Monoku: Haiku aon líne de chuid Allen Ginsberg

Crescent moon, girls chatter at twilight on the bus ride to Ankara 

corrán gealaí,comhrá na gcailíní sa chlapsholas ar an mbus go hAnkara 

To be sucking your thumb in Rome by the Tiber among fallen leaves . . .

d'ordóg a dhiúl sa Róimh cois na Tibire i measc duilleoga tite

I can still see Neal’s 23-year-old corpse when I come in my hand.

feicim fós corp marbh Neal 23 bliana d'aois nuair a thagaim im' ghlac

I felt a breeze below my waist and realized that my fly was open.

bhraitheas leoithne faoim' choim is thuigeas go raibh mo fhlapa ar oscailt.

A good shit is worth a thousand dollars if your purse can afford it.

Is fiú míle dollar é cac breá má tá sé ar d'acmhainn.

Oh my mad mind, my mad mind, where've you been all my life, my old mad mind?

Ó, m'aigne chraiceáilte, m'aigne chraiceáilte, cá rabhais ar feadh mo shaoil, a sheanaigne chraiceáilte?

Allen Ginsberg

Allen Ginsberg: Amhrán

 

Sheasfá sa sneachta ag éisteacht leis!

Song

The weight of the world
is love.
Under the burden
of solitude,
under the burden
of dissatisfaction

the weight,
the weight we carry
is love.

Who can deny?
In dreams
it touches
the body,
in thought
constructs
a miracle,
in imagination
anguishes
till born
in human—

looks out of the heart
burning with purity-
for the burden of life
is love,
but we carry the weight
wearily,
and so must rest
in the arms of love
at last,
must rest in the arms
of love.

No rest
without love,
no sleep
without dreams
of love—
be mad or chill
obsessed with angels
or machines,
the final wish
is love
—cannot be bitter,
cannot deny,
cannot withhold
if denied:

the weight is too heavy

—must give
for no return
as thought
is given
in solitude
in all the excellence
of its excess.

The warm bodies
shine together
in the darkness,
the hand moves
to the center
of the flesh,
the skin trembles
in happiness
and the soul comes
joyful to the eye—

yes, yes,
that's what
I wanted,
I always wanted,
I always wanted,
to return
to the body
where I was born.
 

~ Allen Ginsberg ~

(Collected Poems 1947-1980)

Amhrán

Meáchan an domhain
is ea an grá
faoi eire
an aonarachais,
faoi eire
na míshástachta

an meáchan,
an meáchan a iompraímid
is ea an grá.

An féidir é a shéanadh?
Beireann sé
ar an gcolainn
i dtaibhrimh,
cruthaíonn
míorúilt
san aigne,
é cráite
sa tsamhlaíocht
go saolaítear
ina dhuine é –

Féachann amach ón gcroí
is é ar lasadh le híonghlaineacht –
mar is é meáchan an tsaoil é
an grá,
ach is trom
 le hiompar é,
mar sin is gá scíth a ligean
i mbaclainn an ghrá
sa deireadh,
scíth a ligean i mbaclainn
an ghrá.

Níl scíth ann
gan ghrá,
níl suan ann
gan taibhreamh
ar an ngrá –
le gealaigh nó go sámh
gafa le haingil
nó le hinnill,
an ghuí dheiridh
ná an grá
-     ní féidir dó a bheith goirt,
ní féidir é a shéanadh,
ní féidir é a cheilt
má dhiúltaítear dó:

Tá an meáchan róthrom
is gá é a thabhairt
gan aisíoc
mar a thagann smaoineamh
san uaigneas
i bhfoirfeacht iomlán
thar cuimse.


Colainneacha teo
ag lonrú le chéile
sa dorchadas,
bogann lámh
go dtí lár
na colainne,
an craiceann ar crith
le háthas
agus nochtar an t-anam
go ríméadach don tsúil –


Sea, sea
b’in a bhí
uaim
b’in a bhí uaim riamh,
theastaigh uaim riamh
filleadh
ar an gcolainn
inar rugadh mé.

Sang

The wecht o the warl
is luve.
Aneath the haud-Doon
o aesomeness,
aneath the haud-doon
o deavance

the wecht,
the wecht we cairry's
luve.

Whae's tae doot it?
in drames
it tigs
the bodie,
in thocht
biggs
a meeracle,
in jalousin
drees
til born
a bodie -

leuks frae the hert
brennin wi purity -
fir the haud-doon o life
is luve,
bit cairryin the wecht's
no eith,
we maun rist
i the airms o luve
hinnerly,
maun rist i the airms
o luve.

Nae rist
wi'oot luve,
nae sloum
wi'oot drames
o luve -
be wud or shill
taen up wi angels
or machines,
the hinmaist wush's
luve
- cannae be soor,
cannae denee,
cannae withhald
if deneed:

it's ower wechty

- maun gie
fir nae retour
as thocht
is gien
in aesomeness
in aw the brawness
o'ts superplus.

The wairm bodies
blinter thegither
i the derkness,
the haun muives
tae the mids
o the flaish,
the skin trummles
wi blitheness
an the sowl cums
blithe tae the ee -

aye, aye,
yon's whit
a ayewis ettilt fir,
ayewis ettilt,
ayewis ettilt,
tae retour
tae the bodie
whaur a wis born.

John McDonald

Smaoineamh an Lae

Lean solas na gealaí istigh ionat; ná ceil an gealtachas. Allen Ginsberg

Daily Bleed: On this day, June 3, William (Bill) Witherup, Allen Ginsberg, Jean-Louis Pindy, Louise Michel, Isaac Puente, Francisco Denis "Catala", Alexander Berkman, Emma Goldman, René-Louis Lafforgue, & more

Tuilleadh Haiku/ More Ginsberg Haiku

ag ól tae
gan siúcra -
níl puinn difríochta ann

cacann an gealbhan
bunoscionn -
uch! m'inchinn is uibheacha

ag breathnú thar mo ghualainn dom
mo thiarpa clúdaithe
le bláthanna silíní

ní heol dom ainmneacha
 na mbláthanna - anois
agus an gairdín imithe

boiseog don mhuiscít
níor aimsíos í
cad a thug orm é sin a dhéanamh?

ag léamh haiku
táim buartha
ag tnúth leis an ní Gan Ainm

ar an bpóirse
is gan orm ach mo bhrístín
soilse cairteacha faoin mbáisteach

bliain eile
imithe - an domhan
mar a bhí

an chéad rud a lorgaíos
im sheanghairdín -
an crann silíní

mo sheandeasc:
an chéad rud a lorgaíos
sa tigh

luath-dhialann liom:
an chéad rud a d'aimsíos
im sheandeasc

taibhse mo mháthar:
an chéad rud a dtáinig mé air
sa seomra suite

stopas dom bhearradh féin
d'fhan na súile sin a d'fhéach orm
sa scáthán

gealt
ag teacht amach as scannánlann:
an tsráid am lóin

im luí ar mo thaobh
san fholús:
an anáil im shrón

ar an gcúigiú hurlár déag
cognaíonn gadhar cnámh -
scréach na dtacsaithe

Drinking my tea
Without sugar-
No difference.

The sparrow shits
upside down
--ah! my brain & eggs

Mayan head in a
Pacific driftwood bole
--Someday I'll live in N.Y.

Looking over my shoulder
my behind was covered
with cherry blossoms.

Winter Haiku
I didn't know the names
of the flowers--now
my garden is gone.

I slapped the mosquito
and missed.
What made me do that?

Reading haiku
I am unhappy,
longing for the Nameless.

A frog floating
in the drugstore jar:
summer rain on grey pavements.
(after Shiki)

On the porch
in my shorts;
auto lights in the rain.

Another year
has past-the world
is no different.

The first thing I looked for
in my old garden was
The Cherry Tree.

My old desk:
the first thing I looked for
in my house.

My early journal:
the first thing I found
in my old desk.

My mother's ghost:
the first thing I found
in the living room.

I quit shaving
but the eyes that glanced at me
remained in the mirror.

The madman
emerges from the movies:
the street at lunchtime.

Cities of boys
are in their graves,
and in this town...

Lying on my side
in the void:
the breath in my nose.

On the fifteenth floor
the dog chews a bone-
Screech of taxicabs.

A hardon in New York,
a boy
in San Fransisco.

The moon over the roof,
worms in the garden.
I rent this house.


[Haiku composed in the backyard cottage at 1624 Milvia Street, Berkeley 1955, while reading R.H. Blyth's 4 volumes, "Haiku."]

Graifítí an Lae

Lean solas na gealaí ionat féin istigh; ná ceil an gealtachas.

Allen Ginsberg (1926 - 1997)

Dán is ea é seo le léamh, ar do luas féin, cúpla uair más mian leat, agus tú ag éisteacht leis an amhránaí mór le rá Krishna Das sa chúlra. Sa dán seo, ar cantaireacht é dáiríre, samhlaím an caidreamh a bhí ag an bhfile Meiriceánach Allen Ginsberg (homaighnéasach) le dia an ghrá, Krishna. Meiriceánach is ea Krishna Das, leis, dála an scéil

Ginberg agus Krishna

Santaíonn Allen na beola dearga
Santaíonn Allen na beola dearga
Santaíonn Allen na beola
Beola dearga
Beola dearga Krishna!
Hare Krishna!
Santaíonn Allen an fhliúit
Santaíonn Allen an fhliúit
An fhliúit
An fhliúit
Fliúit Krishna
Tá sé meallta aici
Hare Krishna!
Santaíonn Allen marmar gorm Krishna
Marmar gorm a chraicinn mhín
Marmar gorm
Marmar gorm
Marmar gorm a chraicinn mhín
Hare Krishna!
Santaíonn Allen na méara
Méara
Méara
Méara Krishna
Santaíonn Allen na méara
Na méara éadroma ar an bhfliúit
Méara éadroma
Méara éadroma ar an bhfliúit
Méara éadroma Krishna
Hare Krishna!
Santaíonn Allen na méara boga a dhúnann na poill
Méara boga a dhúnann na poill
Méara boga
Méara boga
Hare Krishna!
Santaíonn Allen na méara a osclaíonn iad
Méara a osclaíonn iad
Méara
Méara
Méara Krishna
Hare Krishna!
Santaíonn Allen na méara boga éadroma a dhúnann na poill
Is a osclaíonn iad
A osclaíonn na poill is a dhúnann iad
Méara boga éadroma
Méara boga éadroma
Hare Krishna! Hare Krishna!
Santaíonn Allen an fhéachaint ghrámhar sin ina shúile
Féachaint ghrámhar
Féachaint ghrámhar
I súile Krishna
I súile Krishna
Hare Krishna!
Is mian leis a bheith báite
Báite báite
Hare Krishna!
Báite báite báite
Hare Krishna! Hare Krishna!
Báite báite báite
San fhéachaint sin
San fhéachaint sin amháin
San fhéachaint ghrámhar sin amháin
Anois
Anois is go deo
Anois
Anois is go deo
Hare Krishna! Hare Krishna!

Go deo deo deo deo deo.

Ar an lá seo 5 Aibreán

Ar an lá seo 5 Aibreán, 1997, cailleadh Allen Ginsberg. 

Foilsíodh leaganacha Gaeilge dá haiku ar an suíomh www.nonduality.com agus anseo

Haiku le Allen Ginsberg, aistrithe

Allen Ginsberg le Michiel Hendrykx (via Wikipedia) Aistríodh na haikú seo do iris a bhí ag comóradh saothar Allen Ginsberg Howl.

“Talk stand shit     eat sleep –”         flies walking on my nose “Labhair seas cac     ith codail – ”         cuileoga ag siúl ar mo shrón “You’re not going to get your money back”     Everybody laughing –         “Any questions?” “Ní bhfaighidh sibh bhur gcuid airgid ar ais”     Gach éinne ag gáirí –         “Ceist ar bith?” “What do we mean by Craziness?”     Dogs bark to each other         across the meadow at night “Cad is brí le Gealtachas?”     Gadhair ag tafann ar a chéile         thar an móinéar istoíche Not a word! Not a word!     Flies do all my talking for me –         and the wind says something else Oiread is focal! Deineann cuileoga     an chaint thar mo cheann –         rud eile le rá ag an ngaoth Buddha died and    left behind a         big emptiness cailleadh an Búda     is d’fhág ina dhiaidh         folús fairsing did you ever see yourself    a breathing skull         looking out the eyes? An bhfacaís riamh thú féin     id bhlaosc análaithe         ag stánadh amach trí na súile? Looking over my shoulder     my behind was covered         with cherry blossoms ag féachaint thar mo ghualainn dom     bhí mo thóin clúdaithe         le bláthanna silíní I didn’t know the names    of the flowers – now         my garden is gone Ní raibh ainmneacha na mbláthanna     ar eolas agam – ní hann níos mó         dom ghairdínse A hardon in New York,    a boy         in San Francisco Adharc orm i Nua-Eabhrac,     buachaill         i San Francisco Another year    has past – the world         is no different Bliain eile imithe     tá an domhan         mar an gcéanna