Giotto

Giotto
Exorcism of the Demons at Arezzo
1299

is glóraí ná toirneach í

a n-arraing  . . .

teitheann na deamhain 

Lazarus

Lazarus 2008
oil on board,
Roger Wagner

 

‘tháinig cabhair ó Dhia’

an bhrí atá lena ainm . . .

Lazaras

Gairdíní Theampall Jōjakkō-ji , Kyoto

Ron Rosenstock
is iad na seanamhráin is fearr . . . amhrán an bhambú	the old songs are the best . . . song of the bamboo
cînturi de demult neprețuite. . . cîntul bambusului Leagan Rómáinise: Olimpia Iacob	παλιά τραγούδια - τα καλύτερα.... το τραγούδι του μπαμπού Leagan Gréigise: Sarah Thilykou

féach anois / look now

Debiprasad Mukherjee
looking / not looking hearing / not hearing - look now	féachaint / gan féachaint éisteacht / gan éisteacht - féach anois

Fiú má chailleann tú gach aon ní

Even if you lose all you have

Foghlaim brí an rúin sin

Learn that secret which God revealed

A nocht Dia sa Chórán:

In the Holy Koran

Má dhéanann Sé sona nó míshona thú,

Whether it makes you happy or miserable

Má chuireann Sé uaigneas ort nó má thugann dóchas duit,

Whether it brings sadness or hope

Nó má chuireann arraing anama ort

Or anguish of the spirit

Bí foighneach: tá grásta óna Lámh

Be patient: grace flows from His Hand

Ag teacht chugat ina shlaoda

In great abundance.

An té a chuireann suas go foighneach leis an bpian

He who patiently endures the pain

A thagann ó Dhia

That comes from God

Is deimhneach go bhfuil neart - is fírinne -  an chreidimh

The strength - and the truth -  of faith

Ar an mbealach chuige.

Will shower upon him.

Is iontach an dea-scéala a fhaigheann an té atá foighneach,

Wonderful news awaits

Ríméad atá i ndán dó

The one who is patient.

Is den riachtanas é an grásta a aithint

How vital it is to recognise grace

Fiú nuair a lascann fíoch neimhe thú,

Even when lashed by heaven's fury.

Smaoinigh go suaimhneach Air i gcónaí,

Always think of Him serenely

Agus i gcónaí i gcónaí, is cuma cad a thiteann amach,

And whatever happens

Cloígh Leis le do chroí agus le d'anam.

Cleave to Him with all your heart and soul.

Sultan Valad 1240 – 1312

Ahmed Morsi

"Lady in Black Gown (1)" Acrylic on canvas 183 x 156 cm New York City - 2008

bláthaíonn rós dubh drúcht dubh ag titim dealga dú' ag lorg fola         ní bhaineann sin liomsa         ó bhreáthaigh do mheangadhsa mo shaol

a dark rose blooms dark dew is falling black thorns out for blood         i know nothing of such things         You graced me with a smile

Smaoineamh an Lae

 Ní deacair daoine a chur faoi bhois na gceannairí. Tá sé an-éasca. Ní gá ach a rá go bhfuil siad faoi ionsaí agus easpa tírghrá a chur i leith na síochánaithe as an tír a chur i mbaol. Is mar sin a oibríonn sé i ngach tír.

Hermann Göring (12 Ean. 1893-1946)

Is Afracaigh Sinn: Mionléirmheas

 

Níl áit ar fud na cruinne

Nach ann a saolaíodh sinne  . . .

B'fhíor don Ríordánach. Ach má chaithimid áit amháin ar chlár na cruinne seo a roghnú, is é an Afraic é mar is ann a bhí cliabhán an chine seo againne. Ní maith leis an gciníoch é sin a admháil, go mba Afracaigh iad a shinsir ach is fíor é.

Duine a d'aithin an ceangal sin ab ea Peter Beard (1938 -2020), ealaíontóir. dialannaí, grianghrafadóir agus éiceolaí, agus d'aithin sé an ceangal atá againn lenár gcomh-ainmhithe san Afraic. 

Bhí Beard faoi thionchar Karen Blixen, údar Out of Africa, saothar ar bunaíodh scannán breá air. Finné ab ea Beard san Afraic ar shléacht 35,000 eilifint agus ainmhithe eile. Nach iontach mar a chaithimid lenár n-oidhreacht!

Más mian leat do chuid fréamhacha Afracacha a mhothú, tá an leabhar The End of the Game ar fáil arís agus le ceannach anseo ó Taschen ar €75:

Má Adhraim Thú

Má adhraim Thú

toisc eagla bheith orm roimh Ifreann

dóigh in Ifreann mé.

Má adhraim Thú

mar go santaím Parthas

coinnigh amach ón nGairdín mé.

Ach má adhraim Thú

ar do  shonsa amháin

ná ceil orm

d'áilleacht shíoraí

Rabia Basri (713 - 801)

Anatamaíocht Fige

 An toradh ag a bhfuil an stair is faide ar domhan, fige

Creidtear leis gurb é an chéad toradh feirme é.

 

Theip ar mhisean na duilleoige fige i bParthas – chroch

An toradh go mímhodhúil ó chrann, chomh bog le magairle.

 

Athraíonn dath a craicinn ó bhuí is donn go corcra maorga.

Suíonn siad ar a dtóin mhéith sa mhargadh

 

Leagtha amach go néata i gciseán. Beir ar a gas gobach

Uirthi agus sáigh do dhéad go séimh inti, is tais lonrach

 

Dearg breacbhuí súmhar istigh í. Gan síol ná cnó sa tslí ort –

Gan ach bolgam de bhia úscach leáite a mhilseodh do shaol.

 

 

Mar sin féin, ar nós go leor torthaí eile, maireann figí i riocht athraithe

In athionchollú nua. Á triomú faoin ngréin,

 

Cúbann fige inti féin, a gas ina dhlaoi anuas 

Ar a bolg cothrom, a cuid meala á coigilt aici don dara gníomh.

Saleem Peeradina

 

Anatomy of a Fig

The fruit with the longest history on earth, the fig

Is also believed to be the first farmed fruit.

 

In Eden, the fig leaf failed its mission – the fruit hung

Immodestly from the tree, tender as a testicle. Its skin

 

Shade goes from yellow and brown to resplendent purple.

In the market, the figs sit on their ample rumps

 

Neatly arrayed in a basket. Pick one by its nubby stem

And gently sink your teeth into its glistening wet, lush red

 

Yellow-dotted interior. No seed or nut to bar your way –

Just a mouthful of oozing, melting flesh to sweeten your life.

 

Even so, like most other fruit, the fig survives in an altered state

In a new incarnation. Drying in the sun, the fig

 

Folds into itself, curling its stem down

To its flat belly, hoarding its honey for a second act

Poetry | Saleem Peeradina

Smaoineamh an Lae

 

Chiallódh sóisialachas éiceolaíoch go n-eagrófaí sochaithe daonna ar bhealach a bheadh ag teacht leis an tslí a n-eagraíonn an nádúr é féin. Agus creidimse gurb é ord nádúrtha an domhain ná bith-réigiúnachas seachas státachas. Tá an tsochaí nua-aimseartha thionsclaíoch tar éis ár gcaidreamh lena chéile a bhaint dínn . . . agus ár gcaidreamh leis an domhan.

Judi Bari

Briathra an Bhúda

Na tāvatā dhammadharo

yāvatā bahu bhāsati.

Yo ca appampi sutvāna,

dhammaṃ kāyena passati

sa ve dhammadharo hoti,

yo dhammaṃ nappamajjati.

Éist leis an mbun-Pháilis:

http://host.pariyatti.org/dwob/dhammapada_19_259.mp3

Níl cur amach ar an Darma

ag an té a bhfuil an iomarca cainte aige.

An té a chloiseann beagán den Darma

agus a thuigeann láithreach é

agus a thugann aird air

tá an-chur amach ag an duine sin ar an Darma.

One Light / Aon Solas Amháin

 Cad is 'Mise' ann? Cad is 'Tusa' ann?

What is 'I'? What is 'You'?

Níl iontu ach laitísí

Mere lattices

I gcuasa lampa

In the niches of a lamp

Trína lonraíonn Aon Solas Amháin.

Through which the One Light shines.

Caille is ea 'Mise' is 'Tusa'

'I' and 'You' are a veil

Idir neamh agus talamh;

Between heaven and earth.

Ardaigh an chaille sin

Lift that veil

Agus feictear gur mar a chéile iad

And it is as plain as daylight

Gach seict is reiligiún.

That all sects and religions are one.

Ardaigh an chaille agus fiafraigh díot féin

Lift the veil and ask yourself

Nuair nach ann don Mé ná don Tusa sin

If I and You do not exist

Cad is Mosc ann?

What is a Mosque?

Cad is Sionagóg ann?

What is a Synagogue?

Cad is Teampall Tine ann?

What is a Fire Temple?

Mahmud Shabistari (1288-1340)

Ar an Ochtú hUrlár

Cónaímse ar an ochtú hurlár

in árasán beag

liom féin.

 

Tá péire fuinneog san árasán

a osclaíonn amach.

Tá sé scanrúil.

 

Tá gríl láidir curtha agam

ar na fuinneoga.

 

Ní hé go mbraithim dainséar

ón dtaobh amuigh. Tá an t-árasán

ró-ard ón dtaobh sin de.

 

Ionam féin an dainséar

nithe uafásacha ag titim amach

d’fhéadfadh an stoiteacht seo an leamhas seo

mé a thiomáint lá éigin chun léim

ón bhfuinneog.

Kunwar Narayan

Naoi

Dulce María Loynaz (1902-1997)

 

Ón Áirc seo, mé ag útamáil liom,

scaoilim focal faoi dhéin an domhain:

eitlíonn an focal leis  . . .

is ní thagann ar ais

Dulce María Loynaz 

as Absolute Solitude

Dead Flag Blues

tá an carr trí thine is níl tiománaí ar bith ag an roth

agus tá na séaraigh modartha ag neacha féinmharaithe

agus séideann gaoth dhorcha

tá an rialtas lofa

agus táimid pulctha le drugaí

an raidió ar siúl is na cuirtíní tarraingthe

gafa i mbolg an mheaisín uafásaigh seo

agus tá an meaisín ag éag is ag cur fola go tréan

thit an ghrian ina pleist

agus tá na cláir fógraí ag amharc orainn go mioscaiseach

agus na bratacha go léir marbh ar bharr na gcuaillí

is mar seo a tharla sé:

sceith na foirgnimh

bhí máithreacha is greim acu ar a gcuid naíonán sa smionagar

ag tarraingt ar a gcuid gruaige

bhí an spéirlíne go haoibhinn, trí thine,

miotal lúbtha ag síneadh in airde

ceo tanaí oráiste os cionn an uile ní

arsa mise, ‘póg mé, tá tú go hálainn –‘

is é deireadh an domhain é gan aon agó.’

rug tú greim láimhe om agus thiteamar síos

mar a bheadh brionglóid lae nó fiabhras ann

dhúisíomar maidin amháin is chuamar síos níos faide –

mar is é gleann an bháis é cinnte dearfa

osclaím mo vallait

agus is ag púscadh fola atá sí

Efrim Menuck 

Tamaillín Suaimhnis

Tá cónaí ormsa in áiléar, síleáil ghiúise,

páipéar balla agus móitíf aisteach Pheirseach air,

patrún cabhartha ó na saoithe ar an mbord cois leapa,

tocht Simmons, agus gaothrán síleála ollmhór,

ag casadh de shíor - raghfá as do cholainn!

Tá scoilt mhór sa chófra,

n'fheadar, ceapaim uaireanta go bhfuil teifeach i bhfolach ann.

Cúpla printíseach sa bheár fíona iad na comharsana béal dorais,

a gcanúint féin acu, agus iad róbhéasach ar fad dá n-aois.

Níl ach balla lasmuigh den taobhfhuinneog, ach i gcaitheamh an lae

doirteann an t-uafás solais tríd an bhfuinneog dín.

Ní chodlaím sa dara leath den oíche, bíonn fonn orm

féachaint tríd an bhfuinneog dín, agus spotaí geala ceocha

a aimsiú sa spéir.

Tá sé faoi mar dá mbeinn ar ais i ndúthaigh allta Shandong.

Ghabh déagóir go fáilí suas go dtí an díon,

cuaille ina ghlac, a bhun greamaitheach chun breith ar chiocádaí

ach is ag iarraidh breith ar réaltaí a bhí sé sa spéir íseal

agus ar feadh tamaillín mheas sé nach raibh aon neach beo 

chomh gar sin do neamh.

Chen Liang

Duck Yard Lyricists a chuir Béarla air: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

我的住处是间阁楼，顶子是松木的

壁纸的花纹波斯般诡异

床头柜浮雕着古代的人物

床是席梦思，吊扇硕大

它的旋转会让灵魂渐渐出窍

衣柜裂了很大的缝

让我经常怀疑有人在此藏匿

隔壁住着酒号的学徒

有多种口音，一律少年老成的面孔

边窗外是遮蔽的，白天会有光

从天窗强烈地投下来

后半夜睡不沉，依稀中

我会透过天窗，努力去寻找

天上那些模糊的亮点

这时候，我似乎又回到了山东乡间

一个少年偷偷爬上屋顶

用一根粘知了的杆子

去粘那些矮的星星，那一刻

他感觉自己是离星星最近的人

Sano Kosui

ar feadh uair an chloig móid tosta . . . préacháin	for a whole hour a vow of silence . . . crows
一時間 沈黙の誓い カラスたち	fir a hale oor a vou o seelence . . . craws

Carnival Evening, Henri Rousseau

cé nach liomsa í bronnaim ort an ghealach lán beir leat í de shíor         folcadh mo chuid laoithe léi         thaistil siad ón alltar chugat

though not mine to give take it, please, the moon above it's Yours forever         these songs are washed in moonlight         and have traveled from afar

Táim tagtha chun go n-imeoinn /I've come in order to go

Ní chun socrú síos a tháinig mé anseo

I haven't come here to settle down

Táim tagtha chun go n-imeoinn

I've come in order to go

Ceannaí mé agus a lán earraí agam

I'm a merchant with many wares

Dhíolfainn le héinne a cheannódh uaim.

I'll sell to anyone wishing to buy.

Ní chun fadhbanna a chruthú a tháinig mé

I haven't come to cause trouble

An Grá a thug anseo mé

Love has brought me here

Baile maith don Chara é an Croí

There is no better home for the Friend than the Heart

Chun croíthe a thógáil a tháinig mé

I have come to build hearts

Chuir an Cairdeas seo ar meisce mé

This Friendship has made me tipsy

D'aithneodh Leannán ar bith an riocht ina bhfuilim

What Lover would not know my symptoms

Táim tagtha chun an déachas a chaitheamh uaim

I have come to exchange twoness

Agus dul as san Aon

And disappear in the One

Eisean m'Oide, mise an searbhónta

He is my Teacher, I His servant

Filiméala mé ina ghairdín.

I'm a nightingale in His garden

Tháinig mé chuig gairdín an Oide

I have come to the Teacher's garden

Le bheith sona agus bás a fháil is mé ag canadh

To be happy and to die singing

Deirtear, 'Anamacha a chuireann aithne ar a chéile abhus

It is said, 'Souls who know one another here

Aithneoidh siad a chéile thall.'

Will know one another there.'

Tháinig mé chun aithne a chur ar Oide

I have come to get to know  a Teacher

Agus chun mé féin a léiriú faoi mar atáim.

And to say exactly who I am.

Yunus Emre (1238 -1328)

Smaoineamh an lae

 Ól as tobar an Fhéin agus tosaigh as an nua . . .                           

Charles Bukowski

Glórtha

Uaireanta anseo

is deacair glór na gaoithe

a dhealú 

ó ghlór na dtonn

nó glór na dtonn

ó ghlór na fearthainne

nó glór na gaoithe

is glór na dtonn is na fearthainne

ó ghlór m’anála.

Norman Bissell

Takarai Kikaku (1661-1707)

 thall is abhus

froganna ag grágaíl san oíche

réaltaí ag lonrú

sprais samhraidh –

bean ina suí léi féin

ag stánadh amach

stopann na snáthaidí móra

dá nguairneán mire –

corrán caol na gealaí

nach álainn í an ré!

scáileanna na ngiúiseanna

ar na mataí

os cionn na mara

bogha síne glanta

ag scata fáinleog

i leaba an Impire

boladh na muiscítí dóite

is na gcogar anghrách

spraoi tintrí –

thoir inné

thiar inniu

a céile ite

ag an gcat, bean an chriogair

ag gol ní foláir

Traein Ardluais

Nílim cinnte, ach ní hé an sráidbhaile san áit iasachta seo

Mo shráidbhailese. Scáthán atá sa spéir, domhan geimhriúil

Á lasadh aige. Gabhann seanóir thar bráid de rúid cois uisce,

Súil á coinneáil aige ar a thréad, an aimsir, an gort cruithneachta

Agus na goirt ríse uisciúla.

Tá damh ag ól. Níl ainm agam

Ar gach ainmhí díobh, faoi mar nach bhfuil ainm agam

Ar na daoine seo go léir ar an traein.

Tá bean ghalánta ag caoineadh, ag síodráil

Faoin bpósadh ar chlis air. Níl a hainm ar eolas agam,

Ach tá sí an-chosúil liom, le mo bhaile dúchais, le mo mhuintir

In áit iasachta mar seo, buailimid le chéile is scaraimid go tapaidh. Féach,

Na huaigheanna sa ghort cruithneachta, na tuamaí nua, na seantuamaí, an-dealraitheach lena chéile.

Ban Ruo

Leagan Béarla le Duck Yard Lyricists,  Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers.

Rugadh  in Xia'yi na Síne sa bhliain 1973. Is file, úrscéalaí agus gearrscéalaí í.

Gauguin

Ferme à Arles  Gauguin, 1888

is cuimhin liom iad, sea bainimse le haois eile cocaí féir, a stór!         agus a gcumhracht theolaí         b'iad pirimidí m'óige iad

i remember them i am from another age haystacks, beloved!         and i recall their warm scent         those pyramids of my youth

John McDonald - Haiku

hameless  -

nae Yule whigmaleeries

bit the merry dancers

gan dídean -

is gan de mhaisiúcháin Nollag ann

ach na Saighneáin

Yule lichts turnt on  -

yirth yin skinklin

whigmaleerie in space

soilse Nollag ar lasadh

an domhan ina ornáid lonrach

sa spás

licht throuch

the hairst treen

 . . . apenin her keel boax

solas 

trí chrainn an fhómhair

osclaíonn sí an bosca crián

daw sinblink

chirtin watter

frae the freestit leaves

ga gréine na maidine

ag fáscadh uisce

as duilleoga sioctha

virus apairtness  -

new peths

throuch the wuids 

scaradh sóisialta -

cosáin nua

tríd an gcoill 

pandemic  -  the day

e'en the craw

muives twa metres awa 

an phaindéim -

an préachán fiú

bogann dhá mhéadar uaim inniu 

John McDonald, Tea wi the Abbot:  Haiku in Scots (Onslaught Press 2016) with transcreations by Gabriel Rosenstock, £10 (pb).

Metre lay at the heart of Gaelic poetry.  Changes in metrical practice were invariably reflective of changes in the structure of feeling and if the modernist poetry which emerged from the mid-twentieth century onwards was less straitjacketed than its antecedents, it was, at its best, conscious of metrical patterns and utilised them pragmatically.

Gabriel Rosenstock’s introduction of the Japanese haiku as a serious literary form in poetry in Irish marked a turning away from the kind of nativism synonymous with, say, Daniel Corkery in favour of the literary cosmopolitanism   advocated by Corkery’s cultural antagonist, Pádraig de Brún, as articulated in a debate between them in the journal, Humanitas (1930-1).  Irish allowed Rosenstock to go beyond the Anglo-centric provincialism of poetry in English to embrace the culture and poetry of Asia and India as well as the work of poets in a variety of endangered languages. 

The book under review is an instance of the latter, a translation of haiku written in Scots or Lallans, the distinctive form taken by English as it developed in Scotland.  (It is not a dialect and is utterly distinct from Scottish Gaelic.)  While the geographical distance between the Scots language and Irish may not be wide, the cultural chasm is considerable, exacerbated by religious difference and long-established antagonisms between Scots and Gaelic poets.  The greatest twentieth-century practitioner of poetry in the language, Hugh MacDiarmid, was neither anti-Irish, anti-Catholic nor anti-Gaelic, but older perceptions have had a long afterlife.

Far from re-running the religious rivalries of the past, McDonald’s collection, including the title, is, in many of the poems, driven by aspects of Catholic devotion:

throu Mass—

the weet's turnt

tae snaw

i lár an Aifrinn—

d’iompaigh an bháisteach

ina sneachta

The poet’s attitude to the Highlands appears less convinced, however:

hielant veesit—

traikit a’ready

o wattergaws

cuairt ar na garbhchríocha—

bréan den bhogha síne

cheana féin

Succinctness and clarity are renowned features of Scots poetry and these make that language and the haiku into suitable partners.  Rosenstock’s translations or ‘transcreations’, as he prefers to call them, will be of the greatest assistance to Irish readers in gaining an appreciation of McDonald’s achievement.

Proinsias Ó Drisceoil

Léirmheas i Poetry Ireland 121, 2017, pp. 56-61,

In Éagmais mo Ghrása

Ní bhlaisim den chorn fíona gan mo ghrása a bheith thart

Ní beo dom gan mo ghrása a bheith faram

Foighne, a deir siad, agus mo ghrása as láthair

Is fuirist a bheith ag caint, a chara, rud eile is ea gníomh

Ó, a Qutub Shah! Conas gealt a chur ar bhóthar a leasa

Ní ghlacann gealta le comhairle!

Mohammed Quli Qutub Shah

The Beloved's Absence

I cannot sip from the wine-cup in the absence of my Beloved

I cannot draw a breath in the absence of my Beloved

Have patience, they say, when my Beloved isn't around

East to say, my friend, but not easy to practice

O Qutub Shah! How to advise a lunatic

A lunatic cannot take counsel!

Litir nár foilsíodh

Sir,

It was heartening to read Enda Delaney's review (IrishTimes, 23.1.21) of Mícheál Ó hAodha's English translation of Dónall Mac Amhlaigh's book Deoraithe. Parthian Books, a Welsh outfit, are to be congratulated on their initiative. I wonder  why it wasn't snapped up by an Irish publisher? 

We need an inventory of the best literature available in the senior language, books that are worth translating into English, currently a world language. We also need support for our literary translators. No scheme exists, as far as I know, to assist translators and publishers to make Irish-language literature available in English. And yet Literature Ireland/Litríocht Éireann has no problems when it comes to financing such titles as a Catalan translation of The Sea, The Sea (Vintage Classics) by Iris Murdoch. It makes no sense to me.

I'm not going to ask how Irish was Iris (or anybody else) but the truth of the matter is that though born in Dublin she was only a few weeks old when the family moved to London!  Clearly Literature Ireland/ Litríocht Éireann is stretching it a bit with Murdoch, yet they won't stretch far enough to support English-language translations of literary works in Irish. Baffling!

Gabriel Rosenstock

Jean-Joseph-Xavier Bidauld

ealaí thús an lae tá tú feicthe acu d'íomhása á taisceadh acu         nach é an trua é, a chuid         nach leanann daoine a sampla

swans of the morning gliding as though they've seen You - holding Your image         if only it could be so         for mankind too, beloved