Páipéar leithris, páipéar bán
Deir daideo nach raibh fadó ach sean-nuachtán:
Shuigh tú sa leithreas is tú ag léamh
Faoi Hitler, Napoléon nó an Bhanríon Méabh.
2018-04-30
2018-04-29
2018-04-28
Graifítí an Lae
Tá'n Ghaeilge ag éirí arís i réim,
Tá meas ag téacht ar ar gcláinn;
Tá siad ag troid le buille béim;
Is gearr go mbéidh lucht Béarla gann
Tá meas ag téacht ar ar gcláinn;
Tá siad ag troid le buille béim;
Is gearr go mbéidh lucht Béarla gann
Colm de Bhailís
2018-04-25
Haiku le Issa ón mbliain 1810
Cad a bhí ag titim amach sa bhliain 1810?
- Aithníodh, ní nach ionadh, go raibh Rí Seoirse na Breataine glan as a mheabhair.
- Rugadh Frédéric Chopin, cumadóir
- Rugadh Samuel Ferguson, file
- Rugadh Robert Schumann, cumadóir
- Rugadh an file Maurice Guérin
- Rugadh an file Alfred de Musset
- Cailleadh Joseph Cooper Walker, ársaitheoir faoina ndúirt R.A. Breatnach:
‘If Joseph Walker had done no more for Irish learning than thus indicate to his contemporaries that the living Irish language and its poetry were worthy of the attention of educated people, whatever the immaturity of his work as a whole, he would deserve to be remembered as a pioneer of Irish scholarship . . .’
- Cailleadh an file Donncha Rua Mac Conmara:
Níor chruinnigh mé ór ná stór ar aon chor
Ach an scilling a gheobhainn a ól go héasca
- Rugadh Dennis Brasbie, an sagart Ciarraíoch a d’iompaigh ina Phrotastúnach; ní fios an raibh sé chomh mór as a mheabhair is a bhí an Rí Seoirse thuas ach cumadh dánta go leor ina thaobh, ‘A Bhrasby, taoi ar buile!’ etc.
- Rugadh Thomas Swanton, feirmeoir a raibh grá aige don teanga:
The writer as a sincere friend to the peasantry says do not give up the easy, the congenial language of your race, transmit to your children what distinguishes you from all other people, and teach them not to despise anything that is peculiar to Ireland. Learn English by all means; it is the language of profit, it is the language of the law, it is the language of emigration; but do not for the sake of it lose the voice of the Celtic Tribes…’
- Agus sa bhliain 1810, chum Issa an haiku seo:
an chéad bháisteach gheimhridh –
an domhan á bhá
in haiku
.初時雨俳諧流布の世也けり
hatsu shigure haikai rufu no yo nari keri
2018-04-20
Cill Iníon Léinín/ Killiney
2018-04-19
2018-04-18
2018-04-17
2018-04-16
Graifítí an Lae - Bob Marley
B’fhearr bás a fháil ag troid ar son na saoirse ná a bheith i do chime ar feadh do shaoil.
Bob Marley
2018-04-15
DYLAN - NO TIME TO THINK/ LE hAGHAIDH SMAOINTE NÍL AM
LE hAGHAIDH SMAOINTE NÍL AM
Sa bhás, tá an bheatha an bhean is an leanbhAg suansiúl ‘n aghaidh balla ’d bhrionglóid
Id’ shaighdiúir na trócaire, do mhallacht is fuar
“Mura bhfuil sé le trust, slán go deo.”
Uaigneas, cineáltas, an uasaicme, clú, fuilibiliú,
Troid na corónach is taisteal go brónach
Ag imeacht is tú gan cháil
Le haghaidh smaointe níl am.
Sa Chathair Fheidearálach sea do léiríodh duit tláithe
Go rúnda, le haghaidh pinginí
Is geal leat an ceannaire ach ní maith leat an leatrom
Agus braitheann tú lán d’imní.
Cuimhní, sceitimíní, easpa dlí, is easpa croí
Bheith díolta ag póg is an oíche go hóg
Sa ghleanntán úd is an lúb ar lár
Le haghaidh smaointe níl am.
Breithiúna cráite, i mbansagart a bheith sáite,
N’fhaca tú riamh a leithéid
Buaileadh gach bob orm trí shúile atá turcaidghorm
Tá mé dulta i léig.
Bábóigín,
braon poitín, an dúbailteacht, an uaigh ghlas,
Mearcair i gceannas, an chinniúint dod’ leanacht
Nós na plá, agus caochadh súl cam
Le haghaidh smaointe níl am.
Do thréig do choinsias thú, tíoránach a lig síos thú
Áit a luíonn an leon leis an uan
Bheadh an fealltóir sin íoctha, is marbh ’n dhiaidh sin
Ach sin mar atáimse monuar.
Tír na nÓg, íobairt fós, an bhásmhaireacht, an cás mar tá,
Ach is gasta é an draíodóir is a chleasa
Is íogaire ná fuil, ná dúch i do pheann
Le haghaidh smaointe níl am.
Éad agus fearg, a chlaíomh atá dearg
Beidh sé sásta má tá tú faoi bhrú,
Gealta ’na choinne, is tusa an duine
A cheansóidh é trí bheith ciúin.
Liberté, égalité, an umhlaíocht chaoin, an tsimplíocht íon
Féach tríd an scáthán ar na súile ag stánadh
Agus ólann tú braon beag go fann
Le haghaidh smaointe níl am.
Taoisigh an dóláis is ríonacha sóláis
A gcloigeann á n-ofráil ar ghuí
Níl teacht agat ar shlánú, tá do shaolsa á bhánú
Ins gach áit, gach aon uair, i ngach slí.
Mearcair, sea, gravité, an uaisleacht, sea, an umhlaíocht, sea,
Ní féidir í choinneáil, tá tú cóngarach don imeall
Is ní fada go seasfaidh tú ann
Le haghaidh smaointe níl am
Tá deireadh le vanité, is do shlánchiall sa chré
Droim láimhe anois le pléisiúr
Géilleann leannáin duit, ach níl siad sách láidir
Ní heol dóibh an ann duitse fiú.
An sóisialaí, an hiopnóisí, an rapparee, an t-ábharaí,
Dlíthe sea mhuise, chun gialla a bhriseadh
Agus clingeadh na n-eochrach’ is toll
Le haghaidh smaointe níl am
Is tabharfaidh an ród seo ‘dtí an ainnir ón mBablóin thú
Agus rós ina gruaig
Réaltaí sa spéir thoir, tú saortha ón daorbhroid
I sáinn ach tá gach aon ní amú
Fidélité, unité, eiseamláir ó bhun go barr
Casann tú timpeall, a dhiabhail, is radharc ar Chamille
Is an ghealach ’cur fola go fann
Le haghaidh smaointe níl am.
Piléir mharóidís, ón mbás níl aon éaló
Ní hea, ortsa ní chuirfear cluain
Easpa suáilce ar snámh tríd an láib duit
Flaithiúil ach faoi ghlas go Lá an Luain.
Níl am chun slán leis an bhfírinne ’rá
Níl am le cailliúint mhuise, a ghrá
Níl am chun réiteach ’gcomhair íobartach éigin
Ná fulaingt, ná súil cham
Le haghaidh smaointe níl am.
NO TIME TO THINK
In death, you face life with a child and a wifeWho sleep-walks through your dreams into walls
You’re a soldier of mercy, you’re cold and you curse
“He who cannot be trusted must fall”
Loneliness, tenderness, high society, notoriety
You fight for the throne and you travel alone
Unknown as you slowly sink
And there’s no time to think
In the Federal City you been blown and shown pity
In secret, for pieces of change
The empress attracts you but oppression distracts you
And it makes you feel violent and strange
Memory, ecstasy, tyranny, hypocrisy
Betrayed by a kiss on a cool night of bliss
In the valley of the missing link
And you have no time to think
Judges will haunt you, the country priestess will want you
Her worst is better than best
I’ve seen all these decoys through a set of deep turquoise eyes
And I feel so depressed
China doll, alcohol, duality, mortality
Mercury rules you and destiny fools you
Like the plague, with a dangerous wink
And there’s no time to think
Your conscience betrayed you when some tyrant waylaid you
Where the lion lies down with the lamb
I’d have paid off the traitor and killed him much later
But that’s just the way that I am
Paradise, sacrifice, mortality, reality
But the magician is quicker and his game
Is much thicker than blood and blacker than ink
And there’s no time to think
Anger and jealousy’s all that he sells us
He’s content when you’re under his thumb
Madmen oppose him, but your kindness throws him
To survive it you play deaf and dumb
Equality, liberty, humility, simplicity
You glance through the mirror and there’s eyes staring clear
At the back of your head as you drink
And there’s no time to think
Warlords of sorrow and queens of tomorrow
Will offer their heads for a prayer
You can’t find no salvation, you have no expectations
Anytime, anyplace, anywhere
Mercury, gravity, nobility, humility
You know you can’t keep her and the water gets deeper
That is leading you onto the brink
But there’s no time to think
You’ve murdered your vanity, buried your sanity
For pleasure you must now resist
Lovers obey you but they cannot sway you
They’re not even sure you exist
Socialism, hypnotism, patriotism, materialism
Fools making laws for the breaking of jaws
And the sound of the keys as they clink
But there’s no time to think
The bridge that you travel on goes to the Babylon girl
With the rose in her hair
Starlight in the East and you’re finally released
You’re stranded but with nothing to share
Loyalty, unity, epitome, rigidity
You turn around for one real last glimpse of Camille
’Neath the moon shinin’ bloody and pink
And there’s no time to think
Bullets can harm you and death can disarm you
But no, you will not be deceived
Stripped of all virtue as you crawl through the dirt
You can give but you cannot receive
No time to choose when the truth must die
No time to lose or say goodbye
No time to prepare for the victim that’s there
No time to suffer or blink
And no time to think
2018-04-14
dolmain/ dolmen
Ramesh Anand (Tamil Nadu)
spéir an fhómhair . . .
paistí clapsholais
sa duilleog is í ag titim
இலையுதிர்கால வானம்
வீழ்ச்சி ஒட்டுதலுடன்
விழும் இலை
2018-04-13
Barnabas Ìkéolúwa Adélékè ( An Nigéir)
Barnabas Ìkéolúwa Adélékè |
breacadh an lae . . .
glaoch coiligh múchta
ag glaoch coiligh
àfẹ̀mọ́jú
kíkọ àkùkọ bo kíkọ
àkùkọ mọ́lẹ̀
2018-04-12
Ludmila Balabanova (An Bhulgáir)
Ludmila Balabanova |
an chéad gha gréine
ar an saighdiúr cloiche . . .
maidin shéimh
първи слънчев лъч
върху каменния войник
мирна утрин
2018-04-11
Haiku as Gána
Adjei Agyei-Baah |
baile eile dóibh . . .
réaltaí ag glacadh scíthe
in abhainn
tenabrem foforɔ
nnsroma a woadeda
wɔ nsutene mu
2018-04-10
Sa bhliain 1817
- tharla Éirí Amach in aghaidh na mBriotanach i Srí Lanca.
- Rugadh Henry David Thoreau, fealsamh Meiriceánach.
- Rugadh Theodor Storm, scríbhneoir Gearmánach.
- Rugadh Bahá’u’lláh, a bhunaigh an creideamh Bahá’íoch.
- Cailleadh Jane Austen, scríbhneoir Sasanach.
- Cailleadh John Philpot Curran faoina ndúirt Lord Byron, ‘I have heard than man speak more poetry than I have written.’
- Cuireadh an spiaire Policarpa Salavarrieta chun báis.
- Rugadh an file tuaithe Muircheartach Ó Súilleabháin.
- Cailleadh Seán Ó Coileáin, scríobhaí agus file.
- Rugadh an scríobhaí Seosamh Ó Longáin.
- Agus sa bhliain 1817 chum Issa an haiku seo:
.来た雁や片足上て一思案
kita kari ya kata ashi agete isshian
gé nuathagtha
ardaíonn leathchos . . .
machnamh domhain
2018-04-09
Tanka
2018-04-08
Cuir isteach orm má chuala tú an ceann seo cheana
Nílim in ann cuimhneamh ar m’ainm fiú, mise is an chuimhne
ghlé sin agam – an scór sa pheil, cleasa draíochta, grá buan daingean
chomh gar sin do Dhia gur creideamh ab ea é geall leis.
Nuair a chodlaíonn tú agus tú i ngrá mar sin
dúisíonn tú agus ballbhrúnna ar do mhuineál. Ní
babhtaí óil a bhíonn agamsa, a dhaoine uaisle, ach eachtraí. Gach lá
leanann mo cholainn mé agus nithe á n-éileamh
aici. Bím ag iarraidh smaoineamh go glórach, a bheith
titleyúil, amach is amach. Tá an rud céanna
uainn go léir (a bheith faoi iontas de shíor
ar nós an chéad duine riamh a chuala pearóid ag caint) ach tá cónaí orainn
ar réidhe ollmhór is sinn ar snámh
idir dhá aigéan. Uaireanta bíonn ort an rud atá ann dar leat
a thréigint, dul ag spágáil
trí ghoirt agus an cloigeann a chiceáil
de na beacáin bhearaigh go léir. Uaireanta is gá
máirseáil an bealach ar fad chun na Gailíle
nó fad le cosa Dé féin sula dtuigfeá
go bhfuil tú gafa cheana féin
thar fhód do bháis. Ní cuimhin liom a thuilleadh
an sceoin, ach gur tháinig deireadh léi.
I can’t even remember my name, I who remember
so much—football scores, magic tricks, deep love
so close to God it was practically religious.
When you fall asleep in that sort of love
you wake up with bruises on your neck. I don’t
have drunks, sirs, I have adventures. Every day
my body follows me around asking
for things. I try to think louder, try
to be brilliant, wildly brilliant. We all want
the same thing (to walk in sincere wonder,
like the first man to hear a parrot speak) but we live
on an enormous flatness floating between
two oceans. Sometimes you just have to leave
whatever’s real to you, you have to clomp
through fields and kick the caps off
all the toadstools. Sometimes
you have to march all the way to Galilee
or the literal foot of God himself before you realize
you’ve already passed the place where
you were supposed to die. I can no longer remember
the being afraid, only that it came to an end.
ghlé sin agam – an scór sa pheil, cleasa draíochta, grá buan daingean
chomh gar sin do Dhia gur creideamh ab ea é geall leis.
Nuair a chodlaíonn tú agus tú i ngrá mar sin
dúisíonn tú agus ballbhrúnna ar do mhuineál. Ní
babhtaí óil a bhíonn agamsa, a dhaoine uaisle, ach eachtraí. Gach lá
leanann mo cholainn mé agus nithe á n-éileamh
aici. Bím ag iarraidh smaoineamh go glórach, a bheith
titleyúil, amach is amach. Tá an rud céanna
uainn go léir (a bheith faoi iontas de shíor
ar nós an chéad duine riamh a chuala pearóid ag caint) ach tá cónaí orainn
ar réidhe ollmhór is sinn ar snámh
idir dhá aigéan. Uaireanta bíonn ort an rud atá ann dar leat
a thréigint, dul ag spágáil
trí ghoirt agus an cloigeann a chiceáil
de na beacáin bhearaigh go léir. Uaireanta is gá
máirseáil an bealach ar fad chun na Gailíle
nó fad le cosa Dé féin sula dtuigfeá
go bhfuil tú gafa cheana féin
thar fhód do bháis. Ní cuimhin liom a thuilleadh
an sceoin, ach gur tháinig deireadh léi.
Stop Me If You've Heard This One Before
I can’t even remember my name, I who remember
so much—football scores, magic tricks, deep love
so close to God it was practically religious.
When you fall asleep in that sort of love
you wake up with bruises on your neck. I don’t
have drunks, sirs, I have adventures. Every day
my body follows me around asking
for things. I try to think louder, try
to be brilliant, wildly brilliant. We all want
the same thing (to walk in sincere wonder,
like the first man to hear a parrot speak) but we live
on an enormous flatness floating between
two oceans. Sometimes you just have to leave
whatever’s real to you, you have to clomp
through fields and kick the caps off
all the toadstools. Sometimes
you have to march all the way to Galilee
or the literal foot of God himself before you realize
you’ve already passed the place where
you were supposed to die. I can no longer remember
the being afraid, only that it came to an end.
Kaveh Akbar
2018-04-07
2018-04-06
2018-04-05
2018-04-04
2018-04-03
2018-04-02
cnoc/ hill
2018-04-01
Judith Prat
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teifigh... níl uathu ach tearmann inár gcroí |
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refugees... they only seek refuge in our hearts |
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