón go léir
Ach cá ndeachaigh tú
Féach na deora i mo shúil’
Deora iad nach féidir a thriomú

A rún is ó a stór go deo
Ó d’imigh tú tá gach cuid díomsa ag feo

Dá mbeifeá le mo thaobh
Do labhróinn leat go caoin
Is bheadh an ghrian
Ag soilsiú uait mar leigheas ar phian
Sé fírinne an scéil, go bhfuil an fuacht istigh id chroí
Is beadsa brónach go síoraí.

Cad d’imigh ort gur bhailigh tú i gcéin uaim
Ní thuigimse an scéal
Níl ionamsa anois ach sceach i mbéal na gaoithe
Tar is cuir do bheola ar mo bhéal
Dá mbeifeá le mo thaobh
Do labhróinn leat go caoin
Is bheadh an ghrian
Ag soilsiú uait mar leigheas ar phian
Sé fírinne an scéil, go bhfuil an fuacht istigh id chroí
Is beadsa brónach go síoraí.

(Is táim mar bhraon báistí ar leac fuinneoige)

Ar an lá seo 9 Nollaig

Ar an lá seo, 9 Nollaig, 1909, cailleadh an Taoiseach Maȟpíya Lúta (Néal Dearg):

“Is iomaí gealltanas a thugadar, níos mó ná mar is féidir liom cuimhneamh orthu, ach níor chomhlíon siad ach ceann amháin díobh; ghealladar go dtógfaidís ár gcuid tailte uainn agus thóg.”

RTÉ agus an teanga: SMAOINEAMH AN LAE

Níl cáil na Gaeilge ar mholtóirí an chomórtais seo. Glacfar le hiontrálacha i nGaeilge agus i mBéarla, deirtear, ach mura bhfuil na moltóirí cáilithe chun na hiontrálacha Gaeilge a mheas, cén seans a bheadh ag gearrscéal Gaeilge? Cén gearrscéalaí Gaeilge a chuirfeadh isteach air agus a fhios aige roimh ré nach mbeadh an painéal moltóirí báúil lena iarracht? Más mian le RTÉ iontrálacha i nGaeilge a spreagadh, níl le déanamh aige ach moltóirí dátheangacha a cheapadh.Tá an comórtas gearrscéalta seo ainmnithe i ndiaidh Francis McManus, scríbhneoir sa dá theanga. Faoin ainm PROINSIAS MAC MAGHNUIS a scríobh sé an leabhar Seal ag Ródaíocht. Tá sé in am deireadh a chur leis an aonteangachas éigeantach seo.

Ar an lá seo 8 Nollaig

Ar an lá seo, 8 Nollaig, 1943, tháinig Jim Morrison ar an saol:

Gealbhain ghéarghlóracha ar mire, lena dtafann
cruthaíonn an ghrian. Gluaisteáin –
cór ag éirí. Ansin amhráin
lucht oibre & casúir.
Páistí an chlóis scoile,
céad guth ard
mar bhailchríoch ar an gceolfhoirniú

Graifítí an Lae: Herbert Read

Is iomaí duine a bhraitheann sábháilteacht sa slua, sonas sa neamhainmníocht, agus dínit sa ghnáthamh. Ní fearr leo rud ar bith ná a bheith ina gcaoirigh faoin aoire, ina saighdiúirí faoin gcaptaen, ina sclábhaithe faoin tíoránach.
 

Herbert Read (1893 -1968)

Haiku le Shugyo Takaha

is mian leis an mbogha síne
rud éigin a dhoirteadh
san aigéan

Shugyo Takaha

Graifítí an Lae: David T. Dellinger

Is domhan galrach é seo agus ní féidir le héinne a bheith daonna ann go hiomlán. Slí amháin nó slí eile, tá gach éinne a mhaireann sa saol nua-aimseartha seo tinn nó mí-oiriúnaithe.

David T. Dellinger (1915 -2004)

JÓ HILL

Do chonaic mise Jó aréir
Sé bhí lán de bhrí!
Ar mé, 'Ach Jó, nach marbh duit!!'
"Níor cailleadh mise riamh!
Níor cailleadh mise riamh!"

'In Salt Lake, Jó,' a deirim leis,
Is taobh lem leaba bhí,
'Do cuireadh dúnmharú id leith,'
Ar Jó, "Táim lán de bhrí!"
Ar Jó, "Táim lán de bhrí!"

'Do chniog lucht copair thú, a Jó,
Mharaíodar thú, mo léir!'
"Theastódh níos mó ná gunna muis!'
Ar Jó, "Níor cailleadh mé!"
Ar Jó, "Níor cailleadh mé!"

Is sheas ansin chomh beo bhí riamh
An gáire ina shúil:
"An rud ná rabhadar in ann a chloí
Do chuaigh ag eagrú
Do chuaigh ag eagrú."

"Níl Joe Hill marbh," ar seisean liom
"Tá Joe Hill beathach beo.
Má bhíonn lucht oibre amuigh ar stailc
Beidh Jó in aice leo.
Beidh Jó in aice leo.

Ó San Diego suas go Maine
Le hallas is le fuil
Má sheasann daoine lena gceart
Is ann a bheidh Jó Hill
Is ann a bheidh Jó Hill

Do chonaic mise Jó aréir
Sé bhí lán de bhrí!
Ar mé, 'Ach Jó, nach marbh duit!'
"Níor cailleadh mise riamh!
Níor cailleadh mise riamh!"

Ar an lá seo, 7 Nollaig, 1861, rugadh Han Ryner,

Ar an lá seo, 7 Nollaig, 1861, rugadh Han Ryner, údar Mion-Lámhleabhar an Indibhidiúlachais (Petite manuel individualiste. Páras, Librairie française, 1905).

Sliocht:

Cén fáth a bhfuil grá agat do Shócraitéas?

Níor theagasc sé fírinne a bhí lasmuigh dóibh siúd a d'éist leis, is amhlaidh a mhúin sé dóibh an fhírinne a aimsiú iontu féin.

Conas a cailleadh Sócraitéas?

Cailleadh é nuair a dhaor dlíthe agus breithiúna é; is í an chathair a d'fheallmharaigh é, mairtíreach an indibhidiúlachais.

Cad a cuireadh ina leith?

Gan onóir a thabhairt do na déithe agus truailliú na hóige.

Cad is brí leis an ábhar gearáin deireanach sin go díreach?

Ciallaíonn sé gur nocht Sócraitéas tuairimí nár thaitin leis an dream a bhí i gcumhacht.

Ar an lá seo, 6 Nollaig, 1961, cailleadh Frantz Fanon,

Ar an lá seo, 6 Nollaig, 1961, cailleadh Frantz Fanon, údar Wretched of the Earth.

"Is iontach an chumhacht a thugann máistreacht ar theanga duit."

Ar an lá seo, 5 Nollaig, 1830, rugadh Christina Rossetti.

Christina, lena deartháir Dante Gabriel

Comhraic Christina Rossetti Ionsaíonn aibhneacha an bhóchna Atá níos doimhne ná iad, Mar an gcéanna le m’anam, Ó, Dod sheilgse de shíor. Aibhneacha ag rith is ag osnaíl Ar a gcúrsa leo féin Mé ag osnaíl Liom féin. Osclaíonn an rós tláith Do théagar milis na gréine Á nochtadh féin Ó bhun go barr, Mar an gcéanna lem chroíse, Nochta go hiomlán Mise faoi do bhráid Go hiomlán. Análaíonn drúcht na maidine Faoin ngrian, saor, íon, Mar an gcéanna lem mheonsa Id dhiaidh: Rian ní fhágann drúcht Ar ghnúis an domhain. Níl mo riansa Ar do ghnúis.

Ar an lá seo 4 Nollaig: cailleadh Omar Khayyám

Titeann braoinín báistí san aigéan
de ghráinnín dusta déantar cuid den domhan
cad is brí le imeacht, teacht i réim?
cuileog a d'eitil tamall is nach bhfuil ann.

Ar an 4 Nollaig, 1131, cailleadh Omar Khayyám.

Ar an lá seo 3 Nollaig

Ar an lá seo, an 3 Nollaig, 1927, thaifid Blind Willie Johnson an t-amhrán Dark was the Night. Ní gnáth-amhrán é sa mhéid nach bhfuil focail á gcanadh aige. Aithris is ea é ar an bpraeitseálaí sa séipéal agus na fíréin á fhreagairt le héagaoineadh.

Margadh na Míol in Valparaíso

Gabriel Rosenstock

File, fear haiku, drámadóir, údar aistritheoir 170 leabhar, an chuid is mó acu sa Ghaeilge. Bíonn blag á scríobh aige chomh maith: roghaghabriel.blogspot.com/

Drámaí le Yeats, Frisch agus Beckett aistrithe aige chomh maith le rogha dánta le Francisco X. Alarcón, Seamus Heaney, Rabindranath Tagore, Günter Grass, W M Roggeman, Said, Zhang Ye, Michele Ranchetti, Michael Augustin, Peter Huchel, Georg Trakl, Georg Heym, Hansjörg Schertenleib, Hilde Domin, Johann P. Tammen, Munir Niazi, Ko Un, Günter Kunert, Iqbal, Michael Krüger, Kristiina Ehin, Nikola Madzirov, Agnar Artúvertin, Walter Helmut Fritz, K. Satchidanandan, Elke Schmitter, Hemant Divate, Dileep Jhaveri, Rati Saxena, Matthias Politycki agus Martin Walser. I measc na ngradam a bronnadh air tá an bonn Tamgha-I-Khidmat ó Rialtas na Pacastáine.

Poet, novelist, playwright, author/translator of 170 books, mostly in Irish. Taught haiku at the Schule für Dichtung (Poetry Academy), Vienna, and Hyderabad Literary Festival. Also writes for children, in prose and verse, and is the Irish-language translator with Walker Éireann. Represented in Best European Fiction 2012 (Dalkey Archive Press) and Haiku in English: The First Hundred Years (W. W. Norton & Co. 2013). Books Ireland, Summer 2012, says of his novel My Head is Missing:

‘This is a departure for Rosenstock but he is surefooted as he takes on the comic genre and writes a story full of engaging characters and a plot that keeps the reader turning the page.’

Forty years of poetic excellence, and a prodigious output, a breathtaking pageant of the poetic sublime! Gabriel Rosenstock is a force of fiery nature, sweeping across the world of dispossessed cultures, languages, and voices, of disfigured and forgotten histories and landscapes, bringing them alive in the embrace of his songs from the archetypal narratives, characters, and images to the smallest and the most subtle detail of everyday experience with spellbinding lyricism and charm. Here is indeed God’s plenty.

WAQAS KHWAJA

Rosenstock is so famously difficult to pin down, that one is slow to try to describe him at all. Indeed, this foxy elusiveness may be his defining feature.

POETRY INTERNATIONAL

Gabriel Rosenstock’s poetry is unique in the aesthetic resolution it achieves between the political and the metaphysical, the regional and the universal, the identification with the victims of injustice, neglect and exploitation and the celebration of Nature’s endless mystery: there are very few poets writing today who can equal him in his range of concerns, themes and forms as well as the simplicity that he achieves in the poetic expression of his integrated vision that is a mark of a rare meditative maturity.

K. SATCHIDANANDAN

I stíl, i ndearcadh, i gcur chuige tá sé neamhchosúil le héinne eile atá ag saothrú na teanga faoi láthair.

CATHAL Ó SEARCAIGH

The greatest living Irish lyric poet.

PETER VAN DE KAMP

Rosenstock’s poems have the stillness of paintings. They depict all the joy and sorrow that is this world of wonder.

MÍCHEÁL Ó hAODHA

Every national literature on this planet should be allowed one Rosenstock! Ba chóir Rosenstock amháin a bheith ag gach litríocht náisiúnta ar an bpláinéad seo!

SEÁN MAC MATHÚNA

His greatest gift to the Irish language poem is his stance as outsider.

LIAM Ó MUIRTHILE

Filíocht dhomhanda í filíocht Gabriel Rosenstock.
Gabriel Rosenstock’s poetry is world poetry.

ROBERT WELCH

Graifítí an Lae: Pyotr Kropotkin

Tá ár n-intinn chomh camtha sin ag an oideachas a fhaighimid go léir ón Stát, ar scoil agus ina dhiaidh sin, go dtéann nóisean féin na saoirse ar strae.

Pyotr Kropotkin (1824 - 1921)

2 Nollaig: Ar an lá seo, cailleadh Odetta Holmes

Ar an lá seo, 2 Nollaig, 2008, cailleadh Odetta Holmes i Nua-Eabhrac. Éist leis an leagan aici de Mr Tambourine Man de chuid Bhob Dylan. Tá a dhraíocht féin ag baint leis: 

Anois, can an leagan Gaeilge de! Athraigh siolla thall is abhus más maith leat. Ná bac cóipcheart! Is linne an teanga. Is linne an domhan!

'Fhir an Bhodhráin, hé!

CURFÁ:
 ’Fhir an bhodhráin, hé, can amhrán deas dúinn,
Mar níl néal orm is níl fonn orm bóthar a bhualadh.
’Fhir an bhodhráin, hé, can amhrán deas dúinn
Agus leanfad tríd an maidin thú go huaigneach.


Is tá impireacht na nóna ina gaineamh cheana féin
I bhfad i bhfad i gcéin
I mo staic anseo ach fós ní thagann néal,
Táim traochta agus alltacht orm, mo chos go daingean fúm
Ní thagann éinne chugam
Is tá an tsráid ró-lom ró-ársa lena samhlú

CURFÁ


Is tóg ar imram mé ar do long atá ar strae
Táim bodhar is táim dall, níl mothú i mo lámh,
Mo mhéara táid leathmharbh, is tá ana-fhonn imeachta
Ar mo bhróga.
Soir is siar is cuma liom, táim ullamh le dul as
Im pharáidse féin go pras, seol áthas chugam go fras
Is geallaim bheith i bpáirt leis


CURFÁ

Cé go gcloisfeá sceitimíní agus gaetha geala ón ngrian
Ná ceap go bhfuilim dian, ag éalú atáim ón bpian
Seachas spéir níl fál ar bith ar Éirinn.
Is má chloiseann tú burdúinín nó dáinín nó haiku
Fear grinn ’tá ann arú, is níl uaidh gan dabht ach scriú
(Dá bhodhrán an dtuigeann tú), b’fhéidir nach bhfuil ann ach
Saoi – nó ‘b’fhéidir éigsín

CURFÁ

Beir leat mé ag rámhaillí trí aigne an cheo
Go dtí na laethanta fadó, na duilleoga is iad ag reo,
Na crainn is iad ag feo, amach go Dún an Óir,
An brón ag dul thar fóir, ag dul le báiní.
Uch! Rincimis faoin spéir gheal ghorm, leathlámh ag sméideadh léi
Na tonnta móra glé, is an gaineamh lán de ghreann
Is gach cuimhne is gach dán ’mithe síos go tóin poill
Fág slán le gach aon lá go dtí amárach.

CURFÁ

Graifítí an Lae: Rosa Parks

Ba mhaith liom go gcuimhneofaí orm mar dhuine ar theastaigh uaithi a bheith saor.

Rosa Parks (1913 -2005)

Ar an lá seo, 1 Nollaig: Rugadh Julia Moore

Éireannaigh ab ea tuismitheoirí William McGonagall, an file ba mheasa a bhí riamh ann, más fíor. Ach maíonn na Meiriceánaigh go bhfuil éigsín acu féin a bhí chomh dona leis, agus an spéis chéanna aici i dtimpistí agus i mbásanna. Julia Moore ab ainm di a rugadh ar an gcéad lá de mhí na Nollag, 1847. Is ar an 5 Meitheamh 1920 a bhuail sí leis an Léirmheastóir mór sa spéir. N’fheadar ar de phór Éireannach í? Pé scéal é, McGonagall is Moore,  is dócha gur timpistí véarsaíochta an cur síos is fearr a dhéanfá ar a gcuid dánta. Sliocht as dán léi, Ashtabula Disaster, anseo thíos.

 

 

Ashtabula Disaster

Fonn: "Gently Down the Stream of Time"

Have you heard of the dreadful fate
Of Mr. P. P. Bliss and wife?
Of their death I will relate,
And also others lost their life;
Ashtabula Bridge disaster,
Where so many people died
Without a thought that destruction
Would plunge them 'neath the wheel of tide…

Agus mar sin de. Is breá liom é 'Mr P. P. Bliss and wife', go ndéana Dia grásta orthu. Ní fhéadfá é a chumadh, mar a deir siad!

Anois, cé hé an file Gaeilge is measa a bhí riamh ann? Tá a fhios agamsa ach nílim chun mo bhéal a oscailt!