2018-10-15

Joan Fontcuberta

Joan Fontcuberta
fulaingt na gcrann . . .
is eol dóibhsean leis
oíche dhuairc an anama
suffering of trees . . .
they too know the dark night
of the soul
πόνος των δέντρων . . .
τη σκοτεινή γνωρίζουν
νύχτα της ψυχής

Leagan Gréigise: Sarah Thilykou

2018-10-14

Dylan: Creidimse thú


Fiafraíonn siad i mo thaobh,
Grá fíor mo ghrá, nó saobh
An éireoidh liom teacht slán arú
Agus, breathnaíonn siad orm go tur
Agus an ruaig orm á cur
Ba mhaith leo mé a scor
Mar go gcreidimse thú

Siod é an bóthar romhat
Is ná tar ar ais níos mó!
Mar nílimse i mo bhall dá gcriú
Agus amach liom faoin ngréin
I bhfad i bhfad i gcéin
Ach nílimse liom fhéin
Mar go gcreidimse thú

Mar creidimse thú fiú i measc na ndeor is an gháire
Mar creidimse thú fiú má táimid beirt scartha
Mar creidimse thú fiú ar maidin lá arna mhárach
Ó, is an lá ag breacadh
Ó, is an dorchacht ag scaipeadh
Ó, mothaímse é i gcónaí im’ lár.

Ná lig dom dul ar fán
Fanfad leat go brách
Is beidh mé seasta síoraí úr
An méid a fuaireas uait le mo linn
An grá nár chosain aon phínn
Siollaí uait ag teacht go binn
Mar creidimse thú

Mar creidimse thú, an geimhreadh ina shamhradh
Mar creidimse thú, ’s an dubh ina gheal
Mar creidimse thú cé gur líonmhar iad mo naimhde
Ó, ag an domhan seo céasta
Ó, ag mo chairde tréigthe
Ó, níor leor sin chun é a chur ar ceal. 


Ná lig dom’ phort athrú
Coinnigh mé inniu
Ó chleasa a chuirfeadh mé amú
Ó is cuma liom faoin bpian
An bháisteach atá dian
Mar domsa ’s tú an ghrian
Mar go gcreidimse thú.

I Believe In You

 They ask me how I feel
 And if my love is real
 And how I know I’ll make it through
 And they, they look at me and frown
 They’d like to drive me from this town
 They don’t want me around
 ’Cause I believe in you

 They show me to the door
 They say don’t come back no more
 ’Cause I don’t be like they’d like me to
 And I walk out on my own
 A thousand miles from home
 But I don’t feel alone
 ’Cause I believe in you

 I believe in you even through the tears and the laughter
 I believe in you even though we be apart
 I believe in you even on the morning after
 Oh, when the dawn is nearing
 Oh, when the night is disappearing
 Oh, this feeling is still here in my heart

 Don’t let me drift too far
 Keep me where you are
 Where I will always be renewed
 And that which you’ve given me today
 Is worth more than I could pay
 And no matter what they say
 I believe in you

 I believe in you when winter turn to summer
 I believe in you when white turn to black
 I believe in you even though I be outnumbered
 Oh, though the earth may shake me
 Oh, though my friends forsake me
 Oh, even that couldn’t make me go back

 Don’t let me change my heart
 Keep me set apart
 From all the plans they do pursue
 And I, I don’t mind the pain
 Don’t mind the driving rain
 I know I will sustain
 ’Cause I believe in you   

2018-10-13

Roberto De Mitri

Roberto De Mitri
má ba phianmhar í mo bhreith
aon fhocal nó gníomh . . .
pardún, a mháithrín
if my birth pained you
or any word or deed ...
mother, forgive me
αν σε πόνεσε η γέννα
λόγος μου ή πράξη . . .
μαμά, συγγνώμη

Leagan Gréigise: Sarah Thilykou

2018-10-12

Chiyo-ni



corrán gealaí  . . .
gabhann an ciúnas
isteach sa chroí

Mισοφέγγαρο . . .
η ησυχία
εισέρχεται στην καρδιά

Sarah Thilykou a rinne an leagan Gréigise

2018-10-11

Briathra an Bhúda

Uttiṭṭhe! Nappamajjeyya!

Dhammaṃ sucaritaṃ care.
Dhammacārī sukhaṃ seti
asmiṃ loke paramhi ca.
 
 
Éist leis an mbun-Pháilis:
Éirigh! Ná bí ar nós cuma liom!
Caith do shaol i gceart.
An té a chaitheann a shaol i gceart
beidh sé sona sa saol seo agus sa saol atá le teacht.

2018-10-10

Graifítí an Lae

Éirí amach laistigh den tsochaí chun feabhas beag a chur uirthi, roinnt leasuithe
a chur i gcrích, tá sé sin ar nós éirí amach na bpríosúnach chun feabhas a chur ar an saol laistigh de bhallaí an phríosúin; ní réabhlóid atá ansin ach ceannairc. An léir duit an difríocht eatarthu? Is ionann éirí amach laistigh den tsochaí agus ceannairc na bpríosúnach a bhfuil bia níos fearr uathu agus a dteastaíonn uathu go gcaithfí níos fearr leo sa phríosún; ach an t-éirí amach a tharlaíonn de bharr tuisceana, sin duine ag imeacht ón tsochaí agus réabhlóid chruthaitheach is ea é sin.

J. Krishnamurti

2018-10-09

Gadhar ag Rith i nDiaidh Cairr


Dá mba ghrianghrafadóir a bhí ionat agus tú ag tiomáint timpeall, is dócha go stopfá an gluaisteán chun grianghraf a ghlacadh de radharc éigin a thaitin leat.

Bhí smaoineamh eile ag Simon Baker, smaoineamh le haghaidh taispeántais – agus leabhair. Thabharfadh sé triúr grianghrafadóirí le chéile, Joel Meyerowitz, Daido Moriyama agus John Divola agus an treoir a thabharfadh sé dóibh gan stopadh ach grianghraif a ghlacadh agus an carr ag gluaiseacht, fuinneog an chairr a bheith ina fráma ar an ngrianghraf, más maith leat.

Gadhar ag rith i ndiaidh cairr le Divola atá mar chlúdach an leabhair Pictures from Moving Cars (Adad Books, £30, 78 leathanach, bog). Níor cuireadh ach trí chéad cóip i gcló, iad go léir uimhrithe. Deirtear faoin gclúdach nach bhfuil seans ag an ngadhar breith ar an gcarr agus cén seans atá ag an ngrianghrafadóir breith ar an rud atá ann más ag scinneadh thairis atá an domhan.



Smaoineamh simplí atá laistiar den leabhar. Is minic gurb iad na smaointe simplí na smaointe is fearr ar fad. ‘Simpligh, simpligh,’ an mana a bhí ag Thoreau.

Ba bhreá liom leabhair den sórt seo a bheith againn i nGaeilge, leabhar atá ag smaoineamh ‘lasmuigh den bhosca’, leabhar is fiú breathnú tríd ó am go chéile, leabhar le cur le bailiúchán leabhar. Níl aon rud níos measa ná ‘tuilleadh den saghas céanna arís is arís eile’.

2018-10-08

Graifítí an Lae

Iarracht is ea an t-ainrialachas chun fáil réidh le gach saghas forlámhais. Cuimsíonn sé sin ní hamháin na foirmeacha follasacha ar nós an náisiúnstáit a bhaineann leas as foréigean agus fórsa an dlí ar bhonn rialta, agus an chorparáid lena neamhfhreagracht institiúidithe, ach foirmeacha inmheánaithe chomh maith, mar shampla patrarcacht, ciníochas, homafóibe. Anuas air sin, iarracht is ea an t-ainrialachas chun breathnú ar na gnéithe sin dár saol a nglactar leo, mar chuid den chruinne, féachaint an bhfuil forlámhas acusan, leis, orainn nó an éascaíonn siad an forlámhas atá againne ar dhaoine eile.

John Zerzan


2018-10-07

Graifítí an Lae

Fíor-éirí amach is ea éirí amach in aghaidh na teicneolaíochta agus na sibhialtachta, fíor-ionsaí ar luachanna an chórais.

Theodore Kaczynski

2018-10-06

Graifítí an Lae

An chéad dualgas ar dhuine ná smaoineamh dó féin.

José Martí

2018-09-29

Talking to a Wounded Swan

Dr Micheál Ó hAodha, University of Limerick, interviews the bilingual poet, Gabriel Rosenstock


Why are you a poet?
 
Why is a beetroot a beetroot, why is the Pope a Catholic, why is the Dalai Lama a Buddhist, why are you asking these questions? I am a poet because it was decided that I would be a poet - a long, long time ago, before this current incarnation. I had nothing to do with it. The notion of deciding to become a poet strikes me as ridiculous. You recognise you are a poet when you thrill to lines of poetry for the first time – even Mother Goose rhymes! You fly like a poet when you have a transcendent experience as a result of reading poetry:
    Can it be the sun descending o’er the level plain of water
    Or the Red Swan floating flying, wounded by the Magic Arrow . . .
Quoting from memory. That was one of my first flying lessons, aged 10, my instructor had the wonderful name of Longfellow.

If you were to give advice to an aspiring poet in Irish today, what would it be?
 
Mastering the grammar and getting inside the 'dúchas' or soul of the language is very important. You don't have to show off with a vocabulary that sends us scurrying to the dictionaries but do acquire a knowledge of those surviving dialects which still have speakers.

Read widely - go outside the Anglosphere and stay outside for as long as is possible. Brush up on your linguistic acumen by translating something everyday, in to or out of Irish. Never forget what Irish poets (and the populace in general) had to experience in the course of history ever since the poet Spenser advocated the crushing of the Gaelic spirit. I was recently reading about the poet Diarmuid na Bolgaí and the satire he wrote on a priest who was more concerned about buying a new pair of boots than tending to his starving parishioners. Diarmuid himself died of of starvation in 1846. Never forget those poets. Keep their memory alive though everyone around you might say 'Forget them!' Understand such texts as Decolonising the Mind:

Recently I watched a documentary series on the flamenco singer Camarón de la Isla (1950 -1992). The feeling, the emotion he was able to express. Incredible! Much of today’s poetry – in English – is emotionless. My advice to an aspiring poet, in any language, is burn, burn, burn, with passion and emotion. Stop being clever and feel, feel language, feel emotion, feel poetry, write poems with feeling.

Many of your poems can be read in a number of different ways or finish with a question? Why is this?
 
Poetry is not a science which gives us definitive answers ... poetry is really more like a question mark that can look in different directions, rather like a seahorse:
 


For someone not brought up as a native speaker of Irish one might have thought that poetry would be the most difficult (as opposed to prose, drama/tv, or song say) of all the literary forms to forge your writing career in. What attracted you to the poetic form more than any other? 

 
I have tried many genres but the one that comes closest to the condition of the seahorse is poetry, that floating question mark! - it's the male seahorse that bears the young. Did you know that? Poetry in all its forms, including tanka and haiku, and translation of course, is the way to celebrate that question mark. To expect an answer - such as a full stop or an exclamation mark - that would  be blasphemy. I'm glad I'm not writing much in my native language, English. Writing in a second language keeps you alert all the time - at least, that's my experience - and means that people such as Diarmuid na Bolgaí cannot slip from your radar.

Some people who have read your poems say that they are poems in search of some type of enlightenment or a state of “peace”. Would this be true to say?

Maybe the reader is searching for enlightenment. I don't know. My search (in that department) is over. Poetry has a life of its own, whether the poet is ‘enlightened’ or not. Perfecting ‘the life’ or ‘the work’ is an old dilemma; if you are lucky, they can go hand in hand. 
 
Does the poet have a role still in modern society?
 
    A policeman has a role, a baker has a role (even a bread roll), a poet does not have one easily definable role. He has a thousand roles but he doesn't call them that - he calls them poems.

Tell us a bit about the background to the poems in your collection Glengower?

The background is, give or take a decade or two, about five to ten thousand years. Where would you like to begin? Poems are drawn from convoluted strands and to trace each strand back forensically is not something that interests me at all. The Urgrund is for literary critics, philosophers and detectives. I celebrate it – the origin and background of poetry – but I don’t attempt to analyse the mystery.

Both Independence and Nochtadh na Deilbhe are interesting poems. Can you tell us something about how you came to write them?

I have no idea - thank God. I don't even know what you mean by 'interesting'. An article by your favourite newspaper columnist might be interesting, or a guest on George Galloway's TV chat show, Sputnik Orbiting the World, might be interesting, but poetry is not meant to be interesting: the more interesting it tries to be, the more it turns me off. 

 What inspires you to write poetry?
 
Inspiration.

How do you think you’ve evolved as a writer over the years?

Oh, I'm devolving. Only way to go!

This is probably a ridiculous question in a way but where do you see yourself going next literature-wise?

Devolving, of course. To be serious: a driver can take a left or a right turn, or pause at a crossroads. The poet in me is flying: there are no left and right turns, no pauses at crossroads, no decision as to take this road or the next. Poetry has its own rules, its own dynamic. Poetry – and language itself – will tell you where to go. Of the many strands of spiritual enquiry I have immersed myself in over the years, such as Zen and Advaita, the devotional path of bhakti is the one which helped me to realize that language itself can be considered as a goddess, a living goddess. I have no interest in Ireland – as in the Thomas Davis doggerel, ‘Ireland, my Sireland’. That Ireland doesn’t even exist for me. The name of the tripartite goddess who gave her name to this country, Éire/ Banba/ Fádla, this is the matriarchal entity whom Gaelic poets have adored all throughout history and through the long colonial period. She is in my book Year of the Goddess/ Bliain an Bhandé. She will advise me how best to proceed. (Though I have also read about a so-called patriarchal entity governing Ireland. Poets get what they need from history and tradition …)

You often define yourself as an anarchist. What do you mean by this – what is an anarchist?

I don’t like defining myself as anything but certainly Anarchism has a moral authority which is lacking in Neo-conservatism and the politics of the right in general. The most interesting Anarchists for me are those in the devolving or primitivist mould.  John Zerzan says, “I would say Anarchism is the attempt to eradicate all forms of domination.” This resonates with me. Do I want to have a rational argument with you so that we can determine why it resonates with me? No, because rational arguments have nothing to do with poetry. Poetry is inspiration. One of the words for inspiration in Irish is tinfidh. The root of the word is tine, fire. The late Francisco X. Alarcón, a Chicano poet, was a dear friend; I translated two of his books, one of which was Cuerpo en llamas, (Body in Flames). A collection of my haiku in Irish is called Géaga Trí Thine, meaning Limbs Aflame. I believe in the purifying flame of inspiration. Here’s a short poem in which there may be a fusion of Anarchist and Buddhist ideas:

 Bratacha Bána

Tá bratach Mheiriceá
ar an ngealach
iompaithe bán,
tuartha ag an ngrian.
Ní faic anois iad
na réaltaí, na stríoca,
brionglóid.
Lá breá gréine
beidh gach brat tréigthe

White Flags

The American flag
on the moon
has turned white,
bleached by the sun.
The stars and stripes
are nothing now,
a dream.
All flags will pale
some sunny day
So, I wouldn’t like to be defined as an Anarchist or a Buddhist. I’m defined (if at all) by hundreds of poems, hundreds of tanka and thousands of haiku and photo-haiku and what goes into each of these creations individually contributes to the totality of my identity – but even that’s not enough to define me or anybody else. We cannot be defined, or labelled or successfully explained – we are the Red Swan, floating, flying, wounded by the magic arrow. I cannot put that in my CV if I go job-searching, can I? Which simply means that the world is false: poetry is true.

Is Irish-language poetry a particularly good medium for an outsider or Anarchist such as yourself?

 It’s ideal, in many ways. Given that the Anglosphere holds the key to so many forms of cultural and political domination, yes, Irish-language poetry is an ideal vehicle for cultural anarchism, cultural resistance.

 Do you think poetry has a purpose? Or to put it another way – “What is good poetry for?” 

I totally reject the notion of 'purpose' and the entire vocabulary of 'usefulness'. It is a notion much treasured by WASPS and other abject materialists. I toss them all to the purifying flames, with every thought, with every word, with every poem.
A book of poems should be like a pleasurable meal. Enjoy it - take time to digest it. Leave the chef alone. Stop asking him where he gets his ingredients from. Trust him that they are organic and fresh.  This desperate need to break everything down is a disease of the mind –  the need to identify this spice or that herb, quantify the amount of condiments used, or the time it took to prepare the meal and so on.  Many literary academics peddle irrelevancies and thereby contribute to the widespread notion that poetry is irrelevant. So, you might ask, what should academics be doing? I can't speak for them, of course, but shouldn't they begin to question a bit more, ask hard questions of the institutions for which they work? Is poetry alive on the campus?  If not, is it being dissected in their laboratories? Has poetry fled the campus, howling? In University College Cork, many moons ago, I stood in the quadrangle selling our Irish-language poetry journal INNTI. I will never forget the looks I got from some of the staff in their flowing robes as they swanned past me, including a Professor of History who could barely look me in the eye. If poetry is the voice of freedom, as I believe it is, then those who teach it must themselves be imbued with a holy thirst for freedom. I find that this is rarely the case.
But since you are asking these questions, it would be impolite of me to wander off too much. Glengower (meaning 'Glen of Goats') is a pun on where I live, Glenageary (meaning 'Glen of Sheep', a place without a glen and without sheep, by the way). Goats and place names also feature in my English-language novel, My Head is Missing. We have accepted the anglicisation of our place names because as a postcolonial (or neo-colonial) society, we prefer the shame and the meaninglessness of it all to anything else. We are 'evolving', we think, and the last thing we want to do is to 'devolve'. The Glengower section of poems is a satire on aspects of Irish society and the narrow belief systems of  certain types of people in our society; it is but one section of the book, of course, but it also gives the book its title. One of the preliminary pages has the name Glengower painted over and all we can clearly read is the Irish name, Gleann na nGabhar. It's a piece of graffiti in a book - and why not?  It's a page that I like. I'm glad that the Onslaught Press agreed to include it.

Many people (even people who read Irish-language poetry in translation) say that poetry in Irish became overly-academic in the last few decades which isn’t surprising given that many of its writers were academics and scholars involved in the language movement. Would you agree that this turned some people off poetry in Irish given that this wasn’t always the case as regards the Gaelic poetic tradition?

 There's a high tradition and a low tradition, if you like; the bardic tradition, one of baroque ornamentation, and the simple songs of the people, not without their own sophistication, of course. The line between the two styles isn't always very clear. With the collapse of Gaelic society after the Flight of the Earls, poets lost their aristocratic patrons and had to find new champions among big farmers and landlords; thus there was a trickling down of the bardic poetry into the lore and verse  of the peasants and the language of poetry and song was enriched in this way. Modern twentieth-century poets such as L S Gógan and Piaras Béaslaí were steeped in the Gaelic tradition and there's a whiff of the archaic about their work. But the true father of modern poetry in Irish was none other than the 1916 martyr P. H. Pearse and he favoured speech rhythms and straightforward language, thankfully. I'm sure that Pearse would be in perfect agreement with the Dos and Donts of Ezra Pound, such as,     "Pay no attention to the criticism of men who have never themselves written a notable work . . . " 
    "Use no superfluous word, no adjective which does not reveal something "
    "Don’t use such an expression as “dim lands of peace.” It dulls the image. It mixes an abstraction with the concrete. It comes from the writer’s not realizing that the natural object is always the adequate symbol."
    "Go in fear of abstractions." Makes sense to me.   

Many people (often privately) argue that much present-day Irish-language poetry is firmly rooted in the English-language or Anglophone poetry tradition and has little in common with Gaelic culture or the tradition from which it has allegedly emerged? Are the younger generation of Irish-language poets that you know "well-versed" (pardon the pun) in the tradition which they are writing in?

Again, I must return to Ezra Pound who said that poets should be widely read, in their own tradition and in other literatures. Pound says, 
    "Let the candidate fill his mind with the finest cadences he can discover,     preferably in a foreign language [This is for rhythm, his vocabulary must     of course be found in his native tongue], so that the meaning of the     words may be less likely to divert his attention from the movement; e.g.     Saxon charms, Hebridean Folk Songs . . ." 

 I try as much as possible to read outside of the Anglosphere, though I am grateful to English as a bridge-language which allows me access to so much work in translation. It's none of my business what other poets are up to or what they read or don't read. Amid all the doom and gloom about the future of poetry, a recent survey showed that 12% of the adult population of the USA (28 million) had read poetry in the past year. There may not have been many lovingly thumbed first editions bought by this mass of readers, but that's another matter, and we won't go into the question of social media – the good, the bad and the ugly. I'm a technical dodo: someone else manages my blog (Aonghus Ó hAlmhain), and the ekphrastic tanka and haiku on Pinterest (Derek Ball) and I'm ever so grateful for their assistance in these matters. I wouldn’t have been able to publish the bilingual volume of ekphrastic haiku Stillness of Crows without the technical assistance of Eoin McEvoy.

We know that in Gaelic tradition, similar to many other literary traditions – poetry was meant to be read aloud often as accompanied by music. One always gets the impression that sound and reading your poems aloud is a critical part of your work? Is this a very conscious part of your literary style, would you say?
   
If the voice is not there, the breath is not there; if the breath is not there, inspiration is not there; if inspiration is not there, the gods (or the Muse) are withholding their influence; if the gods (or the Muse) are withholding their influence, their divine music cannot be heard, so, if you haven’t got it [the voice] try something else, do something useful, become a veterinarian or apply for a job with Wikileaks.

Many of your poems have a subtle but very obvious humour in them that seems to have been ignored for the most part by many literary critics? Where does this come from and would why has it been ignored? 

Homo Ludens! Does anybody refer to that book anymore? The author makes a connection between play and poetry: 
    "Poiesis, in fact, is a play-function. It proceeds within the play-ground of the mind, in a world of its own which the mind creates for it. There things have a different physiognomy from the one they wear in ‘ordinary life’, and are bound by ties other than those of logic and causality."  

I have recently translated over 80 Mother Goose rhymes into Irish. Such anarchic fun, such an exposition of 'the play-ground of the mind'!  I'd like to see some of them as murals, not just in a crèche, but in all those grey car parks bestrewn across the land.  Now, if you will excuse me, it’s time for my Laughter Yoga.




2018-09-28

My Species -- Jane Hirshfield (Redux)

Mo Speiceas-Sa


an bliosán beag corcra
fiú
a bheirítear
ina chuid uiscí féin
goirt
ag dorchú
éiríonn bog,
milis is mín
foighne, a speicis liom,
ar mé i m’aignese
leanaíg’ oraibh ag tástáil na nduilleog spíonach
an croí spíonach

Jane Hirshfield

 

My Species

even
a small purple artichoke
boiled
in its own bittered
and darkening
waters
grows tender,
grows tender and sweet
patience, I think,
my species
keep testing the spiny leaves
the spiny heart

~ Jane Hirshfield ~

(The Beauty)

2018-09-27

Briathra an Bhúda


Kodhaṃ chetvā sukhaṃ seti,
kodhaṃ chetvā na socati.
Kodhassa visamūlassa
madhuraggassa brāhmaṇa;
vadhaṃ ariyā pasaṃsanti
tañhi chetvā na socatī.

Éist leis an mBun-Pháilis:
  http://host.pariyatti.org/dwob/samyutta_nikaya_1_187.mp3
 


Cloígh an fhearg is beidh tú sona,
cloígh an fhearg is ní bheidh tú buartha.
Nuair a chloítear an fhearg - gach saghas feirge -
lena fréamh nimhe is a cealg mhilis -
sin é an marú a mholann na saoithe go léir.
Cloígh an fhearg is ní chaoinfidh tú níos mó.

2018-09-26

Ryokan

(Íomhá: Sekka Kamisaka)
faighim dóthain duilleog tite
ón ngaoth
chun tine a dhéanamh

Ryokan Taigu


2018-09-25

Santoka

(íomhá: tar éis di a cuid gruaige a ní, Shinsui Ito)
spéir fhómhair
néalta ar snámh...
tús an uaignis


autumn sky ー
floating clouds . . .
beginning of loneliness

Santoka

ουρανός φθινοπώρου -
νέφη αιωρούνται...
αρχή μοναξιάς

Leagan Gréigise: Sarah Thilykou

2018-09-24

Easaontú

Agus mé im’ gharsún
Chuireas i gcoinne na scoile
Agus anois
Cuirim i gcoinne na fostaíochta.

Na nithe is mó is gráin liom
Ná maoin agus sláinteachas.
Níl aon rud níos mídhaonna
Ná glaineacht is bheith umhal don dlí.
Ní nach ionadh, táim glan in aghaidh Spiorad an Náisiúin.
Cuireann Dualgas agus Feidhm Shóisialta múisc orm.
Táim in aghaidh gach rialtais gach áit
Agus bagraím mo bhod bréan
In aghaidh chairtéal bogásach
Na Scríbhneoirí a bhfuil Glacadh Leo.

Nuair a fhiafraítear díom cén aidhm atá agam sa saol
Sé deirimse ná: Easaontú.
Siar a théimse
Agus m’aghaidh soir.

Dúnaimse mo chóta is mo bhróga an bealach contráilte.
Caithimse mo threabhsar droim ar ais
Agus is mar sin leis ar muin capaill dom

Is breá liom an ní a bhfuil gráin ag cách air.
An rud is mó is fuath liom ná
Comhréiteach, comhaontacht, tuairim na coitiantachta.

Mar sin creidim gurb é an t-aon rud atá breá ar fad sa saol seo
Ná easaontú.
Cur i gcoinne is ea a bheith beo i gCEART.
Cur i gcoinne is ea teagmháil dhomhain a dhéanamh
Leis an spiorad istigh ionainn.

Kaneko Mitsuharo (1895-1975)

OPPOSITION

When I was young
I resisted school,
and now
I resist employment.

What I most hate
are property and hygiene.
There's nothing so inhuman
as law-abiding cleanliness.

Naturally, I contradict The Spirit of our Nation.
Duty and Social Function make me vomit.
I'm against all governments everywhere
and wave my smelly cock
at the cosy cartels of
Accepted Writers.

When I'm asked what my Purpose In Life is,
I answer: To oppose.
When I'm facing Eastwards
I go Westward.

I do up my coat and shoes the wrong way round.
I wear my trousers back to front,
and likewise ride a horse.

What everyone else hates I like.
My greatest hate of all is
consensus, unanimity, received opinion.

So I believe that to oppose
is the only splendid thing in life.
To oppose is REALLY to live.
To oppose is to connect deeply
with the spirit within.

Kaneko Mitsuharo (1895-1975)

(translated by Anthony Weir)


2018-09-23

Graifítí an Lae

William Morris
Cuimhníonn an stair ar ríthe is ar laochra, scriostóirí; cuimhníonn an ealaín ar dhaoine, cruthaitheoirí.

2018-09-22

Véarsaí fánacha de chuid Sappho

Sappho le Guerin

Sappho, blúire 47 (Lobel-Page 47 / Voigt 47 / Diehl 50 / Bergk 42 / Cox 40)

creachta atáim ag an ngrá;
sléibhte sceirdiúla á léasadh ag gaotha fiáine,
daracha á leagan

Sappho, blúire 58

cloíte
atáim
ag
pian
go
dtí
an
deoir
dheireanach

Sappho, blúire 52 (Voigt 168B / Diehl 94 / Cox 48)

is fada an ghealach ina luí;
an Tréidín imithe;
tá leath na hoíche caite,
is fós táim im’ shuí – liom féin
 

Sappho, blúire 35 (Lobel-Page 52 / 47D/ Cox 35)

lem' dhá láimhín
conas a smaoineoinn ar an spéir a thimpeallú?

SAPPHO

(ó Bhéarla Michael R.Burch)

2018-09-21

Haiku le Issa ón mbliain 1821

Sa bhliain 1821
  • Rugadh an file Herman Allmers:
  • Rugadh Lola Montez, damhsóir Gael-Spáinneach
  • Rugadh Charles Baudelaire, file Francach
  • Rugadh Fyodor Dostoyevsky, scríbhneoir Rúiseach
  • Cailleadh Carlo Porta, file a scríobh i gcanúint Milano
  • Cailleadh John Keats, file Sasanach
  • Rugadh ‘Esperanza’, máthair Oscar Wilde
  • Cailleadh William Neilson, scoláire Gaeilge
  • Rugadh John O’Hanlon, staraí, file
  • Rugadh Thaddeus O’ Mahoney, scoláire
Agus sa bhliain 1821, chum Issa an haiku seo:

nach ceansa!
gáir chúplála
an fhia shléibhe


.しほらしやおく山鹿も色好み

shiorashi ya oku yama shika mo irogonomi

2018-09-20

Swami Sivananda

Streachailt is brí leis an saol. Ag Dia amháin atá a fhios an éireoidh linn nó an dteipfidh orainn. Mar sin, ceiliúraimis an streachailt.

Swami Sivananda

2018-09-19

Briathra an Bhúda


Tú féin an cosantóir atá agat,
tú féin an tearmann atá agat.
Mar sin is ceart smacht a bheith agat ort féin
mar a shrianaíonn an ceannaí each uasal.

Attā hi attano nātho,
attā hi attano gati.
Tasmā saṃyamamattānaṃ
assaṃ bhadraṃva vāṇijo.

Éist leis an mbun-Pháilis:
http://host.pariyatti.org/dwob/dhammapada_25_380.mp3

2018-09-18

Todd Hido

Todd Hido
geimhreadh . . .
ní thuirlingíonn préachán ar bith
ar an gcrann lom seo
winter . . .
no crow alights
on this bare tree
χειμώνας είναι . . .
κοράκι δεν ζυγώνει
στο γυμνό δέντρο

Leagan Gréigise: Sarah Thilykou

2018-09-17

Ikkyu

gan deireadh
saolaítear ár n-aigne
agus éagann;
folús an fholúis

2018-09-16

Sri Ramana Maharshi


 Ní hé an saol lasmuigh dhíot is cúis le do chrá,
                                      ionatsa atá sé - mar ego.
Dá ndiúltófá don ego - gan aird ar bith a thabhairt air, is é a bharrdhó,
                                    bheifeá saor.
Má ghlacann tú leis, cuirfidh sé teorainneacha leat
agus beidh tú ag streachailt go deo
ag iarraidh na teorainneacha sin
                                    a shárú.

2018-09-15

An Ghealach

An Ghealach

(do Maria Kodama)

Uaigneas ag cur thar maoil san ór sin.
Gealach na n-oícheanta seo ní hí an ghealach
a chonaic an chéad Ádhamh í. Bigil an duine
i gcaitheamh na gcéadta fada a líon í
le caoineadh ársa. Féach. Sí do scáthánsa í.
 
 

 Jorge Luis Borges

La Luna

A María Kodama


Hay tanta soledad en ese oro.
La luna de las noches no es la luna
que vio el primer Adán. Los largos siglos
de la vigilia humana la han colmado
de antiguo llanto. Mírala. Es tu espejo. 

 Jorge Luis Borges

The Moon


There is such solitude in that gold.
The moon of these nights is not the moon
The first Adam saw. Long centuries
Of human vigil have filled her with
An old lament. See. She is your mirror.

 Jorge Luis Borges

2018-09-14

Na Naimhde

Thugadar a gcuid raidhfilí leo anseo
lán de phúdar gunna, d'ordaíodar sléacht gan taise,
fuaireadar pobal rompu agus amhráin acu á rá,
pobal ar aontaigh an dualgas agus an grá iad,
is thit an gearrchaile caol a d'iompair an bhratach
agus ógánach gonta lena taobh, aoibh an gháire air
is bhí alltacht ar an bpobal is ghabh arraing tríothu
ar fheiceáil threascairt na marbh dóibh.

Ansin, san áit sin
nuair a thiteadar ina bpleist, marbh,
íslíodh na bratacha le go bhfliuchfaí le fuil iad
is ardaíodh arís iad os comhair na bhfeallmharfóirí.
Éilimse pionós
in ainm na marbh sin, na mairbh seo againne.

Éilímse go gcuirfí pionós
orthu siúd a dhoirt fuil ar ár bhfód dúchais,
Éilímse go gcuirfí pionós
ar an mbásadóir a d'ordaigh an bás seo,
Éilímse go gcuirfí pionós
ar an bhfealltóir a fuair ardú céime de dheasca na coire sin

An té a d'ordaigh an céasadh seo
éilímse go gcuirfí pionós air.
Iad siúd a chosain an choir
éilimse go gcuirfí pionós orthu.

Ní mian liom go sínfí lámh chugam
lámh atá dearg le fuil ár muintire.
Pionós a éilím.

Ní mian liom iad a bheith ina n-ambasadóirí againn
ná a bheith ina suí go sámh sa bhaile,
is mian liom go ndéanfaí breithiúnas orthu,
sa chearnóg seo, san áit seo.
Pionós atá uaim.

Pablo Neruda

[Irish-language version: Gabriel Rosenstock]

   

Los Enemigos


Ellos aquí trajeron los fusiles repletos
de pólvora, ellos mandaron el acerbo exterminio,
ellos aquí encontraron un pueblo que cantaba,
un pueblo por deber y por amor reunido,
y la delgada niña cayó con su bandera,
y el joven sonriente rodó a su lado herido,
y el estupor del pueblo vio caer a los muertos
con furia y con dolor.

Entonces, en el sitio
Donde cayeron asesinados,
Bajaron las banderas a empaparse de sangre
Para alzarse de nuevo frente a los asesinos.
Por estos muertos, nuestros muertos
Pido castigo.

Para los que de sangre salpicaron la patria,
Pido castigo.
Para el verdugo que mandó esta muerte,
Pido castigo,
Para el traidor que ascendió sobre el crimen
Pido castigo.

Para el que dio la orden de agonía,
Pido castigo.
Para los que defendieron este crimen,
Pido castigo.

No quiero que me den la mano
Empapada con nuestra sangre.
Pido castigo.

No los quiero de embajadores,
Tampoco en su casa tranquilos,
Los quiero ver juzgados,
En esta plaza, en este sitio.
Quiero castigo.

Pablo Neruda

2018-08-24

2006

Is iomaí leabhar
is iomaí duanaire
a foilsíodh sa bhliain 2006
agus a cuireadh ar sheastán
an aonaigh leabhar.
Tugaim spléachadh ar chuid acu,
agus ar gach leathanach
ó leathanach 11
go leathanach 30
go leathanach 80,
go leathanach 308,
níl ach aon abairt
amháin:
tá máithreacha agus leanaí
ag lorg bia in Gaza
i measc an bhruscair go léir.

Aharon Shabtai (Iosrael)

2018-08-23

Haiku le Bashō

scairt an phiasúin!

cumha orm
i ndiaidh mo thuismitheoirí

Deir Robert Aitken faoin haiku seo:

“The day labourer and the royal princess bow to their parents before breakfast and light incense in front of their pictures after they are gone. Pheasants will do a diversionary dance to ward off a predator endangering their young, and they symbolise parents in Japanese culture  . . .”

2018-08-22

Haiku le Issa ón mbliain 1803


Sa bhliain 1803

  • Rugadh an file Rúiseach Nikolay Yazykov
  • Rugadh Ralph Waldo Emerson, scríbhneoir Meiriceánach
  • Rugadh Jan Erazim Vocel, file Seiceach
  • Rugadh Prosper Mérimée, scríbhneoir Francach
  • Rugadh Fyodor Tyutchev, file Rúiseach
  • Rugadh Hector Berlioz, cumadóir Francach
  • Rugadh William Smith O'Brien, polaiteoir
  • Cailleadh Arthur Guinness
  • Cailleadh Friedrich Gottlieb Klopstock, file Gearmánach
  • Cailleadh James Napper Tandy, Poblachtach
  • Cailleadh Robert Emmet, Poblachtach
  • Cailleadh Liam Dall Ó hIfearnáin, file:


     "I ngleannta seimh' na héigse 'bhím . . ."


Agus sa bhliain 1803 chum Issa an haiku seo:

d'imíodar go léir
ina nduine is ina nduine . . .
gaoth an fhómhair

.一人づつ皆去にけり秋の風

hitori-zutsu mina sari ni keri aki no kaze

2018-08-21

Ar Uairibh Mothaím i mo Dhílleachta

Ar Uairibh Mothaím i mo Dhílleachta

(Amhrán Spioradálta de Chuid na nDaoine Gorma)


Ar uairibh mothaím i mo dhílleachta
Ar uairibh mothaím i mo dhílleachta
Ar uairibh mothaím i mo dhílleachta
I bhfad ‘bhfad ar shiúl, i bhfad ‘bhfad ar shiúl

Ar uairibh mothaím go bhfuil deireadh liom
Ar uairibh mothaím go bhfuil deireadh liom
Ar uairibh mothaím go bhfuil deireadh liom
Is i bhfad ‘bhfad ar shiúl, i bhfad ‘bhfad ar shiúl
Fíor-chreidmheach
Fíor-chreidmheach
I bhfad ’bhfad ’bhfad ar shiúl, i ’bhfad ’bhfad ar shiúl.


Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child

(Negro Spiritual)


Sometimes I feel like a motherless child
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child
A long way from home, a long way from home

Sometimes I feel like I'm almost done
Sometimes I feel like I'm almost done
Sometimes I feel like I'm almost done
And a long, long way from home, a long way from home

True believer
True believer
A long, long way from home
A long, long way from home

2018-08-20

Samhlaigh


Samhlaigh gan aon neamh ann

Lámhscríbhinn Imagine de chuid John Lennon

Ní deacair é ‘shamhlú
Gan ifreann thíos fúinn
Gan ach spéir os ár gcionn
Samhlaigh gach aon duine
Beo ó lá go lá

Samhlaigh gan aon tíortha ann
Is féidir é ‘shamhlú
Gan reiligiún ar bith ann
Is gan éinne le marú
Samhlaigh gach aon duine
Faoi shuaimhneas is faoi shó

Aislingeach mé id’ thuairim
Ach ní eisceacht mé ar ndóigh
Táim ag tnúth led’ chomhluadar
Is ní bheidh cogadh ann níos mó

Samhlaigh gan aon mhaoin ann
An féidir é ‘shamhlú
Gan saint ar bith ná ocras
An bráithreachas go dlúth
Samhlaigh gach aon duine
’Seasamh taobh le taobh

Aislingeach mé id’ thuairim
Ach ní eisceacht mé ar ndóigh
Táim ag tnúth led’ chomhluadar
Is ní bheidh cogadh ann níos mó

2018-08-19

Nach é an trua é




Nach é an trua é
Cúis náire chugainn ó Dhia
Mar a bhrisimid ár gcroí
An uile dhuine i bpian
Mar a sciobaimid an grá
Is gan smaoineamh air níos mó
Gan smaoineamh ar aisíoc
Nach é an trua é

Mall a bhíonn cúrsaí
Is deacair é a rá
Mar nach bhfuil mórán daoine
'Tá aontaithe sa ghrá
Is mar gheall ar a gcuid deor
Ní fheicfidh siad níos mó
An áilleacht ina dtimpeall
Nach é an trua é

Nach é an trua é
Cúis náire chugainn ó Dhia
Mar a bhrisimid ár gcroí
An uile dhuine i bpian
Mar a sciobaimid an grá
Is gan smaoineamh air níos mó
Gan smaoineamh ar aisíoc
Nach é an trua é

Gan smaoineamh ar aisíoc
Nach é an trua é
Gan smaoineamh ar aisíoc
Ó, nach é an trua é

Mór an trua
Mór an trua, trua, trua . . .

2018-08-18

Briathra an Bhúda

 Yogā ve jāyatī bhūri,
ayogā bhūrisaṅkhayo.
Etaṃ dvedhāpathaṃ ñatvā bhavāya vibhavāya ca,
tathāttānaṃ niveseyya yathā bhūri pavaḍḍhati.

Éíst leis an mBun-Pháilis anseo:
 http://host.pariyatti.org/dwob/dhammapada_20_282.mp3
 

Eascraíonn gaois as machnamh;
in éagmais an mhachnaimh, éagann an ghaois.
Nuair is eol duit conair an dul chun cinn is conair an dul ar gcúl,
iompair thú fhéin ar shlí nach baol don ghaois.

2018-08-17

LEANAÍG’ AR AGHAIDH

Tá fear liomsa ar an mbóthar
Is tá guth ionam ag comhrá
Sea tá guth ionam ag áiteamh
Leanaíg’ ar aghaidh, leanaig’ ar aghaidh

Tá siad lán de scéalta folmha
Baineann madraí plaic as colainn
Cuirfear sinn faoi ghlas i bpríosún
Leanaíg’ ar aghaidh, leanaíg’ ar aghaidh

Nuair nach féidir bogadh a thuilleadh
Beir ar lámh ar do dheartháir
Leagtar caisleáin ‘ndiaidh a chéile
Leanaíg’ ar aghaidh, leanaíg’ ar aghaidh
Leanaíg’ ar aghaidh, leanaíg’ ar aghaidh
 

CARRY IT ON

There's a man by my side walking
There's a voice within me talking
There's a voice within me saying

Carry it on, Carry it on

They will tell their empty stories
Send their dogs to bite our bodies
They will lock us up in prison

Carry it on, Carry it on

When you can't go on any longer
Take the hand of your brother
Every victory brings another

Carry it on, Carry it on
Carry it on, Carry it on.

2018-08-16

TÁ AN SAOL IMITHE LEIS

Tá an saol imithe leis
Tá na gaotha imithe leo
Tá tusa is mise imithe linn
Sé bláth na hóige é an dóchas
Deirfiúr an tosta í an chuimhne
Arraing na fírinne – deora
Is páistí mar chór na réaltaí
Peitil ina n-ainm cois leapa
Is an bhrionglóid mar mhonabhar ón rós inné

Tá an saol imithe leis
Tá na gaotha imithe leo
Tá tusa is mise imithe linn
An eagla mar mhasc ar an réasún
Is bréag í an tsaoirse gan onóir
Síocháin mar lasair againn ’nár lámh’
An duine mar dhuilleog na sailí
An grá mar chogar na gaoithe
Is na gairdíní ’roinntear, nílid leo féin

Tá an saol imithe leis
Tá na gaotha imithe leo
Tá tusa is mise imithe linn
Tá an saol imithe leis
Tá na gaotha imithe leo
Tá tusa is mise imithe linn

2018-08-15

ATHRÚ ANN


Athrú ann, athrú ann
Nithe daingne – ní daingean atáid
Seo an t-am, seo an t-am
A tugadh dúinn le bheith beo

Cnuasaigh is tiocfaidh lá
Fan i dtiúin leis an bplean ’tá ag grá

Fírinne ann, fírinne ann
An rud nach bhfuil fíor bhuel ní hann dó
Casadh thart is timpeall
Rinc le haghaidh lá nach mbeidh eagla ann

Cnuasaigh is tiocfaidh lá
Fan i dtiúin leis an bplean ’tá ag grá

Athrú ann, athrú ann
Nithe daingne – ní daingean atáid
Casadh thart is timpeall
Rinc le haghaidh lá nach mbeidh eagla ann

Níl eagla ann
Níl eagla ann.

2018-08-14

CAOINEADH AN DAOIR


Ó ba thall sa tSeineagáil, is gan saoirse agam le fáil
Mé ruaigthe go Virginia,-ginia, Ó.
An Afraic Thiar mo bhrón, críoch nach bhfeicfidh mé níos mó
Uch monuar! Tá mé creachta, creachta Ó.

Is ar a cósta mín, sioc ná sneachta bán ní bhíonn,
Gach abhainn ag rith de shíor, blátha gleoite ann ar m’fhíor!
Uch monuar! Tá mé creachta, creachta Ó.

Gach ualach orm, gach tasc, is is eagal dom an lasc
I gcríochaibh seo Virginia,-ginia, Ó
Gan aon chara agam sa chúirt, is níl faic im’ shaol ach buairt
Uch monuar! Tá mé creachta, creachta Ó.

THE SLAVE’S LAMENT

It was in sweet Senegal that my foes did me enthral,
For the lands of Virginia,-ginia, O.
Torn from that lovely shore, I must never see it more;
And alas! I am weary, weary O.

All on that charming coast is no bitter snow and frost,
Like the lands of Virginia,-ginia, O:
Their streams for ever flow, and their flowers for ever blow,
And alas! I am weary, weary O.

The burden I must bear, while the cruel scourge I fear,
In the lands of Virginia,-ginia, O;
And I think on friends most dear, with the bitter, bitter tear,
And alas! I am weary, weary O.

Robert Burns

2018-08-13

FAN AMACH ÓN UISCE


Fan amach ón uisce
Brónach é mar scéal
Cad a tharla don uisce
Tá an t-uisce bréan

Aigéan, abhainn, loch, sruthán
Ag daoine loite ‘tá
An nimh ag imeacht léi le sruth
Is tá an domhan á bhá
Fan amach ón uisce
Fan amach ón uisce

Slaod fiacla is gallúnach, aigéin ag cur thar maoil
Cad tá le déanamh chun nach méadófaí ar an mbaol
Ionamsa a thús
Ionatsa a thús

Fan amach ón uisce
Ná déan aon dochar dó
Bí cineálta le huisce
Is ná truailligh é níos mó

2018-08-12

Raffael de Gruttola








gaoth
  báisteach 
 agus amárach 
 gaoth   
báisteach

2018-08-11

The Little White Rose / An Róisín Bán

The Little White Rose

 (To John Gawsworth)

The rose of all the world is not for me.
I want for my part
Only the little white rose of Scotland
That smells sharp and sweet —
            and breaks the heart.

Hugh MacDiarmid 

An Róisín Bán

Rós na cruinne go léir ní domsa é
Níl uaimse i ndáiríre
Ach róisín bán na hAlban
Is géar agus is cumhra é –
            is briseann sé an croí.
 
  

Ròsan

Chan eil mi 'g iarraidh ròsan an t-saoghail-mhòir.
Chan eil mi 'g iarraidh air mo chuid fhèin dheth
Ach Ròsan Bàn na h-Alba le fàileadh cùbhraidh 's geur
A sgàineas cridhe na dhà leth.

Rody Gorman a chuir Gaeilge na hAlban air.


Die kleine, weiße Rose

Die Allerweltsrose ist nichts für mich
Ich für meinen Teil will
Nur die kleine, weiße Rose aus Schottland,
Die stark und süß riecht –
                    und das Herz bricht.


 Jürgen Schneider a chuir Gearmáinis air

2018-08-09

Maidin/ Morgen

File: John Henry Mackay
Cumadóir: Richard Strauss

MAIDIN

Is beidh an ghrian ag taitneamh ’rís amárach
Is ar an mbealach, ar a mbeidh mo shiúlsa
Beimid lánaontaithe má bhíonn an t-ádh linn
Is timpeall orainn beidh an domhan ag análú . . .
Is chun na trá is chun na dtonnta gorma
Beimid ag triall, faoi thost linn síos faoi shuaimhneas
Gan siolla uainn ag stánadh ar a chéile
Is beidh brat sona subhach séimh orainn anuas

MORGEN

Und morgen wird die Sonne wieder scheinen
und auf dem Wege, den ich gehen werde,
wird uns, die Glücklichen sie wieder einen
inmitten dieser sonnenatmenden Erde...
und zu dem Strand, dem weiten, wogenblauen,
werden wir still und langsam niedersteigen,
stumm werden wir uns in die Augen schauen,
und auf uns sinkt des Glückes stummes Schweigen...

2018-08-08

Albain

Albain


Theastódh grá buan daingean chun léamh domhain
A dhéanamh ar leagan amach tíre,
Teacht ar thuiscint de réir a chéile ar scáthú fíneáilte,
An bhrí mhór laistiar de shiombailí leochaileacha,
Guth an chine a labhrann go bog a chlos fá dheoidh,
Cumraíocht is cuair ar chliathán deilbhe a fheiscint
Greanta i marmar na dúiche trí chéile,
Bí i d’Earrach, mar a bheadh lámh i bhfuinneog ann
Seanrudaí is rudaí Nua a bhogadh go cúramach thall is abhus,
Bog cuid de bhláth anseo
Leag orlach den aer ansiúd,
Is gan aon ní a bhriseadh.
Is mar sin a chnuasaíos chugam féin
Bloghanna uile na hAlban,
Agus trína n-ainmniú agus glacadh leo,
Gean a thabhairt dóibh agus mé féin a chomhshamhlú leo,
Thugas faoin iomlán a chur in iúl.
 

 Scotland


It requires great love of it deeply to read
The configuration of a land,
Gradually grow conscious of fine shadings,
Of great meanings in slight symbols,
Hear at last the great voice that speaks softly,
See the swell and fall upon the flank
Of a statue carved out in a whole country’s marble,
Be like Spring, like a hand in a window
Moving New and Old things carefully to and fro,
Moving a fraction of flower here,
Placing an inch of air there,
And without breaking anything.
So I have gathered unto myself
All the loose ends of Scotland,
And by naming them and accepting them,
Loving them and identifying myself with them,
Attempt to express the whole.
 

Hugh MacDiarmid

2018-08-07

SUANTRAÍ DO NA MAIRBH



SUANTRAÍ DO NA MAIRBH

Mar an ngrian, ar maidin múchta
Is an ré sa tsáil’ á bá
Nó, a ghrá le scaipeadh an drúchta
Tá tusa imithe uaim go brách!

Cloisim fós é ceol mór na píbe
Ar an ngaoth ón trá thall
Ach ní chloiseann tú mé ag caoineadh
Ní fheicfidh mé do ghnúis ar ball!

I do chodladh, i do chodladh
Ó táim gan suan is gan aon sólás,
Táim ag caoineadh, táim a chograch
Is leag do cheann ar m’ucht go sámh.

I do chodladh, i do chodladh
Ó táim gan suan is gan aon sólás,
Táim ag caoineadh, táim a chograch
Is leag do cheann ar m’ucht go sámh.

Seoithín seó  . . .

LULLABY FOR THE DEAD


Like the sun, quenched its first morning
and the moon lost to the sea,
like the chill, lost unto the morning,
so you my love are lost to me!

I can hear now the pipers calling
on that far distant shore;
and my tears now like leaves are falling
and I will see your face no more!

You are sleeping, you are sleeping,
Oh no sleep or peace can comfort me;
I am weeping, oh I am weeping,
tonight I will sleep and sleep with thee.

Seoithín seó . . .

 


2018-08-06

RABHADH: BUILE BHÓTHAIR AG DUL IN OLCAS AR SHRÁIDEANNA BHAILE ÁTHA CLIATH!

Bíodh agus go bhfuiltear ag súil go mbeidh sráideanna na hardchathrach ag éirí níos ciúine an deireadh seachtaine saoire bainc seo, tá méadú tagtha ar thuairiscí faoin mBuile Bhóthair. Meastar gur sraith drámaí raidió le Gabriel Rosenstock is cúis leis. Ó phaisinéirí go tiománaithe, tá muintir na cathrach le ceangal ar bhóithre Bhaile Átha Cliath, mar a chloisfimid sna drámaí raidió seo a chraolfar ar Raidió na Life ar feadh ceithre oíche ón Máirt 7ú Lúnasa go dtí an Aoine 10ú Lúnasa ag a 18:00.


Ceithre dhráma leathuair an chloig an ceann atá sa tsraith agus is i suímh éagsúla san ardchathair atáimid i ngach dráma agus sinn ag cur aithne ar an gcomhluadar ait atá ag dul i ngleic leis an ngalar gránna seo; ar an mbus, i dtacsaí, ar leoraí, agus ar An Luas.


Ón bpaisinéir atá sáite i dtacsaí le tiománaí atá ag scaoileadh óna bhéal agus óna thóin agus é ag cur síos ar theoiricí comhcheilge, go seantiománaí leoraí a chuireann ar ár súile dúinn an tábhacht a bhaineann le sráidainmneacha na cathrach, is iontach an léargas a fhaighimid ar na comhráite mire a tharlaíonn go laethúil ar bhóithre Bhaile Átha Cliath.


Ar na haisteoirí a ghlacann páirt sa tsraith tá: Donncha Crowley, Áine Ní Ghlinn, Marcus Lamb, Aodán Ó Ceallaigh, Fidelma Ní Ghallchobhair, Morgan Cooke, Conall Gunnigan, agus údar na ndrámaí Gabriel Rosenstock.


Criticeoir ar tugadh réamhéisteacht di, ar sise, 'Cén t-eolas a bheadh ag an údar ar bhuile bhóthair is gan an tiomáint féin aige'. D'fhreagair an t-údar mar a leanas í: 'Cén cur amach a bhí ag Dante ar Ifreann?'

Tristan Rosenstock a léirigh an tsraith. Fearghal Saxe a bhí i mbun eagarthóireachta. Judy-Meg Ní Chinnéide a bhí mar léiritheoir feidhmiúcháin do Raidió na Life.
 

Craolfar an tsraith ar a 18.00 ón Máirt 7ú Lúnasa go dtí an Aoine 10ú Lúnasa ar Raidió na Life.


Tá fáil ar Raidió na Life i mórcheantar Átha Cliath ar 106.4FM agus ar líne ag www.raidionalife.ie mar aon leis an aip saor in aisce ‘An Seinnteoir Raidió’ atá ar fáil ar an Google Play Store agus ar iTunes.


Is le maoiniú ó scéim Fuaim agus Fís Údarás Craolacháin na hÉireann a rinneadh an tsraith seo.

2018-08-04

Wo der perlender Wein

File: Ní fios cé a scríobh
Cumadóir: Mozart
Wo der perlender Wein im Glase blinkt,
da laßt uns weilen.
Áit a lonraíonn an fíon i ngloiní geal’,
fanaimis tamall

2018-08-03

I bhfocail Osho

Tá gá le dorchadas áirithe chun na réaltaí a fheiscint.

Osho