Markéta Luskačová

Ginger ab ainm dó

ceoltóir sráide

thuig sé conas slua a tharraingt

his name was Ginger

a street musician

he knew how to draw a crowd

he wis cried Ginger

a causey busker -

he cud pou a crood

Béarla na hAlban John McDonald 

Tanka

Ealaíon Alice Zilberberg

do you remember?

we once saw an iguana

you said, 'It's laughing

        laughing at us and the world!'

        we laughed too and then we wept

an cuimhin leat, a stór

chonaiceamar ioguána

arsa tusa, "Féach air siúd

              ag gáire fúinn atá sé!"

              gháireamar is ghoileamar

Markéta Luskačová

lasmuigh d'Eaglais Chríost . . .

a Chríost, an gcloiseann tú

uaigneas an orgáin bhéil?

outside Christ Church . . .

Christ, can you hear

the mouth organ's melancholy strain?

    ootby Christ Church...

    Christ, can ye hearken

    tae the moothie's dowie souch?

 (Leagan Béarla na hAlban: John McDonald)

ibex

Grianghraf Alice Zilberberg

an t-ibeach

conas a bhain sé amach

an barr?

the ibex

how did he get

to the top?

ibex

Grianghraf Alice Zilberberg

an t-ibeach

conas a bhain sé amach

an barr?

the ibex

how did he get

to the top?

An talamh naofa

Ó https://museumreplicas.com/sir-godfrey-sword/

The Holy Land, a 'found poem' in English with an Irish translation by 'finder' Gabriel Rosenstock.

Scots version: John McDonald.

From Mark Twain's travelogue The Innocents Abroad (1869)

The Holy Land

 . . .The relic that touched us most 

was the plain old sword of that stout Crusader, 

Godfrey of Bouillon — King Godfrey of Jerusalem. 

No blade in Christendom wields such enchantment as this — 

no blade of all that rust in the ancestral halls of Europe 

is able to invoke such visions of romance

in the brain of him who looks upon it — 

none that can prate of such chivalric deeds 

or tell such brave tales of the warrior days of old. 

It stirs within a man every memory of the Holy Wars 

that has been sleeping in his brain for years, 

and peoples his thoughts with mail-clad images, 

with marching armies, 

with battles and with sieges. 

It speaks to him of Baldwin, and Tancred, the princely Saladin, 

and great Richard of the Lion Heart.

It was with just such blades as these

that these splendid heroes of romance

used to segregate a man, so to speak, 

and leave the half of him to fall one way

and the other half the other. 

This very sword has cloven hundreds of Saracen Knights 

from crown to chin in those old times 

when Godfrey wielded it. 

It was enchanted, then, by a genius

that was under the command of King Solomon

When danger approached its master's tent 

it always struck the shield

and clanged out a fierce alarm upon the startled ear of night. 

In times of doubt, or in fog or darkness, 

if it were drawn from its sheath

 it would point instantly toward the foe, 

and thus reveal the way — 

and it would also attempt to start after them of its own accord. 

A Christian could not be so disguised that it would not know him 

and refuse to hurt him — 

nor a Moslem so disguised that it would not leap from its scabbard and take his life. 

These statements are all well authenticated 

in many legends that are among the most trustworthy legends 

the good old Catholic monks preserve. 

I can never forget old Godfrey's sword now . . 

An Talamh Naofa

 (dán fríotha in The Innocents Abroad le Mark Twain)

 . . . an t-iarsma is mó a chuaigh i bhfeidhm orainn

ná seanchlaíomh pléineáilte an chrosáidí théagartha úd,

Godfrey Bouillon–Rí Godfrey Iarúsailéim.

Níl claíomh sa Domhan Críostaí chomh draíochtúil leis–

claíomh meirgeach ar bith i hallaí móra na hEorpa

atá in ann aislingí rómánsacha a dhúiseacht

in inchinn an té a dhearcann air–

níl claíomh ar bith in ann gníomhartha gaisce a insint

mar é, ná scéalta laochais go léir ón seanré.

Tosaímid ag cuimhneamh ar na Cogaí Beannaithe

nár smaoiníomar orthu leis na cianta,

agus ár gcuid smaointe breactha le híomhánna

agus cathéide orthu, airm ag máirseáil,

cathanna agus léigir.

Meabhraíonn sé Baldwin dúinn, Tancred, Saladan prionsúil,

agus an rí mór Risteard Leonchroí.

Ba le claíomh mar é a dhein na sárlaochra

an duine a scaradh ó féin, mar a déarfá,

a leath dhe ag titim ar dheis

agus an leath eile ar chlé.

Scoilt an claíomh ceannann céanna seo

agus Godfrey á bhagairt.

na céadta Ridirí Saraistíneacha

ó bhaithis go smig sna seanlaethanta.

Bhí ginid ghlinne sa chlaíomh an uair úd

agus an Rí Solamh i gceannas air:

má tháinig namhaid gar do phuball a mháistir

bhuaileadh an claíomh an sciath –

torann a dhúiseodh na mairbh.

In aimsir an amhrais, má bhí ceo ann nó scamaill dhorcha,

níor ghá ach é a tharraingt ón truaill

agus dhíreodh sé laithreach bonn ar an namhaid,

agus bheadh gach aon ní soiléir ansin–

agus thabharfadh sé faoin namhaid a leanúint as a stuaim féin.

Ní fhéadfadh Críostaí a bheith chomh mór sin faoi bhréagriocht

nach n-aithneodh an claíomh é, gan é a ghortú –

ná Moslamach faoi bhréagriocht nach léimfeadh sé

as an truaill agus deireadh a chur leis.

Tá na ráitis seo go léir fíordheimhnithe

in an-chuid finscéalta, na finscéalta is iontaofa

a chaomhnaigh na seanmhanaigh Chaitliceacha.

Ní dhearúdfaidh mé seanchlaíomh Godfrey go deo . . .

THE HALY LAN

...the relic that muived us maist

wis the ordnar sword o yon stoot crusader,

Godfrey o Bouillon - keeng o Jerusalem.

Nae bled in Chrisendie hauds sic glamourie -

Nae bled that hings rousty in Europe's faimilie ha's

Kin cry furth sic veesions o romance

i the harnpan o yin whae goves on't -

Nane whae kin threep o sic chivalric acks

or threep sic campie clash o the kempies o langsyne.

 It mynds a chiel o the Haly weirs

Myndins doverin in's harnpan sin langsyne,

an fous's thochts wi mail-hapt eemages,

wi mairchin airmies,

wi stoors'n sieges.

It threeps tae'm o Baldwin. an Tankred, the princely Saladin,

an the muckle Richard of The Lion Heart.

It wis wi sic bleds as thir yins

thit thae braw heroes o romance

yaised tae sinder a chiel

Leain hauf o him tae faw yin wey

a hauf tae faw the tither

This verra sword hus cloven hunners o Saracen Knights

Frae croon tae chaft in aulden tymes

whan Godfrey waged it.

It wis forespoken, then, bi a genius

Whae wis unner the bidden o Keeng Soloman

Whan the uncannie oncomes the maister's tent

it ayewis struck the shiel 

an dirlt oot a fell alarm on the lugs o nicht.

In tymes o doot, or haar or derkness,

If drawn frae'ts sheath

It wid pynt tae the foe richt awa,

An sae show the wey -

It wid take aff efter thaim on'ts ain acoont.

A Christian nae maitter whit guise yaised it kent

an sae wid nivver herm -

Nor the Moslem Nae maitter hou guised it wid lowp frae'ts scabbert an tak's life.

Thae threepins'r weel qualifeed

In monie legends, maist amang the maist suithfast

the guid auld Catholic monks preserve.

Ah kin nivver foryet auld Godfrey's sword nou...

Nicholas Roerich

Nicholas Roerich

go forth

the lantern of day

is lit

amach linn

tá laindéar an lae

lasta

gae furth

the bouet o day

is lichtit

                     

 (Béarla na hAlban: John McDonald)

αναχωρήστε

η λάμπα της ημέρας

είναι αναμμένη

         (Gréigis: Sarah Thilykou

Namaste!

did you hear?

trees answer Krishnamurti's greeting:

Namaste!

ar chuala tú iad?

crainn ag freagairt do bheannú Krishnamurti:

Namaste!

escuchaste?

los árboles responden el saludo de Krishnamurti:

Namaste!

 (Spáinnis: Patricia Jiménez) 

     did ye hear't?

     treen repone tae Krishnamurti's goam:     

     Namaste!

                         

 (Béarla na hAlban: John McDonald)

Taobhú / Taking Sides

(Sir John Tenniel)

Taobhú

 leis an Raibi Irwin Keller

Táim chun taobhú a dhéanamh inniu.

Táim chun taobhú leis an tSíocháin.

An tSíocháin, nach dtréigfidh mé go deo

fiú má mhúchann gortú

agus fuath guth na Síochána,

nó an goirteamas a leanann cailliúint,

na glórtha a deir 'ceart' is 'éigeart'.

Táimse ag taobhú leis an tSíocháin

nár luadh a hainm ach ar éigean

sa chogadh seo nach féidir a bhuachan.

Teannfaidh mé an tSíocháin le m'ucht,

M'anáilse á roinnt léi

ar eagla go n-áireofaí an tSíocháin

mar chuid de líon na marbh.

Éileoidh mé bearta chun maolú a dhéanamh ar an gcoimhlint

fiú má tá fonn díoltais orm

thar aon ní eile.

Déanfad ar mhaithe leis an tSíocháin é.

Cruthóidh mé réiteach sa mhothar úd

ar a dtugtar cúis agus éifeacht

chun go mbeadh an tSíocháin in ann anáil a tharraingt

ar feadh nóiméid

agus í féin a dhíriú chun na spéire.

Déanfadsa aon ní

chun beatha na Síochána a shábháil.

Análóidh mé trí dheora

ólfad deoch ar mo náire

coinneoidh mé guaim ar mo theanga

ofrálfadsa grá

gan mo cháilíocht chuige sin a thástáil.

Mar sin, ná hiarr orm bratach a chroitheadh inniu

nach bratach na Síochána í.

Ná hiarr orm aintiún a chanadh inniu

nach aintiún Síochána é

ná hiarr orm taobhú a dhéanamh

nach taobhú leis an tSíocháin é.

                                  

                                            An Raibí Irwin Keller

                                                 

(Irish transcreation: Gabriel Rosenstock)

                                                 

TAKKIN SIDES 

The-day ah'm takkin sides.

Ah'm takkin the side o Pace.

 Pace, whilk ah'll niver gie up on

e'en whan its vyce is droont oot

bi skaith an laithin,

wershness o loss,

skirlins o richt an wrang.

Ah'm takkin the side o Pace

whaes nem's haurdly been threepit

i this yuisless weir.

Ah'll haud Pace i ma airms,

an skare ma bouk's braith,

least Pace be jyned

tae the coont o the deid.

Ah'll cry tae thaim fir easement

e'en whan a waant naethiin mair

nor tae git even.

Ah'll dae't

tae ser Pace.

Ah'll redd a space

i the owergrowne

busses o cause an effect

so Pace kin souch

fir a meenit

syne rax fir the lift.

Ah'll dae whit must be duin

tae sauf the life o Pace.

Ah'll souch throuch ma greitin.

Ah'll swallae ma pride.

Ah'll gnap ma tung.

Ah'll bode luve

weel-wared or no.

Dinnae speir me tae waff a flag the day

onless it's the flag o Pace.

Dinnae speir fir an anthem

onless it's a sang o Pace.

Dinnae speir me tae tak sides

onless it's the side o Pace.

                                              

Leagan Béarla na hAlban: John McDonald

Musica Universalis

Musica Universalis

An cumadóir Ostarach Giúdach

Alban Berg

(An gá Giúdach a rá?

An gá Ostarach a rá?)

Tosnaigh arís . . .

An cumadóir

Alban Berg

(An gá cumadóir a rá?)

Is cuma má b'Ostarach é

Is cuma má ba Ghiúdach é

Is cuma má ba chumadóir é

Go deimhin, níor Ghiúdach in aon chor é

ach ó dhein sé staidéar faoi Arnold Schoenberg -

ba leor sin!

Tháinig mé ar ghrianghraf d'Alban Berg

agus é ar leaba a bháis

baineadh siar asam.

Glacaim leis gurb é fórsa na beatha ionainn

a iompaíonn in aghaidh íomhánna an bháis sinn.

Íomhánna lán de bheatha is d'fhuinneamh

a bhíonn timpeall orainn

an t-am ar fad.

Nuair a fheicimid íomhá an bháis

cúbaimid siar uaithi

ach amháin, ar ndóigh, más ilíomhánna iad

cuir i gcás iad siúd a chailltear in Gaza, gan chall

Phrioc feithid Alban Berg

agus dá dheasca sin

fágadh neascóid ar a dhroim

a dhein nimhiú ar a chuid fola

Na mairbh in Gaza

cén nimh a mharaigh iad?

An bhfuil frithnimh ar fáil?

P.S. Tá astaróideach sna flaithis a ainmníodh in ómós do Berg

thuas ansin áit éigin, ag foghlaim Cheol na Sféar.

Cá bhfuil na hastaróidigh in ómós do shlua na marbh in Gaza?

Musica Universalis

The Austrian Jewish composer

Alban Berg

(Do we need to say Jewish?

Do we need to say Austrian?)

Start again . . .

The composer

Alban Berg

(Do we need to say composer?)

It doesn't matter that he was Austrian

It doesn't matter that he was Jewish

It doesn't matter that he was a composer

In fact, he wasn't Jewish at all

but since he studied under Arnold Schoenberg -

that was enough!

I came across a photo of Alban Berg

on his deathbed

I was taken aback.

I suppose it's the life force within us

that automatically rejects images of death.

Surrounded as we are

by images of life and liveliness

on seeing an image of death

we shrink from it

unless, of course, the image is multiplied daily on our screens

as in the spectacle of those who die needlessly in Gaza.

Alban Berg died from the bite of an insect

resulting in

a furuncle (or boil) on his back

which lead to blood poisoning

The dead of Gaza

What is the poison?

What the antidote?

P. S. There's an asteroid in the heavens named after Berg

up there somewhere, learning the Music of the Spheres!

Where are the asteroids to honour the Gazan dead?

MUSICA UNIVERSALIS

The Austrian Jewish upmakker

Alban Berg

(Whit need tae mou Jewish?

Whit need tae mou Austrian?)

Stert ower...

The upmakker

Alan Berg

(Whit need tae mou upmakker?)

It disnae maitter he wis Austrian

It disnae maitter he wis Jewish

It disnae maitter he wis an upmakker

as a maitter o fact, he wisnae Jewish ataw

bit bein a prentice o Arnold Schoenberg -

that wis eneuch!

Ah cam ower a photy o Alan Berg

on's daithbed

It wis sica dint.

Ah jalouse it's the life wi'in us

thit naitrally rejecks eemages o daith.

Ringit roon bi eemages

o life an smeddum 

whan daith hysts its heid

we coorie frae't

onless, o coorse, the eemage growes ilka day on oor screens

lik the scunnersum sicht o thae whae dee (fir whit need?) in Gaza.

Alban Berg deed frae the gnap o a beastie

whase efterins

wis a bile on's back

syne bluid puzzenin.

The deid o Gaza

Whit's the puzzen?

Whit's the cuir?

P.S. i the heivens thair's an asteroid nemmit efter Berg abuin sumwhaur, lairnin the Maisic o the Spheres!

Whaur'r the asteroids nemmit fir Gaza's deid?

 (Béarla na hAlban: John McDonald)

Dán Fríotha / Found Poem

Old Delhi 

 

. . .in the middle of the Second World War,

I was walking down the Silver Market of Old Delhi 

when I heard the sound of firing. 

Making my way towards it, 

I turned a corner

and came upon a small crowd

defying an even smaller band of English soldiers. 

An elderly man of the poorest class, 

dressed only in a loin cloth, 

broke away from the crowd

and ran towards the soldiers. 

One of these pointed an automatic weapon towards him, 

but the man did not stop. 

He was shouting 

in a confused and hysterical manner 

and it seemed to me 

that he was not in possession of his senses; 

no doubt, as so often happens with Indians, 

the excitement and the previous shooting

had loosened his grip upon his nerves. He ran on, 

full tilt towards the soldiers. 

The Englishman with the automatic weapon 

pressed the trigger

and the Indian fell prone, 

jerking his legs

in a fashion that was almost ludicrous

and drumming with his fists on the ground. 

In a few moments he lay still, dead, 

with blood spouting 

from a series of wounds on his body.

I noticed that the small of his back 

(for he died on his face) 

was torn in several places

from the bullets which had passed through.

The crowd dispersed. 

They had been demanding that the English leave India. 

The man lay in the roadway 

in his blood, 

until a street-cleaning cart, 

requisitioned for the purpose, 

bore him away.

Found by GR in:

AULD DELHI

...I the mids o the saicont warl weir,

ah wis daunerin throuch the siller mercat o auld Delhi

whan ah heard the brattle o gunfire.

Airtin taewarts it,

roondin a cunyie

a cam on a thrang o fowk

defeein a pickle bourach o suddron sodgers.

A bodach o the puirtith cless,

cleedit anely in a loin claith,

brak frae the crood 

heidin fir the sodgers.

Yin sodger pyntit a gun it him,

bit he didnae stop.

He wis skirlin

he wis aw throuither

fegs ah thoucht

he micht be gyte;

nae doot, as aften kythes wi Indians,

the tirrivee o the umquhile brattle

hud lowst a grup o's mynd. He stooried on.

Straucht fir the sodgers.

The Englishman wi the gun

chirtit the tricker

an the Indian cowpt ower, liggit agroof,

yerkin's legs

gye pawkie lik

an thrummin the yirth wae's nieves.

Or lang he liggit deid,

wi bluid spootin

frae the monie sairs on's bouk.

Ah glisked the sma o's back

(fir he deed on 's neb)

wis riven whaur the monie bullets hud brust throuch.

The crood skailt.

They'd been protestin thit England win awa frae India.

The chiel liggit in the causey

in's bluid

till a scaffie's cairt

brocht in aince errand

cairriet him awa.

(Leagan Béarla na hAlban: John McDonald)

crainn / trees

Ealaíon Alice Zilberberg www.alicezilberberg.com

crainn agus a gcuid ceisteanna

leanann siad

timpeall mé

they follow me around

questioning

trees

Máthair an Domhain

                Nicholas Roerich

nochtar thú

a Mháthair an Domhain

i dtost

you are revealed

Mother of the World

in silence

ye kythe

Mither o the Warl

in quate

              (Béarla na hAlban: John McDonald) 

Markéta Luskačová: ag léim

children skipping

and leaping!

too soon their feet will touch the ground

páistí ag léim 

róluath a theagmhóidh a gcosa

leis an talamh

   bairns jumpin raip

   an lowpin!

  ower suin thair feet'll cum tae yirth

                      

(Béarla na hAlban: John McDonald)

as VÉARSAÍ NA mBAN RIALTA

Thig 1.13  

Do the Buddha’s bidding, 

you won’t regret it.

Having quickly washed your feet,

sit in a discreet place to meditate.

Lean treoracha an Bhúda,

ní bheidh cathú ort.

Tar éis duit do chosa a ní go gasta

suigh i gcúil éigin is déan do mhachnamh.

Thig 1.16  

 Sleep softly, old lady,

 wrapped in the cloth you sewed yourself;

 for your desire has been quelled, 

you’re cooled and quenched.

Codladh sámh, a sheanbhean uasal,

san éadach a d'fhuaigh tú féin;

tá do dhúil curtha faoi chois agat,

fionnuar ataoi, múchta.

Thig 1.17  

I wandered for alms though feeble, 

leaning on a staff.

My limbs wobbled

and I fell to the ground right there. 

Seeing the danger of the body,

my mind was freed.

Amach liom go lagchosach ag lorg déirce,

maide agam mar thaca.

Lúb na cosa fúm

agus thiteas láithreach ar an talamh.

Nuair ba léir dom an cholainn seo a bheith i mbaol

Go tobann, saoradh m'aigne.

Véarsaí na mBan Rialta 

Sri Nityananda

he walks

beneath the stars - his companions

Sri Nityananda

siúlann sé

faoi na réaltaí - na compánaigh aige

Sri Nityananda

 

   él camina

  bajo las estrellas - su compañía

  Sri Nityananda

                                  

(Spáinnis: Patricia Jiménez)

    he danders

    aneath the sterns - his billies

    Sri Nityananda

                                

(Béarla na hAlban: John McDonald

Teachtaireacht /message

Message from the Pope

     I won't be calling Gaza 

     every night

     as Francis did

     You see,

      there won't be any Gaza

     Teachtaireacht ón bPapa

     Ní bheidh mé ag glaoch

     gach oíche ar Gaza

     mar ba nós leis an bPápa Proinsias a dhéanamh

     An dtuigeann tú

     ní bheidh rian ar bith de Gaza ann  

No estaré llamando a Gaza

todas las noches

como hizo Francisco

Ya ves

no habrá más Gaza.

                    

 (Traducido por Patricia Jiménez de Monteverde, CR.)

Rún

 (après John Agard)

Inis do rún dom
Ní inseoidh mise é d'éinne
Beidh sé i bhfolach agam i dtobar gréine.

Inis do rún dom, oscail do bhéal!
Ní déarfaidh mé focal,
Ní scaipfidh mé an scéal.

Inis do rún dom
Nílimse chun faic a rá,
Beidh mo bhéilín dúnta mar bhairneach cois trá!