Alan Dent was born in Preston in 1951. He has lived in Lancaster, Hull, Rouen, Kent, Wales, Blackburn and now is once more in Preston. He has published the following collections of poetry: Bedtime Story, Antidotes to Optimism, Corker, Who, Town and Schrodinger’s Women. He has also published two volumes of translations from French: When The Metro is Free and Common Cause, the latter by Francis Combes. His work has appeared in Ambit, The Echo Room, The Wide Skirt, New Statesman, Prop, Tears In The Fence, Fire, Still and many other magazines. His plays include The Joy of Banking, Lap Dancing In The Gulag and The Lift. He is famous for his excoriating editorials in his magazines The Penniless Press and Mistress Quickly’s Bed; the former is now a web mag which incorporates the Northern Review of Books, founded by Dent in 2010. He has also published many reviews, mainly of contemporary poetry, and has been described by a leading contemporary poet as “a brilliant critic.” Under various pen-names he has published almost a hundred short stories.
Lomadh an Fhéir
Má tá do thigh leagtha is do theaghlachsa marbh
leanaí is mamónna ina luí ar an ngaineamh
an domhan bun os cionn - faoi do bhun atá an spéir
níl ann ach an IDF ag lomadh an fhéir;
sceimhle na hoíche, éadóchas an lae
gan lámh chúnta in aice leat, inniu ná inné
nuair b'fhearr leat ná aon rud a bheith sínte sa chré
níl ann ach an IDF ag lomadh an fhéir;
ocras ar pháistí, déantar anraith as féar
gan uisce ar fáil dóibh ná fliuchadh a mbéil
an dorchadas forleathan ag breacadh an lae
níl ann ach an IDF ag lomadh an fhéir;
ina mbáisteach tá buamaí ag titim ón spéir
ar dheis is ar chlé níl ann ach piléir
an IDF ag méanfach is straois orthu go léir
níl ann ach na Síónaigh ag lomadh an fhéir
dílleachtaí ag caoineadh in ard a gcinn go géar
is cabhraíonn SAM leis na daoine atá ag lomadh an fhéir.
MOWING THE LAWN
by Alan Dent
If your house is destroyed and your family lies dead
your babies and grandmothers left where they bled
if your world is upended and you’re lost and forlorn
it’s only the IDF mowing the lawn;
when your nights pass in terror your days in despair
if you reach for a hand and no one is there
when death’s your best friend and you wish you weren’t born
it’s only the IDF mowing the lawn;
when your children are starving you make soup from grass
not a sole drop of water for your dry mouth, alas,
when life is all darkness no promise of dawn
it’s only the IDF mowing the lawn;
when the bullets fly wildly and there’s nowhere to run
and the bombs fall at random as the goons have their fun
and the IDF laugh, sneer, lie back and yawn
it’s only the Zionists mowing the lawn;
and the righteous US as the poor orphans mourn
runs to help Zionists mowing the lawn.
