Agnus Dei
Uan ag damhsa ar thaobh cnoic i gCill Mhantáin. An féar
ag éisteacht leis an méileach lag
ar an leoithne imníoch; an t-uan seo, agnus dei,
a anáil le feiscint
a chluasa beaga trédhearcach nach mór i ngile
Feabhra; an t-uan seo
nach eol dó gur gríscín a bheidh ann
gríscín a ghearrfar ón easna, ón luan, ón ngualainn
gríscín in ollmhargadh i measc míreanna eile gan áireamh
i sochaí seo caipitlíoch tomhaltachais an duine.
Cad seo? Ta téarmeolaí i mBleá Cliath tar éis burgar uaineola
a chur lenár mbunachar focal.
Uan ag damhsa ar thaobh cnoic i gCill Mhantáin:
Sibhse! Búistéirí, baincéirí, filí, sagairt,
nach saorfadh sibh an t-uan?
Thit Máthair na mBuamaí Uile ar an Afganastáin.
Agnus Dei
A lamb is sporting on a Wicklow hillside. The grass
listens keenly to its tender bleat carried
on a fretful breeze; this lamb, this agnus dei,
its breath visible;
little ears almost translucent in the brightness
of February; this lamb
does not know why it must become a chop
cut from the rib, the loin or shoulder
a chop in a supermarket among countless other items
in man’s consumer-capitalist society.
What’s this? A terminologist in Dublin has just now
added burgar uaineola – lamb-burger –
to our Irish-language word bank . . .
A lamb is sporting on a hillside in Wicklow:
butchers, bankers, poets, priests,
will you not free this lamb?
The Mother of All Bombs has fallen in Afghanistan.
