Dán leis an maistir tanka Saigyo.

ní thagann éinne anso chugam ag bothántaíocht an ghealach amháin!         is balbh iad na gaetha         a sciorrann idir na crainn

στο μέρος μου αυτό άνθρωποι για κουβέντα ποτέ δεν μπαίνουν         μόνο φεγγαραχτίδες         βουβές μέσα στα δέντρα Sarah Thilykou a dhein an leagan Gréigise

Smaoineamh an Lae

 

Bheith nó gan a bheith - sin í an cheist.
Ceaca is uaisle don meanmain a fhulaing
Urchair agus saigheada mí-áidh diallta
Nó arm do ghlacadh in aghaidh bóchna clampair
Agus lena bhfreasarbhadh deireadh do chur leo . . .

Seán Óg Ó Caomhánach

Féach "Shakespeare a tháinig go hÉireann", Tadhg Ó Dúshláine, Bliainiris 2003

Utagawa Kuniyoshi

gaotha garbha - róbaí an mhanaigh mhara uafair iad na tonnta!	violent winds - waves are the robes of the dreaded sea-monk!
coorse wunds - swaws'r the cleedins o the dreidit sea-monk! Leagan Béarla na hAlban: John McDonald	大風や 波ぞ袈裟なれ 海坊主 Leagan Seapáinise: Mariko Sumikura

Paul Klee (1879–1940)

Sprache ohne Vernunft

Die Vernunft schwamm im Strom
des Weines davon.

1
Ein guter Fischzug ist großer Trost.

2
Niedertracht sucht mich auch dieses Jahr
zu beschleichen.

3
Ich muß gerettet werden.
Durch Erfolg?

4
Hat die Inspiration Augen,
oder schlafwandelt sie?

5
Meine Hände falten sich zuweilen.
Doch gleich dicht darunter verdaut der Bauch,
filtert die Niere hell den Urin.

6
Die Musik über alles lieben,
heißt unglücklich sein.

7
Zwölf Fische,
zwölf Morde.

Speech without Reason

Reason swam away in the river of wine.

1
A good catch is great solace.

2
Wretchedness, even this year,
creeps up on me.

3
I have to get saved.
By prosperity?

4
Has afflatus eyes,
or does it sleepwalk?

5
Sometimes my hands fold.
But just under them, my belly keeps digesting,
my kidney clearing urine.

6
Music loved above all else,
that’s unhappiness.

7
Twelve fish,
twelve murders.

Leagan Béarla: Graham Foust

Caint gan Chiall

Shnámh an réasún uainn in abhainn fíona

1
Sólás mór é gabháil mhaith éisc.

2
I mbliana arís an ainnise ag iarraidh breith orm.

3
Caithfear mé a shábháil.
Trí rathúlacht?

4
An bhfuil súile ag an inspioráid
nó an suansiúlaí í?

5
Uaireanta filltear na lámha orm.
Ach díreach faoina mbun leanann an bolg dá dhíleá,
Glanann an duán mo mhún.

6
Grá thar gach ní eile don cheol,
sin is duairceas ann.
 
7
Dhá iasc déag,
dhá dhúnmharú dhéag.
 

Leid wi'oot Raison

raison soomit awa in watters o wine

1
A guid kep's muckle easedom.

2
Wratchitness, e'en this year,
snuives up on me.

3
A hae tae git sauft.
Bi seil?

4
Hus inspiration een,
or dis't sleepwalk?

5
Whiles ma haunds fauld.
bit juist unner thaim, ma kyte's aye digeestin,
ma neers clearin pish.

6
Maisic loued abuin aw else,
yon's unhappiness.

7
Twal fush,
twal murthers.

Leagan Béarla na hAlban John McDonald

Haiku le Issa ón mbliain 1820

 gealach os cionn na sléibhte thiar -

  a bheanna á dteilgean

   ag an bpoc

西山の月と一度やおとし角

nishi yama no tsuki [to] ichi do ya otoshi-zuno

James Henry

 Another and another 

Another and another and another

And still another sunset and sunrise,

The same yet different, different and the same,

Seen by me now in my declining years

As in my early childhood, youth and manhood;

And by my parents and my parents’ parents,

And by the parents of my parents’ parents,

And by their parents counted back for ever,

Seen, all their lives long, even as now by me;

And by my children and my children’s children

And by the children of my children’s children

And by their children counted on for ever

Still to be seen as even now seen by me;

Clear and bright sometimes, sometimes dark and clouded

But still the same sunsetting and sunrise;

The same for ever to the never ending

Line of observers, to the same observer

Through all the changes of his life the same:

Sunsetting and sunrising and sunsetting,

And then again sunrising and sunsetting,

Sunrising and sunsetting evermore.

James Henry (1798–1876)

Ceann eile is ceann eile

Ceann eile is ceann eile is ceann eile

Is éirí eile fós is luí na gréine,

Is ionann iad ach éagsúil, éagsúil is mar a chéile,

Ar fheiceáil dom anois é is mé seanchríonna

Mar chonac é im’ bhunoc dom, i mo shlataire is i m’fhear;

Is ag mo thuismitheoirí is a dtuismitheoirí siúd,

Is ag tuismitheoirí thuismitheoiri mo thuismitheoirí,

Is a dtuismitheoirí siúd go heireaball siar,

Feicithe acu i gcaitheamh a saoil go léir mar a fheicimse anois é;

Is ag mo chlann agus clann mo chlainne

Is ag clann chlann mo chlainne

Is a gclann siúd ar aghaidh go deo

Le feiscint go fóill mar a fheicimse anois é;

Glan glé ar uairibh, uaireanta faoi smúit

Ach an t-eirí gréine céanna, an luí céanna

Nach n-athraíonn go deo don líne shíoraí

De bhreathnóirí, an breathnóir céanna

Trí chora crua an tsaoil:

Luí na gréine, éirí na gréine, luí

Is arís éirí na gréine is luí,

Éirí na gréine is luí na gréine go deo na ndeor

Αλλη μια και αλλη μια και αλλη μια

Άλλη μια και άλλη μια και άλλη μία

Και άλλη μια δύση ακόμη και ανατολή,

Η ίδια και όμως διαφορετική, διαφορετική και ίδια,

Όπως τη βλέπω τώρα στα στερνά μου

Όπως την έβλεπα παιδί, νέος και άνδρας ώριμος.

Και όπως την έβλεπαν οι γονείς και οι γονείς των γονιών μου,

Και οι γονείς των γονιών των γονιών μου,

Και οι γονείς τους πίσω μετρώντας πάντα,

Όπως την έβλεπαν όλη τους τη ζωή, όμοια με εμένα τώρα.

Και τα παιδιά και τα παιδιά των παιδιών μου

Και τα παιδιά των παιδιών των παιδιών μου

Και τα παιδιά τους μπροστά μετρώντας πάντα

Όπως θα τη βλέπουν όμοια με εμένα τώρα.

Ανέφελη και φωτεινή καμιά φορά, καμιά φορά μαύρη και συννεφιασμένη

Η ίδια όμως δύση και ανατολή.

Η ίδια πάντα στην ατελείωτη

Γραμμή των παρατηρητών, στον ίδιο παρατηρητή

Μέσα από όλες της ζωής του τις μεταβολές η ίδια:

Δύση και ανατολή και δύση,

και έπειτα πάλι ανατολή και δύση,

Ανατολή και δύση για πάντα.

Leagan Gréigise Sarah Thilykou

Ludwig Knaus

is duitse a sheinneann sé an t-orgánaí sráide, a shearc chun do chroí a ardú         caith pingin ina threo         má bhíonn tú ag dul thar bráid

for You he plays the organ-grinder, beloved to lighten Your heart         throw him a penny         if You're passing by

Gheorghe Tattarescu

feictear dom uaireanta go bhfuil an uile ní gach áit ar neamh is ar talamh, a stór         ag cuardach is ag faire amach         seans nach liom féin atáim

sometimes it appears, beloved that all things everywhere on earth and in the heavens         are searching peering looking         maybe I am not alone

Ștefan Luchian

Florăreasa

tá an díoltóir fágtha is a cuid bláthanna fós aici táimse fágtha lem' dhántasa         an éagfaidh siad, a thaisce         cad a tharlóidh ansin dóibh

the flower seller is left with her flowers I am left with my poems         will they wither and decay         beloved, what happens to poems that die

Moise Kisling

an garsún a bhí ionam is fearr an aithne atá agatsa air, a stór         tuigeann tú cad a thug air na súile a dhúnadh         go docht is tú a lorg i measc réaltaí

the boy I was You know him better beloved than I do         You know what made him close his eyes         tight and look for You among the stars

Binn Ghulbain

 

Grianghraf Laura Jean Zito

fágtar leat féin thú

scéalta agus seanchas ag meath . . .

Binn Ghulbain

ostavljen si

priče i legende blijede . . .

Binn Ghulbain

you are left alone

stories and legends are fading

Benbulbin

Uíbh Rathach / Iveragh

 

Grianghraf Laura Jean Zito

néalta taistil . . .

cocaí féir deireanacha

Uíbh Ráthaigh

passing clouds . . . 

the last haystacks 

of Iveragh

capaillín fiáin / wild pony

 

Grianghraf Laura Jean Zito

traonach . . .

ní chloiseann éinne é

ach capaillín fiáin

corncrake . . .

no one hears it

but a wild pony

Jason Symes

 

scathchruthanna maidine

agus ina measc

homo erectus

Harunobu Suzuki ( c. 1725 – 15 July 1770)

crann lom gan duilleog níl faic le rá agam léi tá mo chroí folamh         cá raghaidh na duilleoga strae         bhfuil ionad scíthe gar dúinn

a bare leafless tree there's nothing i can tell Her my heart is empty         where will flying leaves end up         is their resting place nearby

Lion Mountain, Milford Sound, N.Z.

Ron Rosenstock
glaonn an chuach ó shliabh go sliabh . . . freagraíonn na sleibhte
	from mountain to mountain a cuckoo calls . . . and the mountains answer

Giorgio de Chirico

déanach    luath ina thús    thart tharla sé - ní hea         níor tharla sé fós         is mar sin dár ngrá    a shearc

it's late    it's early it's beginning    it's over it has happened - no         it has yet to happen         our love    it is all these things

Matisse

bhí ár bhfréamhacha snaidhmthe le chéile, a chuid sula raibh an domhan ann         sular athraigh na séasúir         sular tuigeadh urlabhra

our roots, beloved were intertwined before the world began         before seasons brought changes         and speech became known

Tanka

Dietmar Rabich / Wikimedia Commons / „Haltern am See, Skulptur -Kardinal von Galen- -- 2014 -- 5948“ / CC BY-SA 4.0

cloiseann sé fós iad trup na mbuataisí Naitsíoch' is an liú Sieg Heil         guíonn an cairdinéal ar son         a chomhthíreach in Ifreann

he can still hear them the clip-clop of Nazi boots and the roar Sieg Heil         at night the cardinal prays         for his countrymen in hell

Tide Pools

Ron Rosenstock
grian an tráthnóna á lorg féin i measc linnte
	evening sun . . . looking for itself among pools

Vilho Lampi

tá sí feicthe agam cleachtfad an seansaol arís d'athraigh an domhan ámh         roimh m'aisling: bhí poitín ann         agus tr'éis: bhí poitín ann

yes, i have seen Her back to old ways again now but the world has changed         before my vision: moonshine         after my vision: moonshine

Paolo Valesio

Paolo Valesio, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons

 Ní le hÉinne iad na Cuimhní

Do M. P.

Cara leis a d’inis dó mar gheall air:

nuair a tháinig cónra a deirféar isteach sa séipéal

agus “díreach ag an nóiméad sin”

scoilt ga gréine an mheánlann ina dhá leath

ga ón spéir (an raibh sé ina earrach?) a bhí scamallach go dtí sin.

 

Inné (blianta ina dhiaidh sin), áit eile, cathair eile,

léim an íomhá sin isteach ina aigne arís

nuair a dhorchaigh an séipéal lasta (coinnle, crainn solais, grian an tsamhraidh)

 um nóin “díreach ag an nóiméad sin” – néal ag gabháil na slí –

nuair a ardaíodh an diosca geal os cionn na cailíse

 i dtreo an chruinneacháin.

 

Cén deireadh a bheidh leis an gcuimhne seo ar ball?

I lár na comóntachta

áit éigin ar domhan,

ionad dumpála ag anamacha;

uair um á seach, ámh, go haithríoch,

filleann siad ar feadh meandair.  

I ricordi non appartengono a nessuno

Per M. P.

Un’amica gli aveva raccontato

quando era entrata in chiesa la bara della sorella

e “in quell’istante esatto” un raggio di sole

dal cielo (era primavera?) finallora annuvolato

aveva spaccato la navata in due.

Ieri (dopo un trascorso d’anni), in altro luogo e altra città

questo gli è ribalzato nella mente quando

la chiesa illuminata (candele, lampadari, sole estivo)

si è invece oscurata d’un tratto a mezzogiorno

─passaggio d’una nuvola─

“proprio nel momento” quando il dischetto biancastro

veniva elevato sopra il calice e verso la cupola.

E dove finirà tra pochi giorni, questo ricordo?

Nella regione intermedia e comune

da qualche parte nel mondo

dove le anime lasciano i loro scarti;

ma ogni tanto, pentite,

fanno per qualche attimo ritorno.

Paolo Valesio, Italia (1939)

The Future of Man / Dán an duine

 

What is the future of Man?

There's a flare-up now in Taiwan

               You think that Ukraine

                In the ass is a pain

Just wait till the shit hits the fan!

               

Don duine cad tá i ndán?

Tá suaitheadh arís sa Téaváin

                Ní galar amháin é

                Sampla na hÚcráine

Beidh an súiche a fud an bhracháin!

Mahmoud Saiid

leagadar súil ort ní lúcháir ná mearbhlán a shearc go dtí thú         lár an ghuairneáin dheirbhísigh         cailltear is aimsítear brí ionat

they have seen You their sole delight beloved, their dizziness         centre of the dervish whirl         meaning is lost and found in You

Ahmed Morsi

"Horse Rider (1)" Acrylic on canvas 130 x 80 cm New York City - 2004

mise an cúigiú marcach tá an chuid eile acu, a shearc chomh marbh le hart         an té a thagann le grásta         éist leis an tseitreach cheolmhar

i am the fifth horseman the others, beloved are dead as door nails         the one who comes with grace am i         hear the sweet whinnying

bláthanna

 

bláthanna

á bpógadh ag an ngrian . . .

mar a bheadh den uair dheireanach

flowers

embracing the sun . . .

as though for the last time

Grianghraf le Jason Symes

 

 

laethanta ag dul ar aghaidh

is ar aghaidh  . . .

bruscar á charnadh

Arizona

Ron Rosenstock

macallaí . . . ag teacht is ag imeacht ó chainneoin na haigne

echoes . . . rising and falling from canyons of the mind

Richard Oelze

ní liom féin a bhíos bhí scata eile ag feitheamh scaip ráflaí go leor         ba liomsa thú, do mheasas         ach tá an domhan ag súil leat

i was not alone many others were waiting rumours abounded         i had thought of You as mine         no, the whole world is trembling

Dornán Tanka

zombaithe fóin

ag teacht faoi mo dhéin

ar an gcosán

seasaim i leataobh

is ligim dóibh dul tharam

John Quinnett

búir na leon i gcéin

ó na machairí

guth suaimhneach m’athar

ag insint scéalta

cois tine

Maria Steyn

amach sa samhradh

sa ghairdín

díreach roimh chontráth

teagmháil le plandaí, duilleoga, blátha

teagmháil nach raibh riamh agam leatsa

Margaret Chula

gáire beag

ar nós na seanlaethanta

ansin na tiúbanna

fuil is fual iontu

is boladh lag na críne

Alan Spring

titim na hoíche

míle gé fhiáin

ag neadú sa ghiolcach . ..

léimse a lán dánta

éadóchasacha

Michael McClintock

ón bhfuinneog

féachaim ar eala

ag eitilt ón loch  . . .

log sa philiúr

ar do thaobhsa den leaba

Gavin Austin

Anna Mgaloblishvili

arsa neach éigin, 'tá anáil Dé sa ghaoth inniu . . .' ní rud neamhchoitianta é sin         naoimh ag siúl na sráideanna         gnáthdhaoine mar dhea

someone said 'the breath of God is in the wind today . . .' such prophecy is not uncommon         saints walking the streets         in the guise of ordinary folk

Lá Lúnasa / 1st August

D'fhiafraíos de dhuine i bpríosún uair amháin conas a ráinig dó a bheith ann agus ar seisean, 'Ghoideas péire bróg.' Arsa mise leis, dá mbeadh sé tar éis iarnród a ghoid go mbeadh sé ina Sheanadóir de chuid na Stát Aontaithe. (Mary Harris Jones).

                                                                     

I asked a man in prison once how he happened to be there and he said he had stolen a pair of shoes. I told him if he had stolen a railroad he would be a United States Senator. 

- Mother Jones (Mary Harris Jones), schoolteacher, dressmaker, organizer, and activist (1 Aug. 1837-1930)