dissolving in the mouth of a Catholic,
and those first, high-flying birds of dawn
are only faintly visible, like an image developing.
Just off stage, the rooster someone keeps illegally
in the city crows its magnificent cry,
blessing, who knows, maybe the child
just conceived inside a woman's body.
Such tranquility—the neighbours haven't started fighting
yet, nor their loud hyena laughter.
It's peaceful as a golf course in Jerusalem,
remembering when it used to be a meadow.
And we still love each other, in a way that makes us
tolerant, alert, perhaps a little vain
but also, we are getting older.
Come over here, darling,
and put your hand on my head
and tell me if you think this is a tumor.
Tony Hoagland
Application for Release from the Dream
Graywolf Press
Aubade
An ghealach ag dul síos, saonta, mílítheach,
mar abhlann i mbéal Caitlicigh,
agus feictear ar éigean éanlaith ard
na camhaoire, ar nós íomhá á réalú.
Díreach ar chúl an stáitse, ligeann an coileach
atá ag fear cathrach éigin go mídhleathach a scairt iontach,
cá bhfios b’fhéidir leanbh nuaghinte
i gcolainn mná á bheannú aige.
An tséimhe sin – níor thosaigh scliúchas na gcomharsan
fós ná a ngáire ard ar nós hiéana.
Tá sé chomh ciúin le galfchúrsa in Iarúsailéim,
ag cuimhneamh ar an uair ba mhóinéar é.
Agus tá grá againn dá chéile, ar bhealach a chothaíonn
an chaoinfhulaingt, airdeallach, ábhairín lán dínn féin, seans,
Ach táimid ag dul in aois, leis.
Gabh i leith, a thaisce,
agus leag do lámh ar mo cheann
is abair an dóigh leat go bhfuil meall ann.
Aubade
The muin's drappin doon, ill-less an wan's a wafer
mizzlin i the mou o onie Catholic,
an thae furst, heich-fleein burds o daydaw
are anely fently gliskit, lik an eemage kythin.
Juist affstage, the rooster ma neebor hains wrangously -
it bein the ceetie - gies oot a byous skelloch,
sainin, whae kens, aiblins the bairn
inby the pregnant wife's boukit wame.
Sic caum - the neebors huvnae stertit fechtin
yit, nor thair lood hyena lauchter.
It's as lown as a gowf coorse in Jerusalem,
myndin whan it wis yince a meedie.
An we aye luve ilk ither, in a wey thit maks's
leeberal, gleg, aiblins a peerie saucie
bit we'r gettin aulder an aw.
Cum by me, hinny,
pit yer haun on ma heid
an tell me dae ye jalouse this tae be a tumour?
