haiku

  luz do sol

  atravessa uma borboleta

  adormecida

                           Portuguese: David Rodrigues

tríd an bhféileacán ina chodladh

solas na gréine

ag dul thar bráid

                           Irish: Gabriel Rosenstock

  la luz

 traspasa una mariposa

 dormida

                           Spanish: Patricia Jimenez

     

     περνά το ηλιόφως 

     μες απ' την πεταλούδα 

     την κοιμωμένη 

                        Greek: Sarah Thilykou

    luce del sole

    passa attraverso una farfalla

   addormentata 

                     Italian: Lidia Chiarelli 

 lumina soarelui 

 copleșește un flutur

 adormit 

                    Romanian: Olimpia Iacob

 

Haiku

 

luz do sol
atravessa uma borboleta
adormecida

Portuguese: David Rodrigues

tríd an bhféileacán ina chodladh
solas na gréine
ag dul thar bráid

Irish: Gabriel Rosenstock

la luz
traspasa una mariposa
dormida

Spanish: Patricia Jimenez

περνά το ηλιόφως
μες απ' την πεταλούδα
την κοιμωμένη

Greek: Sarah Thilykou

luce del sole
passa attraverso una farfalla
addormentata

Italian: Lidia Chiarelli

lumina soarelui
copleșește un flutur
adormit

Romanian: Olimpia Iacob

Samaritans

 

Good Samaritan, Aimé Nicolas Morot

Na Samáraigh Mhaithe

Níl siad chomh coitianta is a bhíodh
Samáraigh Mhaithe an Domhain
Aimsíonn dróin iad
Atá á láimhseáil i bhfad i gcéin.
Feictear a gcroí mór ar scáileáin speisialta
Croíthe a bhuaileann ar son a gcomhdhaoine
De lá is d'oíche
Beidh siad ina dtargaid.
Is é an dea-scéal ná go mbeidh sé thart
i bhfaiteadh na súl!

The Good Samaritans of the World

They are becoming rare
The Good Samaritans of the World.
Spotted by drones
Operated miles away.
Their big hearts can be seen on special screens
Beating away for fellow human beings
Thumping day and night.
They will be targeted
The good news is
It will all be over in a flash!

THE GUID SAMARITANS O THE WARL

Thair cumin gye an antrin
The Guid Samaritans o the warl.
Gliskit bi drones
airtit bi fowk miles awa
Thair muckle herts can be gliskit on speeshul graith
thrabbin awa fir fella fowk
duntin awa day an nicht.
They'll be prappit
The guid news is
It wull aw be ower in a glint!

Leagan Béarla na hAlban: John McDonald

A Dhaid, nach bhfuil baile ar bith ag na héin?

Ishmael Shammout, Where to?
Fair use,

 Daddy, have the birds no home? is a bilingual poem by Gabriel Rosenstock, in Irish and English, is response to a masterpiece by Palestinian artist Ismail Shammout, Where to. . .? a heart-wrenching depiction of the displacement of 800,000 Palestinians in 1953, a catastrophe known as Al Nakba.

Daddy, have the birds no home?

Daddy, did you see the bare trees?
Have the birds no home?
Where will they sleep?
Where will they sleep tonight?
Daddy look, no leaves.

Daddy, did you see the bare trees?
Have the birds no home?
Where will they eat?
Where will they eat tonight?
Daddy look, no leaves.

Daddy, did you see the bare trees?
Have the birds no home?
Where will they dream?
Where will they dream tonight?
Daddy look, no leaves.

Daddy, did you see the bare trees?
Have the birds no home?
Where will they sing?
Where will they sing tomorrow?
Daddy look, no leaves.

A Dhaid, nach bhfuil baile ar bith ag na héin?

'Bhfeacaís na crainn loma, a Dhaid?
Nach bhfuil baile ar bith ag na héin?
Cá gcodlóidh siad?
Cá gcodlóidh siad anocht?
Féach, a Dhaid, duilleog ar bith

'Bhfeacaís na crainn loma, a Dhaid?
Nach bhfuil baile ar bith ag na héin?
Cá n-íosfaidh siad?
Cá n-íosfaidh siad anocht?
Féach, a Dhaid, duilleog ar bith

'Bhfeacaís na crainn loma, a Dhaid?
Nach bhfuil baile ar bith ag na héin?
Cá mbeidh a mbrionglóidí acu?
Cá mbeidh a mbrionglóidí acu anocht?
Féach, a Dhaid, duilleog ar bith

'Bhfeacaís na crainn loma, a Dhaid?
Nach bhfuil baile ar bith ag na héin?
Cá gcanfaidh siad?
Cá gcanfaidh siad amárach?
Féach, a Dhaid, duilleog ar bith

 

Μπαμπά, είδες τα γυμνά δεντρα;

Δεν έχουν σπίτι τα πουλιά;

Πού θα κοιμηθούν;

Πού θα κοιμηθούν απόψε;

Μπαμπά, κοίτα, ούτε ένα φύλλο 

Μπαμπά,  είδες τα γυμνά δέντρα;

Δεν έχουν σπίτι τα πουλιά;

Πού θα φάνε;

Πού θα φάνε απόψε;

Μπαμπά,  κοίτα,  ούτε ένα φύλλο 

Μπαμπά,  είδες τα γυμνά δέντρα;

Δεν έχουν σπίτι τα πουλιά;

Πού θα ονειρευτούν;

Πού θα ονειρευτούν απόψε;

Μπαμπά, κοίτα,  ούτε ένα φύλλο 

Μπαμπά,  είδες τα γυμνά δέντρα;

Δεν έχουν σπίτι τα πουλιά;

Πού θα τραγουδήσουν;

Πού θα τραγουδήσουν αύριο;

Μπαμπά,  κοίτα,  ούτε ένα φύλλο 

Leagan Gréigise Sarah Thilykou

 

Poem by Najwan Darwish (Palestine) and Irish transcreation + recording

 Untitled

by Najwan Darwish

You lie and say
that death is a great delight.
No. Oblivion
is the true delight.

But it, too, is retreating now,
quiet
and evanescent.
© Najwan Darwish. Translation © 2024 by Kareem James Abu-Zeid.
https://wordswithoutborders.org/read/article/2024-08/four-new-poems-by-najwan-darwish-kareem-james-abu-zeid/#

Gan Teideal

Insíonn tú bréag agus deir tú
nach bhfuil sa bhás ach fíor-ghliondar.
Ní hea. Díchuimhne
sin is fíor-ghliondar ann.

Ach is ag cúlú atá sé sin, leis, anois,
go ciúin fáilí
gearrshaolach

Free children's picture book: SPLOOKIES

 https://freekidsbooks.org/splookies/

Written by Gabriel Rosenstock, Illustrated by Rucha Dhayarkar

(Set in Co. Mayo, Ireland).

No copyright. Text/Illustrations may be freely used or adapted 

Free Irish-language digital version (with audio) also available:

https://www.leighleat.com/pages/1187

The CC BY 4.0 license is a Creative Commons license. This is a free license, good for art, entertainment and educational works.

 People are free to: Share — copy and redistribute the material in any medium or format; Adapt — remix, transform, and build upon the material for any purpose, even commercially.

Next!

 Next! is a poem by Kaz Sussman in the current issue of Fifth Estate, Vo. 59, No 1, #414 Summer, 2024 with an Irish transcreation and recording by Gabriel Rosenstock

Next!

There ought to be a test
to see if someone is suited
to be a cop: a simple test
of just one question.
Do you want to be a cop?
If the answer is yes
kick their asses out the door.
"Next!"

An Chéad Duine Eile

Ba chóir tástáil a bheith ann
féachaint an oirfeadh sé do dhuine
a bheith ina phóilín: tástáil shimplí
aon cheist amháin.
An dteastaíonn uait a bheith i do phóilín?
Más 'Teastaíonn' an freagra
tabhair bata is bóthar dó.
"An chéad duine eile!"

Leander Sukov (POETS OF THE PLANET)

 

Die fremde Mutter

Leander Sukov

an jedem ersten tag eines monats
gegen sechs uhr am abend
kam die alte frau
kittelbeschürzt, filzpantoffeln
kopftuch und strickjacke
in die kneipe
trat zum tresen
fragte ob ich ihren sohn
gesehen hätte
und es verstummten die gespräche
ganz leis' wurd' es da.
ich antwortete abschlägig.
sie trug mir auf ihm
käme er noch
zu sagen, er solle sich eilen
das essen stünde auf dem tisch bald
und er wäre hungrig bestimmt.
dann ging sie.
es blieb lange leis'
niemand sprach.
der auf den sie wartete war tot
seit zwanzig jahren.
an jedem ersten tag eines monats
gegen sechs uhr am abend
kam die alte frau
kittebeschürzt, filzpantoffeln.

An Mháthair Strainséartha

Leander Sukov

Ar an gcéad lá de gach mí
thart ar a sé a chlog um thráthnóna
thagadh an tseanbhean
isteach sa phub,
naprún uirthi, slipéir feilte,
caifirín agus cairdeagan,
ina seasamh ag an mbeár,
ag fiafraí díom an bhfaca mé a mac,
agus stopadh an comhrá
tost.
Ní fhaca mé é.
Má thagann sé, ar sise,
abair leis brostú abhaile,
is gearr go mbeadh dinnéar ar an mbord,
ba cheart go mbeadh an-ocras air.
D'imíodh sí ansin.
Bhíodh sé an-chiúin ansin ar feadh i bhfad,
gan gíocs as éinne.
An té a raibh sí ag feitheamh leis
i gcré na cille le scór bliain anuas.
Ar an gcéad lá de gach mí
thart ar a sé a chlog um thráthnóna
thagadh an tseanbhean
isteach sa phub, naprún uirthi, slipéir feilte

Irish Transcreation and Recording of a Poem MEMORY by Margarita Engle

Margarita Engle

 Memory

When songs were alive
they needed no mouths
to send them flying.

Melodies grew
their own wings.

Rhythms knew
how to leap.

The lost tribe
of lyrics
rose without effort
seeking its own form
of peace.


CUIMHNE

Nuair ba bheo do na hamhráin
ní raibh gá acu le béalaibh
a sheolfadh chun siúil iad

Phéac a gcuid sciathán féin
as na foinn.
Thuig na rithimí
conas léim as a gcraiceann.

Tháinig treibh chaillte
na liricí chun cinn
gan dua
foirm dá cuid féin á lorg aici
foirm na síochána

Mazisi Kunene (Poets of the Planet)

Poems by Mazisi Kunene,

translated from the isiZulu by Vusi Mchunu.
Irish-language transcreation and recording by Gabriel Rosenstock
 

Gáire i measc na mBocht

Ná ceapadh an taoiseach gur lúcháir
Atá i ngáire na mbocht
Aoir atá sa gháire chun cora crua an tsaoil a shárú
Dearúd a dhéanamh ar an nganntan is ar an ngátar
 

Laughter amongst the poor

 The ruler should not fool himself
And see the laughter of the poor to mean joy
For laughter is satire to transcend harsh reality
And to forget want and need and lack of wealth
 

Uhleko alufani

 Angazikhohlisi yena obusayo
Athi wena unjengaye ngokuba uyahleka uyajabula
Uhleka noma umpofu ehleke nasekuhluphekeni
Ke ukuba wena kawunangcebo engangeyakhe
 

An lá a cailleadh mo mháthair

Tamaillín roimh éirí na gréine
Nuair a chonaic mé an t-éan ag dul go hardaitheach sa
spéir
Deabhadh uirthi siar
Thuigeas-sa ag an nóiméad sin
Go rabhais-se–an droim daingean a d’iompraíodh mé–
Ar shlí na fírinne. Sall a d’imís
 
 

The day mother passed on

It was shortly before sunrise
When I saw the bird soaring through the sky
Hastening in flight to the west
And I knew at that moment
That you, you the firm back that carried me
You have passed on. You have crossed further on
 

Usuku lukamame

Ekuseni ilanga lingakaphumi
Ngabona inyoni ngayibona idabula amazulu
Ngabona yona ilibangise eNtshonalanga
Ngase ngazi ngawo lowo mzuzwana
Wena, wena mhlane wami omuhle obungibeletha
Usudlulile usuwemukile wemukela phambili
 
 
 

Im’ Cheap Magaidh ag Cách

 Mhaígh an té ar theastaigh uaidh dochar a dhéanamh dom
Go réiteodh sé gaiste romham i gclais.
Agus lá éigin go mbeinnse gafa i mo dhaor aige
Céasfar mé ag na súile a bheidh ag dul thar bráid
Im’ cheap magaidh ag cách, agus déarfaidh siad
“Cad sa diabhal a bhí ar siúl aige,
Nár thuig sé go gcaithfidh an té atá lag a bheith aireach
Agus gan a bheith ag siúl thart i dtaibhreamh na súl
oscailte!”
 

Mocked by the living

 The one who meant to harm me
Boasted that he will set a trap in a pit for me
And one day, he would catch and enslave me
And I will be tortured by the stares of passersby
I will be mocked by the living, saying
“What did he think he was doing,
Did he not know that the weak should be wary
That they may never walk as in a daydream!”
 

Isibhinqo sabaphilayo

 Yena lowo ongicuphileyo
Wathi ngiyongena phakathi komwowane
Ngingene ngingazelele ngize ngibe ngowakhe
Kube ngamehlo abadlula ngendlela
Wona asayakungibhinqa athi,
”Yena ubethi wenzani
Ke ngokuba lowo ongakwazi ukuvika
Akahambi ebheke phezulu!”
 
 

Muiscít a raibh ocras uirthi

 Tráthnóna amháin bhí rud éigin ag bogadh sa dorchadas
Amach liom. Chuas go dtí an réiteach
Ansin chuala mé muiscít do mo leanúint
D’fhiafraíos di cad a bhí uaithi
Tá ocras orm, arsa an mhuiscít, tá do chuid aibhneacha
dearga uaim
Ligeas di ól asam agus dúrt léi éirí as nuair a bheadh a
sáith ólta aici
“Ól do dhóthain anois, agus fág braon don chuid eile!”
 
 

The hungry mosquito

 One evening I saw movement in the dark
I went outside, I went to the opening
Then I heard a mosquito following me
I asked what he wanted from me
Mosquito said she is hungry, hungry for my red rivers
I allowed it to drink, telling it to stop when full
“Drink your fill, and leave something for others!”
 
 

Umiyane owawulambileyo

 Ebusuku ngabona ubusuku bunyakaza
Ngaphumela phandle ngaphumela ebaleni
Ngase ngizwa umiyane owawungilandela
Ngaze ngathi kuwo ngabe ufunani kimi
Wathi, ngilambile ngilambele imifula yakho
Ngase ngiwudedela ngase ngiwukhuza ususuthi
Sengithi phuza phela ushiyele abanye
 
 

"I did not choose to write in Zulu; I did not have to make a decision. In my tradition, you are actually inhabited by the spirits on your shoulders and they tell you what to do, what to say."
                                 Mazisi Kunene, Southern African Review of Books, 1993

ÁLVARO MATA GUILLÉ (Poets of the Planet)

 Poet. Born in Costa Rica.

•     Frequent guest at festivals, poetry meetings or book fairs, where he has held literary workshops, recitals, talks, conferences, as well as published in various newspapers and magazines around the world.
•     Columnist of cultural and political criticism, in the magazine Libros y Letras, Literary Magazine of Colombia and Latin America.
•     Director of the International Poetry Festival En el Lugar de los Escudos (Mexico), which will be held for the ninth time in May 2024.
•     Some of his books: Scenes of an Afternoon (Costa Rica); Beneath the Wind (Venezuela, Argentina); Beyond the Mist (Mexico); Osip (Spain); A Country without a Name (Mexico).
•     Upcoming publications: About the Fragments (poetry, Colombia); The Individual in the Shadow (essay, Mexico).
•     His texts have been translated into English, French, Italian, Portuguese, Macedonian, Arabic, Bengali, Aymara, Greek, Vietnamese, Polish, Russian, Mandarin, and Korean.
•     He was director of the International Liberty and Poetry Symposium (Costa Rica 1998-2005).
•     In charge of the literature area of the International Arts Festival (Costa Rica, 2001-2003).
•     He was a member of the editorial board and editorial secretary of K Magazine 2007-2010 (Mexico City).
•     Others:
•     Walls of Timid Brilliance, choreography by the group Diquis Tíquis, based on the poem Triptych. National Dance Award, 1993, Costa Rica.
•     Altered States, UNA Chamber Dance Company, based on the poem Solveit. National Dance Award, 2016, Costa Rica.
•     Beyond the Mist, based on the book of the same name, winner of the IBERESCENA Fund (Ibero-American Performing Arts), Costa Rica-Colombia-Mexico co-production, 2023.

«¿Será posible que yo exista realmente,
y que la muerte verdadera llegue?»
se preguntaba Ósip Mandelstam,
en un texto transcrito,
no se sabe por quién,
tampoco cuándo,
en una de las paredes del reclusorio,
bañadas por un sol negro,
en espera de la noche,
de las fosas

“Is it possible that I really exist,
and that true death comes?”
Ósip Mandelstam would ask himself,
in a transcribed text,
no one knows by whom,
nor when,
on one of the walls of the prison,
drenched by a black sun,
awaiting the night,
of the graves

"An fíor go bhfuilimse ann dáiríre
agus go dtagann an bás cinnte?"
ceist a chuir Ósip Mandelstam air féin,
i dtéacs tras-scríofa,
ní fios cé a dhein,
ná cathain,
ar bhalla de bhallaí an phríosúin,
báite ag grian dhubh,
ag feitheamh le hoíche
na n-uaigheanna

Kon Markogiannis (POETS OF THE PLANET)

 Kon Markogiannis is an existential poet, experimental photographer, collage artist, independent researcher and spiritual seeker with an interest in themes such as memory, mortality, spirituality, the human condition, the exploration of the human psyche and the evolution of consciousness. He sees his work as a kind of weapon against the ephemeral or, as Vilém Flusser would say (Towards a Philosophy of Photography), a “hunt for new states of things”. Kon has been exhibiting his art for many years (mainly in Greece and the UK) and his writings have been featured in various books, journals and magazines. His university studies include a BA in Visual Communication Design, an MA in Photography and a doctorate in Fine Art. He currently lives and works in Thessaloniki, Greece.
Books: Ίσως ο Θάνατος (Greek poetry), Ίχνη Φωτός (Greek poetry), Angelic Flights (poetry in Irish-Greek-Japanese, collaboration with Gabriel Rosenstock, Sarah Thilykou and Maki Starfield), Dysturban (photobook).

the 12 phobias

1.
I’m afraid
of tomorrow
today
yesterday

2.
I’m afraid
to live
afraid
to die

3.
I’m afraid
I won’t wake up
from the lethargy
of existence

4.
I’m afraid
of dreams
which haunt
my waking hours

5.
I’m afraid
to look
at my own
self

6.
I’m afraid
of my thoughts
my desires
my shadow

7.
I’m afraid
of the beast
which lives
within my gut

8.
I’m afraid
of nothingness
emptiness
and zeroness

9.
I’m afraid
of the darkness
which lies
inside me

10.
I’m afraid
I may be reborn
and repeat
the same mistakes

11.
I’m afraid
but I do not know
why I should
be afraid

12.
I’m afraid
I might find
that fear
does not exist

 an dá fhóibe dhéag  

1.
Tá eagla orm roimh
an lá amárach
an lá inniu
an lá inné
 
2.
Tá eagla orm
roimh an mbeatha
eagla orm
roimh an mbás
 
3.
Tá eagla orm
nach ndúiseod
as spadántacht
an tsaoil
 
4.
Tá eagla orm
roimh bhrionglóidí
a chéasann mé
is mé im’ dhúiseacht
 
5.
Tá eagla orm
breathnú
orm
féin
 
6.
Tá eagla orm
roimh mo chuid smaointe
mo mhianta
mo scáil
 
7.
Tá eagla orm
roimh an mbrúid
a chónaíonn
i m’ionathar
 
 8.
Tá eagla orm
roimh neamhní
roimh an bhfolús
roimh nialas
 
9.
Tá eagla orm
roimh an dorchadas
atá
istigh ionam
 
10.
Tá eagla orm
go n-athshaolófaí mé
is na dearmaid chéanna
a dhéanamh arís
 
11.
Tá eagla orm
ach níl a fhios agam
cén fáth a mbeadh
eagla orm
 
12.
Tá eagla orm
go bhfaighinn amach
nach ann
don eagla

---

Haiku in four languages.

ANGELIC FLIGHTS is a collection of haiku written originally in Irish (Gaelic) by Gabriel Rosenstock, translated into English by the poet, Greek transcreation by Sarah Thilykou, and Japanese transcreation by Maki Starfield), and photographically complemented by Kon Markogiannis.

"These glimpses caught in words or images are each so weightless and so shifting that you could think they have no substance...that is, until the moment when like curling smoke and light they touch each other in the darkness, and a bright perception takes form, looks back at us, comes alive."

Philip Gross

"The exquisite fusion of image and word renders a deeply satisfying aesthetic experience, whereby we are transmuted by its profundity, exquisiteness and light. Indeed, accomplished artists in their own right, photographer and poet have melded their talents to produce a visceral and ethereal monograph on the flights of angels and in turn have lifted up our souls to the very gods."

    Paula Marvelly (Editor The Culturium)

"The initial experience of flicking through the pages reminded me of seeing the films of the American filmmaker Kenneth Anger whose work was a blend of surrealism, eroticism and the occult . . . For those who like the ambitious and iconoclastic, and also mingle a taste for the horror channel with a penchant for the shadow side of the psyche, this would make a great gift."

Diana Webb, review in Blithe Spirit, Journal of the British Haiku Society, Vol. 32, No.2

Díbirt Deamhan

 Exorcism
 
Is America in need of an exorcism?
Say after me, 50 times daily:
50 for all 50 states of the USA–
 
In the Name of the Father,
and of the Son,
and of the Holy Ghost.
Amen.
Most glorious Prince of the Heavenly Armies,
Saint Michael the Archangel,
defend us!
Our struggle is not against flesh and blood,
but against the rulers,
against the authorities,
against the powers of this dark world
and against the spiritual forces of evil
in the heavenly realms.
 
The English version (above) only serves as a guide.
It has no power in itself to drive out evil spirits!
How could it?
Is it not the chosen tongue of the Great Shaitan himself!
 
Recommended languages:
Irish, Nahuatl.
 
 
Díbirt Deamhan
 
An bhfuil gá ag Meiriceá le díbirt deamhan?
Abair im' dhiaidhse, 50 uair sa lá:
50 a sheasann do 50 stát Mheiriceá–
In ainm an Athar,
agus an Mhic,
agus an Spioraid Naoimh.
Áiméan.
 
A Phrionsa shárghlórmhair na nArm Neimhe,
Naomh Mícheál Ardaingeal,
cosain sinn!

Mar ní le naimhde daonna atáimid i ngleic
ach le tiarnais,
agus cumhachtaí
agus rialtóirí
domhain seo an dorchadais,
agus le hainspridí
na bhflaitheas.

Níl sa Bhéarla (thuas) ach treoir.
Níl ar a chumas ainspridí a ruaigeadh.
Conas a dhéanfadh?
Nach é a rogha teanga ag Sátan Mór féin é!
 
Teangacha a mholtar:
Gaeilge, Nachuáitlis.

A Shaighdiúrín, a chroí

 

Ar fáil ó https://freekidsbooks.org/the-little-tin-soldier-irish-language-edition/#

Dino Siotis (Poets of the Planet)

Born in Tinos, Greece in 1944, Dino Siotis has published thirty five books of fiction and poetry in Greek, English, French and Spanish. His poems have been translated into many languages, including Arabic and Chinese. He is the founder of Wire Press and Society of (de)kata and the publisher and editor of sixteen political and/or literary magazines in San Francisco, Ontario, New York, Boston, and Athens. He regularly contributes articles on communication, the arts and book reviews in newspapers. He studied Law at Athens University and Creative Writing at San Francisco State University, following which he entered the diplomatic corps for the Hellenic Republic and served abroad a number of years in Canada and the U.S. as director of Press and Communication. In 2007 he received the Greek State Poetry Award for his poetry collection Autobiography of a Target. In 2011 he started Poets Circle in Athens. He is director of the Athens World Poetry Festival and the Tinos International Literary Festival and spends his time between Athens and Tinos, Greece.

Gaza

Once upon a time there was Gaza, once upon a time long
ago it was a city with streets, squares with palm trees and
public buildings and schools and houses with doors and
 
shuttered and glazed windows, once and for all long ago
there was water and electricity and public administration,
once upon a time there were trees with birds, coffeehouses
 
with people drinking tea and coffee and talking, once upon
a time there was a wind that came from river to the sea even
if the wave was closed it would reach to Rafah, once upon a
 
time the inhabitants of Gaza lived beautifully and peacefully
and laughed and danced and they moved around and fell in
love and married and they prospered and the children went
 
to school too their joys (which had no end) were recycled to
the moon, once upon a time all of Gaza was a vast light that
reflected beauty and the liveliness of the moment, once upon
 
a time the expected one could not describe it or to predict it,
once upon a time Gaza was all one district, a neighborhood,
then flood came, and Gaza became a plane lost in its flight
 

 Tinos, May 25, 2024

Γάζα

Μια φορά κι έναν καιρό ήταν η Γάζα, μια φορά κι έναν
καιρό ήταν μια πόλη με δρόμους, πλατείες με χουρμαδιές
και δημόσια κτίρια και σχολεία και σπίτια με πόρτες και
 
παράθυρα με μπετούγιες και τζάμια, μια φορά κι έναν
καιρό υπήρχε νερό και ρεύμα και δημόσια διοίκηση, μια
φορά κι έναν καιρό υπήρχαν δέντρα με πουλιά, καφενεία
 
με ανθρώπους που έπιναν τσάι και καφέ και συζητούσαν,
μια φορά κι έναν καιρό υπήρχε άνεμος που έφτανε απ’ το
ποτάμι ώς τη θάλασσα κι αν το κύμα ήταν κλειστό έφτανε
 
ώς τη Ράφα, μια φορά κι έναν καιρό οι κάτοικοι στη Γάζα
ζούσαν όμορφα και ειρηνικά και γελούσαν και χόρευαν
και κυκλοφορούσαν και ερωτεύονταν και παντρεύονταν
 
και ευημερούσαν και τα παιδιά πήγαιναν σχολείο κι οι
χαρές τους (που δεν είχαν τελειωμό) ανακυκλώνονταν
ώς το φεγγάρι, μια φορά κι έναν καιρό ολόκληρη η Γάζα
 
ένα απέραντο φως που αντανακλούσε την ομορφιά και
τη ζωντάνια της στιγμής, μια φορά κι έναν καιρό το
προσδόκιμο δεν μπορούσε κάποιος να το περιγράψει ή
 
να το προβλέψει, μια φορά κι έναν καιρό η Γάζα όλη μια
συνοικία, μια γειτονιά, μέχρι που ήρθε ο κατακλυσμός,
κι η Γάζα έγινε αεροπλάνο που χάθηκε στην πτήση του
 

Τήνος, 25 Μαΐου 2024

Gaza

Bhí Gaza ann uair amháin, uair amháin fadó
ba chathair é agus sráideanna ann, cearnóga le crainn phailme agus
foirgnimh phoiblí agus scoileanna agus tithe ar a raibh doirse agus

fuinneoga is comhlaí is gloine ghlónraithe, uair amháin bhí uisce
ag cách agus leictreachas agus riarachán poiblí
uair amháin bhí crainn agus éanlaith ann, siopaí caife

agus daoine ag ól tae agus caife, ag cabaireacht, uair
amháin bhí leoithne a tháinig ón abhainn go dtí an mhuir agus fiú
má ba dhúnta í an tonn, shroichfeadh sí Rafah, uair

amháin mhair pobal Ghaza go hálainn agus go síochánta
is gháireadar is dhamhsaíodar is bhogadar thart is thiteadar
i ngrá agus phósadar agus bhí rath orthu agus chuaigh na páistí

ar scoil agus dá lúcháir (gan teorainn) rinneadh athchúrsáil
chun na gealaí, uair amháin solas fairsing ab ea Gaza
scáthán ar áilleacht agus ar spleodar an nóiméid, uair
 
amháin an té a raibh coinne leis ní fhéadfadh sé cur síos air ná é a thuar,
aon cheantar amháin ab ea Gaza uair amháin, comharsanacht,
tháinig tuilte ansin, agus deineadh eitleán de Ghaza a cailleadh i lár eitilte

 

Ní Linn Féin Atáimid /We Are Not Alone

 

Baisteadh Chríost /The Baptism of Christ
Aert de Gelde (1710)

Ní Linn Féin Atáimid

Ní linn féin atáimid
ní fhéadfaimis a bheith linn féin
mar shampla
daoine eile
na billiúin díobh
na beo is na mairbh
do shinsir romhat san áireamh
ainmhithe éisc is éanlaith
nithe a dhéanann turlabhait istoíche
ní linn féin atáimid
pláinéid is cóiméid
(agus bruscar spáis ar ndóigh)

I mí an Mheithimh, 1949,
thug Albert II
aghaidh ar an gcianspás
ach cailleadh é ar athiontráil dó
(ag tagairt atáim ní dá Mhórgacht, Prionsa Mhonacó,
ach do mhoncaí saotharlainne)
ar an 16 Meán Fómhair, 1959
cailleadh ceithre cinn déag de lucha spáis
nílimid linn féin
madra strae Rúiseach ab ea Laika
thug na Meiriceánaigh Muttnik uirthi
chuaigh sí trí thine
í féin agus Sputnik 2
d’fhéadfá dul ar aghaidh is ar aghaidh
damháin alla, éisc, toirtísí
Timothy O’Leary, Ollamh in Harvard
a chuir LSD i mbéal an phobail (!)
ba dhuine de na luaithspásairí é
a thug aghaidh ar an gcianspás i ndiaidh a bháis
ní fhéadfá a rá gur linn féin atáimid!

Δεν Είμαστε Μόνοι

Δεν είμαστε μόνοι
δεν θα μπορούσαμε να είμαστε μόνοι
για παράδειγμα
υπάρχουν κι άλλοι άνθρωποι
δισεκατομμύρια από δαύτους,
οι ζωντανοί και οι νεκροί,
συμπεριλαμβανομένων των προγόνων σου
ζώα, ψάρια και πουλιά
πράγματα που χτυπάνε τη νύχτα,
δεν είμαστε μόνοι
πλανήτες και κομήτες
(και πολλά διαστημικά σκουπίδια)

Τον Ιούνιο του 1949, ο Άλμπερτ ΙΙ
βγήκε στο διάστημα
αλλά πέθανε κατά την επανείσοδο στην ατμόσφαιρα
(Δεν αναφέρομαι στην Αυτού Γαληνότατη Υψηλότητα,  
τον Πρίγκιπα του Μονακό,
αλλά σε ένα εργαστηριακό μαϊμουδάκι)
στις 16 Σεπτεμβρίου 1959
δεκατέσσερα διαστημικά ποντίκια χάθηκαν,
δεν είμαστε μόνοι
Η Λάικα ήταν ένα ρωσικό αδέσποτο σκυλί
οι Αμερικανοί την ονόμασαν «Μάτνικ».
Η Λάικα κάηκε στο διάστημα
μαζί με τον Σπούτνικ 2
θα μπορούσε κανείς να συνεχίσει και να συνεχίσει . . .
αράχνες, ψάρια, χελώνες
Ο καθηγητής του Χάρβαρντ Τίμοθι Ο’ Λίρι
που έκανε δημοφιλή το LSD
ήταν ένας απ’ τους λεγόμενους «αστροσταχτοναύτες»
που τα υπολείμματά τους εκτοξεύτηκαν στο διάστημα
σίγουρα δεν είμαστε μόνοι!

Leagan Gréigise:

Πέτρος Γκολίτσης
Petros Golitsis
Thessaloniki, Greece

We are Not Alone

We are not alone
we could not possibly be alone
for instance
other people exist
billions of them
the living and the dead
including your ancestors
animals fishes and birds
things that go bump in the night
we are not alone
planets and comets
(and lots of space junk)

In June 1949, Albert II
went into outer space
but died on re-entry
(I refer not to His Serene Highness, the Prince of Monaco,
but to a laboratory monkey)
on September 16, 1959
fourteen space mice perished
we're not alone
Laika was a stray Russian dog
the Americans called her Muttnik.
Laika burned up in space
along with Sputnik 2
one could go on and on . . .
spiders, fish, tortoises
Harvard Professor Timothy O'Leary
who popularised LSD
was one of a bunch of so-called 'ashtronauts'
whose remains were rocketed into space
we're most definitely not alone!

Mimi German (POETS OF THE PLANET)

 Mimi German is an American poet and peace activist living in the wilderness of Oregon. She has published two books of poetry, Where Grasses Bend (EyePublishEwe Press, 2023), and Beneath the Gravel Weight of Stars (Poetry Box Press, 2022). Her books, War Poems and Flowers of the Litter will be out in 2024.

 

WAR POEM #96

All leaves eventually fall
From the tree
Allowing light
To expose the branch
We do not fear
The tree’s way
But open our hearts to it
Like a lotus blossoming
In the warmth of the sun
Teaching us once more
How to live like a leaf
Falling from its tree

DÁN COGAIDH #96

I ndeireadh na dála
Titeann gach duilleog den chrann
Is ligeann don solas
An ghéag a nochtadh
Ní heagal linn
Slite an chrainn
Osclaímid ár gcroí dó
Ar nós na loiteoige a bhláthaíonn
Faoi theas na gréine
Agus a mhúineann dúinn arís
Conas maireachtaint mar dhuilleog
Ag titim den chrann

An Anthology of Indian Haiku: Reviewed

Fanaí Anaithnid / Unknown Wanderer

 

 The Homeward Journey (1869)
William James Webbe

Unknown Wanderer

Someone is wandering
his camel too is wandering
Is he going home?
Or is he leaving home?
Someone is wandering
his camel too is wandering
Does he know what day it is
what century?
Someone is wandering
his camel too is wandering
It looks like they'll be
wandering forever
Someone is wandering
his camel too is wandering
What will yesterday bring,
today, tomorrow?
Someone is wandering
his camel too is wandering

Beneath a crimson sky
Searching for the Holy Land

Fánaí Anaithnid

Tá duine éigin ar fán
agus a chamall leis ar fán
An ag gabháil abhaile atá sé?
Nó ag gabháil idir dhá thír?
Tá duine éigin ar fán
agus a chamall leis ar fán
An eol dó cén lá é
cén ré?
Tá duine éigin ar fán
agus a chamall leis ar fán
Cheapfá gur ar fán a bheidh siad
go deo.
Tá duine éigin ar fán
agus a chamall leis ar fán
Cad a thabharfaidh an lá inné leis
an lá inniu, an lá amárach?
Tá duine éigin ar fán
agus a chamall leis ar fán


Spéir chraorag os a gcionn
An Talamh Naofa acu á lorg

Az ismeretlen vándor

Valaki vándorol
a tevéje is vándorol.
Hazafelé tart?
Vagy elmegy otthonról?
Valaki vándorol,
a tevéje is vándorol.
Tudja, milyen nap van ma,
melyik évszázad?
Valaki vándorol,
a tevéje is vándorol.
Úgy néz ki,
örökké vándorolni fognak.
Valaki vándorol.
a tevéje is vándorol.
Mit hoz a tegnap, a
ma, a holnap?
Valaki vándorol,
a tevéje is vándorol.

Bíborvörös ég alatt
kutatja a Szentföldet.

Hungarian translation:  Zita Murányi

 

מִישֶׁהוּ נוֹדֵד

גַּם הַגָּמָל שֶׁלּוֹ נוֹדֵד

הַאִם הוּא הוֹלֵךְ הַבַּיְתָה?

אוֹ עוֹזֵב אֶת בֵּיתוֹ?

גַּם הַגָּמָל שֶׁלּוֹ נוֹדֵד,

הַאִם הוּא יוֹדֵעַ אֵיזֶה יוֹם הַיּוֹם?

אֵיזוֹ מֵאָה?

מִישֶׁהוּ נוֹדֵד

גַּם הַגָּמָל שֶׁלּוֹ נוֹדֵד

נִרְאֶה כְּאִלּוּ

יִנְדְּדוּ לָנֶצַח,

מִישֶׁהוּ נוֹדֵד,

גַּם הַגָּמָל שֶׁלּוֹ נוֹדֵד,

מָה יָבִיא הָאֶתְמוֹל

הַיּוֹם הַזֶּה, המָחָר?

מִישֶׁהוּ נוֹדֵד

גַּם הַגָּמָל שֶׁלּוֹ נוֹדֵד

 

תַּחַת שְׁמִי אַרְגָּמָן

מְחַפֵּשׂ אֶת הָאָרֶץ הַמֻּבְטַחַת.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             Hebrew: Agi Mishol

 

Blaosc Gerónimo

 Blaosc Gerónimo

Cérbh é príomhscríbhneoir
Óráidí Nixon?
Ray Price.
Tá’s agat anois.
Bhí Ray ina bhall de Skull and Bones
Ar a dtugtar leis
Bráithreachas an Bháis
(Bhí George W. Bush ina bhall freisin).
Déanann siad bandia darb ainm Eulogia
A adhradh.
Faoi ghlas áit éigin
Tá blaosc Gerónimo acu.

Ach bhí a fhios sin go léir agat, nach raibh
Ón rang staire

Uaireanta ceapaim go gcloisim Gerónimo ag méanfach
(Caithfidh go bhfuil sé dubh dóite leis féin)
Sin is brí leis an ainm Gerónimo, dála an scéil,
‘An té a bhíonn ag méanfach.’

The Skull of Gerónimo

Who was Nixon’s
Chief speech writer?
Ray Price.
Now you know.
Ray was a member of Skull and Bones
Also known as
The Brotherhood of Death
(Prominent members include George W. Bush).
They worship a goddess
Called Eulogia.
Locked away somewhere
They have the skull of Gerónimo

But you probably knew all that, didn’t you
From history class.

Sometimes I think I hear Gerónimo yawning
(He must be bored)
That’s what his name means, by the way,
”He who yawns.”
                                                         

THE HARNPAN O GERONIMO

Whae wis Nixon's
Heid leid scriever?
Ray Price.
Nou ye ken.
Ray wis a member o Harnpan an Banes
Also kent as
The Britherhood o Daith
( George W Bush wis anither),
They bou doon tae a Goddess
Cried Eulogia.
Lockfast sumwhaur
They hae the harnpan o Geronimo

Bit aiblins ye kent that
frae scuil heestorie cless.

Whiles ah'm shair a hear Geronimo gantin
( He maun be scunnert)
Yon's the meanin o's nem oniewey,
'He whae gants.'

Scots: John McDonald

Agneta Falk Hirschman (POETS OF THE PLANET)

Agneta Falk Hirschman is a Swedish-born poet, visual artist, editor, translator and activist. Her poetry is translated into many languages, and she’s participated in numerous international poetry festivals. In 2018 she was the recipient of the Regina Coppola International Poetry Award in Italy. Her latest book of poetry, Fall and Fly, was published by Seventh Tangent Press, 2023. She lives in San Francisco.




 

 

DANCING ON A WING OF BREATH

The wind brought me here
to a hidden corner
on a stony beach
something about the light
the sky, the sea
melting in to one, into me
the pounding waves
sounding like I feel inside
and there she is, my mother
and all the mothers before her
dancing on a wing of breath
becoming my breath
and nothing can stop me now
from releasing a torrent of tears
for all those who’ve passed
and for those wandering over the earth
in search of a home
where bombs don’t fall.

AG DAMHSA AR EITE ANÁLA

An ghaoth a thug anseo mé
chuig cúinne rúnda
ar dhuirling
rud éigin faoin solas
an spéir, an mhuir
ag leá ina chéile, ionamsa
torann na dtonn
ar nós mar a mhothaímse istigh
agus siúd thall í, mo mháthairse
is na máithreacha uile roimpi
ag damhsa ar eite anála
ar m'anáilse anois í
agus níl aon ní a stopfadh anois mé
ó rabharta a chaoineadh
ar son na marbh
agus ar son na n-anamacha go léir atá ar fán
agus áit á lorg acu
atá saor ó bhuamaí.

 

Duanaire Idirnáisiúnta / International Poetry Anthology

Toghchán / ELECTION FEVER

 

Gaza

The Uses of Poetry / Feidhm na Filíochta

 The Uses of Poetry

There are 15 million widows in India
living in abject poverty
(out of 46 million widows in total).
Usually I'm blind to statistics.
They fail to interest me
or move me in any way.
But 15 million widows in India
living from hand to mouth?
This statistic grabbed me.
I couldn't shake it off.
Like a torn sari
my morning was ripped apart.

I wanted to send each one of them a poem
but I have no Hindi
Marathi
Kannada
Bangla
Tamil
Gujarati
Malayalam
Assamese
or any other Indian language

Would a poem in Irish comfort even one widow
out of 15 million?
Irish, for God's sake!
Even an Irish widow would find precious little comfort in it.
A cup of tea (or chai) . . . maybe
there might be some solace in that
if offered lovingly.

Feidhm na Filíochta

15 milliún baintreach atá san India
agus iad beo bocht
(as 46 milliún baintreach ar fad).
Ní bhacaimse le staitisticí de ghnáth.
Níl spéis dá laghad agam iontu
ní chorraíonn siad mé.
Ach 15 milliún baintreach
is gan acu ach ón lámh go dtí an béal?
Rug an staitistic sin orm
is ní fhéadfainn é a chur díom.
Bhí an mhaidin pollta anois
mar sháírí stróicthe.

Theastaigh uaim dán a chur chuig gach duine acu
ach níl aon Hiondúis agam
ná Maraitis
Cannadais
Beangáilis
Tamailis
Mailéalaimis
Asaimis
ná teanga ar bith eile de chuid na hIndia

An dtabharfadh dán Gaeilge faoiseamh ar bith
do bhaintreach amháin as 15 milliún?
Gaeilge, as ucht Dé!
Is beag sólás a bhainfeadh baintreach Éireannach as.
Cupán tae (nó chai) . . . seans
bheadh sólás éigin ansin
dá réiteofaí di go grámhar é.

Gabriel Rosenstock

                                                                                                        

THE YISSES O MUSARDRIE

Thair'r 15 mullion weedaes in India
leevin in puirtith.
(oot o 46 mullion in aw).
Fir ordnar, statistics ur nocht tae me.
The gate thair on means nocht
thae muive me naewey.
Bit 15 mullion weedaes in India
leevin haun tae mou?
This a cudnae turn a deefie tae.
Ah cudnae shak it.
Lik a riven sari
ma day wis riven apairt

Ah wintit tae ootpit tae ilkane a pome.
Bit a hae nae Hindi
Marathi
Kannada.
Bangla
Tamil
Gujarati
Malayalam
Assames
or onie ither Indian leid.

Wid a pome in Irish gie easement tae e'en yin weedae
oot o thae mullions?
Irish, Fegs!
E'en an Irish weedae wud fund nae easement in't.
A wee cuppa (or chai)...aiblins
that micht be sum easement
gin it wis gien wi luve.

Scots: John McDonald

Οι χρήσεις της ποίησης

Υπάρχουν 15 εκατομμύρια χήρες στην Ινδία
ζώντας σε έσχατη φτώχεια
(από 46 εκατομμύρια χήρες συνολικά).
Συνήθως είμαι τυφλός στις στατιστικές.
Δεν με ενδιαφέρουν
δεν με ταράζουν με οποιονδήποτε τρόπο.
Αλλά 15 εκατομμύρια χήρες στην Ινδία
ζώντας με ελεημοσύνες;
Αυτή η στατιστικό μου την έδωσε.
Δεν ξεπερνιέται εύκολα.
Σαν σκισμένο σάρι το πρωί μου διαλύθηκε.
Ήθελα να στείλω στην κάθε μία ένα ποίημα

αλλά δεν κατέχω
τα Χίντι
τα Μαράθι
τα Κανάντα
τα Bangla
τα Ταμίλ
τα Γκουτζαράτι
τα Μαλαγιαλάμ
τα Ασαμέζι
ή οποιαδήποτε άλλη ινδική γλώσσα

Ένα ποίημα στα ιρλανδικά
θα παρηγορούσε ακόμη και μια χήρα
από τα 15 εκατομμύρια;
Ιρλανδός είμαι, για όνομα του Θεού!
Ακόμη και μια Ιρλανδή χήρα
θα έβρισκε λίγη άνεση σε αυτό.
Ένα φλιτζάνι τσάι (ή chai). . .
ίσως μπορεί να υπάρχει
κάποια παρηγοριά σ’ αυτό
αν προσφερθεί με αγάπη.

Leagan Gréigise: Dinos Siotis

Toghchán/ Election Fever

 

Dán ón Eabhrais / Poem by Agi Mishol

 Safe Room

 Agi Mishol

Now that death creeps all around
And the pecans are bursting their shells,
I hide within Hebrew.
Nothing will befall me in innocent writing,
Nothing will befall me
If I am absorbed into the letters,
If I don't go outside the line -
Shrunk to a small dot
Stuffed inside an O
Or in the belly of a C,
A semi-colon dripping tears
Like a captive.

Beloved holy tongue -
Now that everything is in its own time
And everything now is horror,
When the orchard stretches out
And the earth is plowed,
I do only what Rilke says:
Let beauty and horror happen to me
Without thinking
That this is the end.

Translated from the Hebrew by Barbara Mann.

                   

Seomra Sábháilte

Agus an bás ag téaltú thart anois
is na cnónna peacáin ag pléascadh as a mblaosc
Téimse i bhfolach san Eabhrais.
Ní imeoidh aon ní orm istigh i scríbhinn shaonta,
Ní imeoidh aon ní orm más súite isteach sna litreacha atáim,
Mura dtéim thar an líne -
Craptha im' phonc beag
Sáite isteach in O
Nó i mbolg C,
Leathstad ag sileadh deor
Ar nós cime.

A theanga bheannaithe, a théagair -
Anois is gach aon ní ina am féin
Agus gach aon ní anois ina uafás,
An t-úllord ag síneadh amach
Agus an talamh treafa,
Ní dheinimse ach de réir Rilke:
Ligim don áilleacht is don uafás tarlú dom
Gan a shamhlú
Gurb é seo an clabhsúr.

Irish: Gabriel Rosenstock

SAUF CHAUMER

Nou thit daith skooks aw aroond
an the pecans'r brustin thair shalls
ah dern wi'in Hebrew.
Naethin wull befaw me in saikless scrievin,
naethin wull befaw me
gin ah'm oot ower the lugs intae the letters,
gin a dinnae gae ootside the line  -
Shilpit tae a peerie dot
Stappit inby an O
Or in the wame o a C,
a semi-colon blirtin
Lik yin jylt.

Lief haly tung  -
Nou thit  awthing's in'ts ain tyme
An awthing nou gars us grue,
Whan the orchard raxes oot
An the yirth is plooed,
Ah dae anely whit Rilke tells:
Lat bonnieness an grue cum ower me
Wi'oot jalousin
This is the hinnerend.

Scots: John McDonald

Anthony Blinken

 

Anthony Blinken is a bilingual limerick by Limerick-born Gabriel Rosenstock

                          ~
My name it is Anthony Blinken
And lately, dear folks, I've been thinkin':
        Are we makin' things worse
        Is America a curse?
I dunno, but somethin' is stinkin'!

                ~
Ní chodlaímse rómhaith istoíche
Cloisim olagón géar goirt na gaoithe:
            In Gaza, sa Liobáin
            An t-aon phort amháin
Anthony! Go deo deo is choíche . . .            

Ismaël Diadié Haïdara (Poets of the Planet)

 ISMAËL DIADIÉ HAÏDARA (born 1957) is a librarian, poet, philosopher, historian and president of the Kati Fund Foundation. A regular speaker, he has an extensive work published with titles such as Le Statut du monde. Nécessité, possibilité et contingence chez Ibn Arabi, Cordoba, 1992; Yawdar Pasha y la conquista saudí del Songhay (1591-1599) Instituto de Estudios almerienses, 1993 y Rabat 1996; L’Espagne musulmane et l’Afrique subsaharienne, éditions Donniya, Bamako, 1997; Les Juifs à Tombouctou, éditions Donniya, Bamako, 1999; Los otros Españoles, mr ediciones, Madrid, 2004; Los últimos Visigodos, rd editores, Sevilla, 2003; Las lamentaciones del viejo Tombo, Maremoto, Málaga, 2006; Abana, Rihla, Córdoba, Almuzara, 2006; Monólogo de un carnero, Árbol de Poe, Málaga, 2012; Zimma, Vaso Roto Mexico, 2014, Madrid 2015; Tombuctú, Andaluces en la ciudad pérdida del Sahara, Almazara, 2015. Tebrae, Cantabria, 2021.

BREVE HISTORIA DE MI VIDA

Tombe la neige.
Salvatore Adamo.

Tenía tres estaciones de lluvia en el año de la independencia de este país
Tenía seis estaciones de lluvia en el año de la guerra del Norte
Tenía nueve estaciones de lluvia en el año del cólera
Tenía doce estaciones de lluvia en el año de la gran hambruna
Tenía quince estaciones de lluvia en el año de la otra guerra
Cuando cayeron los obuses de los yihadistas tenía cincuenta y cuatro años
Elegí entre el ataúd y la maleta y me fui con mi hija y mi hijo
Me fui como otras cincuenta y cuatro personas en una barcaza
Han pasado diez años y todas las noches caen obuses en mis sueños
Todas las noches sentado sobre una maleta
Yo también espero
y cae la nieve
Solo cae la nieve.

BRIEF STORY OF MY LIFE

Snow falls
Salvatore Adamo *

I was three years old in the year of independence of this country
I was six years old in the year of the Northern war
I was nine years old in the cholera year
I was twelve years old in the year of the great famine
I was fifteen years old in the year of the other war
When the jihadist shells fell, I was fifty-four years old
I chose between the coffin and the suitcase,
and I left with my daughter and my son
I left my city like fifty-four other people on a barge.
Ten years have passed and every night shells fall in my dreams
Every night sitting on a suitcase
I’m also waiting
and the snow falls
Only snow falls.

*  Belgian-Italian singer

Dírbheathaisnéis Ghairid

Sneachta ag titim
Salvatore Adamo *

Trí bliana d'aois a bhíos nuair a bhaineamar neamhspleáchas amach
Sé bliana d'aois nuair a bhris Cogadh an Tuaiscirt amach
Naoi mbliana d'aois i  mbliain an chalair
Dhá bhliain déag d'aois i mbliain an Ghorta Mhóir
Cúig bliana déag d'aois nuair a tharla an cogadh eile
Nuair a thit sliogáin na jiohádach, ceithre bliana is caoga a bhíos
Bhí rogha le déanamh, cónra nó cás taistil,
D'fhágas le m'iníon is lem' mhac
D'fhágas an chathair i mbáirse, ceathrar is caoga eile im' theannta.
Deich mbliana níos déanaí, titeann sliogáin gach oíche im' bhrionglóidí
Im' shuí ar chás taistil dom chuile oíche
Táimse leis ag feitheamh
agus an sneachta ag titim
gan ach sneachta ag titim

*  Amhránaí Beilgeach-Iodálach

Físeán/ A tale of enlightenment

Francis Combes (POETS OF THE PLANET)

 NON, LA TERRE N’EST PAS RONDE

Non, la Terre n’est pas ronde
Si la Terre était ronde
Cela se verrait
Cela se saurait
Si la Terre était ronde
Il n’y aurait pas, d’un côté,
Quelques-uns tout en haut,
Et les autres, la plupart des autres,
En bas,
Souvent même tout en bas…
Si la Terre était ronde
Aucun pays
Ne pourrait se dire
Le centre de la Terre
Car tous seraient au centre.
Et tous les hommes
Tout autour de la Terre,
Seraient logés à la même enseigne.
Mais ce n’est pas le cas
Et la Terre va de travers
Parce que la Terre n’est pas ronde.
En tout cas,
Pas encore.

Francis Combes
Non, la terre n'est pas ronde,
« Si les symptômes persistent consultez un poète », le Merle moqueur 2013 – préface de Bernard Noël

NEIN, DIE ERDE IST NICHT RUND

Nein, die Erde ist nicht rund
Wenn die Erde rund wär
Säh man das
Man wüsste es
Wenn die Erde rund wär
Gäb es nicht auf einer Seite
Ein paar Wenige ganz oben
Und die Anderen, die Meisten
Da unten
Sogar oft ganz unten…
Wenn die Erde rund wär
Könnte gar kein Land
Von sich behaupten
Der Mittelpunkt der Welt zu sein
Weil alle in der Mitte wären
Und alle Menschen
Überall auf Erden
Wären ebenbürtig
Doch so ist es nicht
Und die Erde läuft nicht rund
Weil sie nicht rund ist
Zumindestens
Noch nicht

Nein, die Erde ist nicht rund, Übersetzung : Magdalena Kauz

NO, LA TIERRA NO ES REDONDA

No la tierra no es redonda
Si la tierra fuera redonda
Esto se vería
Esto se sabría
Si la tierra fuera redonda
No abría de un lado,
Unos pocos bien en lo alto
Y los otros, la inmensa mayoría
Abajo
A menudo del todo bien abajo …
Si la Tierra fuera redonda
Ningún país
Podría decirse
El centro de la tierra,
Porque serían todos en el centro.
Y todos los hombres
Al alrededor de la Tierra,
Serían albergados bajo el mismo lema.
Pero no es el caso
Y la tierra está al revés
Porque la tierra no es redonda.
En todo caso,
No todavía.

Traducción de Nancy Morejón

NÍ CRUINN ATÁ AN DOMHAN

 
 Ní cruinn atá an Domhan
 Dá mbeadh an Domhan cruinn
chífea é
bheadh a fhios agat é
Dá mbeadh an Domhan cruinn
ní bheadh cuid againn
ag an mbarr, i leataobh,
agus an chuid eile, an móramh,
ag an mbun,
thíos ar fad go minic  . . .
Dá mbeadh an Domhan cruinn
ní thabharfadh tír ar bith
lár an Domhain uirthi féin
mar bheadh gach aon rud sa lár
agus an cine daonna go léir
gach áit ar fud an Domhain
sa bhád amháin  . . .
Ní mar sin atá, áfach
agus téann an Domhan amú
mar nach cruinn atá an Domhan.
Ní go fóill
ar aon nós.

Toghchán/ Election

 

HE VOTED FOR THE GOVERNMENT!

VÓTÁIL SEISEAN AR SON AN RIALTAIS!

Marx

 

Toghchán /Election

 

 

cluas
an gcloistear mé?
iarsma beannaithe

an ear
is it listening?
holy relic

Gabriel Rosenstock

a lug
is't hearkenin tae?
haly relic

Scots: John McDonald

Alan Dent, Mowing the Lawn, (POETS OF THE PLANET)

 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.

MERMAID by Cao Shui (Poets of the Planet)

 Cao Shui（Chinese: 曹谁;pinyin: Cáo Shuí), also Shawn Cao (born in June 5, 1982), is a Chinese poet, novelist, screenwriter and translator. He is a representative figure of Chinese Contemporary Literature. He leads “the Greatpoeticism” movement. 

In his Manifesto of Greatpoem, he aims to integrate sacred and secular cultures, oriental and occidental cultures, ancient and modern cultures in Chinese literature. In 2008, he resigned from a newspaper and traveled around Tibet and Xinjiang, which is the center of Eurasia or the World in his view. His novels Secret of Heaven trilogy tells the whole developing history of human civilization. His most notable works includes Epic of Eurasia, the already mentioned trilogy and King Peacock (TV series). In his works, he extracts elements of various ancient human civilizations, from Babylon to the west to Judea, Egypt, Greece, to the east to Persia, India, China, and uses these elements to reconstruct a new Utopian human homeland, which always described as Eurasia, the Top of the Tower of Babel or Kunlun Mountains (Heaven Mountains). So far forty books of Cao Shui have been published, including ten poem collections, four essay collections, ten novels, twenty fairy tales, four translations and one hundred episodes TV series and films. He has won more than 50 literary awards worldwide, including the 1st Chinese Young Poet Award, the 4th Cao Yu Cup Drama Award, the Apollo Dionysus Award of the 8th Italian Rome International Academy of Contemporary Poetry and Art Award, the 12th Russian Golden Knight Award, and the Top Ten Public Figures of the 5th Chinese Poetry Spring Festival Gala, etc. His works have been translated into English, Italian, Spanish, French, German, Swedish, Portuguese, Danish, Polish, Russian, Hungarian, Croatian, Slovenian, Turkish, Arabic, Japanese, Korean, Hindi, Nepali, Vietnamese, Tibetan, Mongolian, etc. He has been invited to participate in the 30th Medellin International Poetry Festival, the 26th Havana International Poetry Festival, the 14th Kritya International Poetry Festival in India and the 4th Qinghai Lake International Poetry Festival. He is a member of China Writers Association, China Film Association and China Poetry Society. He is also chief editor of Great Poetry, deputy editor in chief of World Poetry, secretary general of Boao International Poetry Festival and vice president of the Silk Road International Poetry Festival. Currently he lives in Beijing, and works as a professional writer and screenwriter.

Maighdean Mhara

Siúlaim liom agus iasc leonta á iompar agam
Níl ach slí d'iasc amháin sa phota
Conas a leonadh an t-iasc?
Tá freagra uaim
Ní nochtfar an fhírinne gan scrúdú
Chuireas sléibhte díom, aigéin
agus na mílaoiseanna
Ghearr aibhneacha móra trí ghleannta doimhne
Oíche amháin, thiteas isteach i dtuile
Léim an t-iasc as an bpróca
Ní fhéadfainn ach stánadh air agus é ag imeacht
Deirtear gur duine lách mé
Deineadh maighdean mhara den iasc
agus cailíní aimsire lena taobh
gealach ag dul ar gcúl ina suí ar mo cheann
suas leis an maighdean mhara i dtreo na gealaí
titeann braon cumhra drúchta anuas
sínimse mo lámha amach chun breith air
i bhfaiteadh na súl, tuigimse an saol atá thart, an saol atá le teacht