Cruth na Cruinne / The Shape of the Universe

The Shape of the Universe

a poem in Irish and English by Gabriel Rosenstock

Johnny Perks
his mother scrubbed floors.
She allowed him travel on her back
as she described various phenomena
emerging from the soap bubbles
way way below
on the floor of the world –
universes coming into being
others already in decay.
Johnny Perks
a Londoner
born between two world wars
servant of Chögyam Trungpa
Spiritual Master

Cruth na Cruinne

Johnny Perks
sciúradh a mháthair urláir.
Ligeadh sí dó taisteal ar a droim
agus cur síos á dhéanamh aici ar fheiniméin éagsúla
a bhí ag eascairt as bolgáin ghallúnaí
i bhfad thíos
ar urlár an domhain –
cruinne i ndiaidh cruinne ag teacht chun cinn
nó cheana féin ag meath.
Johnny Perks
Londanach a saolaíodh
idir dhá chogadh dhomhanda
é ina shearbhónta ag Chögyam Trungpa
Máistir Spioradálta

Julian Assange

 

Níor eisíodh íomhá nua de Julian Assange  ó Lá Bealtaine, 2019.

Julian Assange

Bhís gach áit, tráth
Nach mór id' dhia, uileláithreach, gach áit
Cá bhfuilir anois?
Níl fáil ar íomhánna úra díot
Ag iompú id' dhia ataoi
Dofheicthe, thar m'eolas

Julian Assange

You were everywhere once
Something of a god, omnipresent, ubiquitous
Where are you now?
There are no recent images
You are becoming a god
Invisible, unknowable

Gabriel Rosenstock

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)

Liodán Lesbos / Lesbos Litany

 

Teifeach (1935) le William H. Johnson

Dán Dátheangach
I ndilchuimhne ar Éabha a raibh grá aici don tSiria

Do they not have names, then?

An é nach bhfuil ainmneacha orthu?

Syrian refugees on the island of Lesbos.

Teifigh ón tSiria ar oileán Lesbos.

Let us name them, the mothers and daughters:

Ainmnímis iad, máithreacha is iníonacha

Abelarda, is she not the servant of Allah?

               nach searbhónta Allah atá ionat?

Abia, great is she! 

is tú atá mór!

Abida, a worshipper

  adhraitheoir

Adelmira, is she not exalted

       nach céimiúil ataoi!

Aisha, is she not a woman!

  nach bean thú!

Akilah, is she not intelligent

   nach éirimiúil atá tú

Aliye, noble

 uasal

Alma, learned

 léannta

Almeda, ambitious

     uaillmhianach

Amal, hopeful

 dóchasach

Anisah, is she not friendly!

   nach tú atá cuideachtúil!

Ashia, is she not life itself!

  an bheatha féin atá ionat!

Asiya, tending to the weak

  ag friotháil ar an té atá lag

Asma, is she not excellent!

          togha na mban!

Atiya, is she not a gift!

  féirín is ea thú!

Badia, elegant

  cuanna

Barbada, such a blessing!

      a leithéid de bhua!

Bibi, a lady

       bean uasal

Bushra, a good omen

    dea-thuar

Cala, is she not a fortress!

daingean is ea thú!

Celmira, brilliant!

     soilseach!

Centola, the light of knowledge

     lóchrann eolais

Derifa, graceful is she

   grástúil atá tú

Fadila, generous

   flaithiúil

Faiza, victorious

  buach

Fatima, behold – the daughter of the Prophet

    féach – iníon an Fháidh

Gamila, beautiful beyond words!

    ní scéimhe go dtí thú!

Guadalupe, for she is a river of black stones

abhainn na gcloch dubh

Ghada, young and tender

    óg tláith

Habiba, she is beloved

    ionúin

Hafsa, a young lioness is she

  leoinín atá ionat

Halimah, patient

      foighneach

Hayfa, shapely

   dea-chruthach

Hiba, such a gift

tabhartas den scoth

Iman, a believer

  creidmheach

Jaafar, a winding brook is she

   sruthán lúbach

Jamila, beautiful, beautiful

     rí-álainn

Janan, the heart, the soul

   an croí is an t-anam

Janna, a rich harvest is she

     fómhar torthúil

Jarita, an earthen water jug

  crúsca uisce de chré

Jesenia, a flower

     flós

Kadijah, trustworthy

     fírinneach

Kaela, sweetheart, darling!

  a chuisle is a stór!

Khalida, immortal she is, everlasting!

     mairfidh tú go brách!

Lakia, found treasure

  ciste aimsithe

Lelia, born at night

 rugadh istoíche thú

Lina, tender . . .

lách . . .

Manar, a guiding light!

   solas dár  dtreorú

Maritza, forever blessed!

    beannaithe go deo!

May, discerning

tuisceanach

Maysa, proudly she strides out

   amach leat go huaibhreach

Maysun, beautiful, so beautiful

     gleoite amach is amach

Mumtatz, distinguished

      oirirc

Nadira, precious

    a thaisce!

Nafisah, a gem

     seoid

Najita, she of the brilliant eyes!

   is niamhrach iad do dhá shúil!

Nakia, pure

  íonghlan

Oraida, eloquent

    solabhartha

Nasrin! wild rose!

   rós fiáin! 

Qitarah, fragrant 

    cumhra

Querima, generous one

      nach tú atá fial

Randa, a tree 

   crann

Rasha, young gazelle

   gasail óg 

Rihana, sweet basil

    basal cumhra

Rima, white antelope 

  antalóp bán

Saba, is she not the morning?

 an mhaidin atá ionat!

Sadira, a star 

   réalta

Salama, peaceful is she

     séimh atá tú

Syreeta, companion to all

     compánach linn go léir

Ulima, wise

   eagnaí

Zeimira, brilliant one!

     thar barr atá tú!

Ceol Duilleoige /Leaf Music

Seinnimse an duilleog.

Éist go géar. 

Cloisfidh tú duilleog ag titim.

Ní hí an duilleog seo 

atá á seinm anois agam

ach gach aon duilleog a thit riamh

go talamh.

Is é seo ceol na nduilleog

ag titim.

Ceol brónach, ab ea, a deir tú?

Ceol áthasach?

Níl ann ach ceol na nduilleog.

Tá sé mar atá sé.

Leaf Music

I am Yokoyama Sodō

I play the leaf.

Listen carefully.

You will hear a leaf falling.

Not this leaf 

that I'm playing now

but all the leaves

that ever fell to the ground.

This is the music

of the falling leaf. 

Is it sad, you ask?

Is it joyous?

It is simply leaf music.

It is what it is.

Zuckerberg

 

Zuckerberg

Zuckerberg!

Mountain of sugar.

Has your name determined

that you must forever sweeten the pill?

Those teenage girls were sweet enough

before you came along

before your company, Instagram,

made them feel insecure about their bodies.

Mark, don't you know that beauty comes from within?

What's inside Facebook? Has it got a soul?

Does it know how to look into itself?

Show me the soul of Instagram, Mark.

What does it consist of? Algorithms?

I'm thinking of those teenage girls, Mark,

and some lines come to me from Hanshan:

Children, I beseech you

get out of the burning house now.

Zuckerberg

Zuckerberg!

Sliabh siúcra.

An ordaíonn do shloinne dhuit

an tseirbhe a fholú orainn?

Ní searbh a bhí na déagóirí sin

sular tháinís-se, tú féin

is do chomlachtsa, Instagram,

a d'fhág suaite faoina gcolainn féin iad.

Mark, nach eol duit gur istigh ionainn atá an áilleacht lonnaithe?

Facebook, cad atá istigh ann? 'Bhfuil anam ann?

An eol dó conas breathnú ann féin?

Taispeáin anam Instagram dom, Mark.

Cad go díreach atá ann? Algartaim?

Táim ag smaoineamh ar na déagóirí sin, Mark

agus ritheann línte de chuid Hanshan liom:

    

   A pháistí, impím oraibh,

   amach libh anois, tá an teach trí thine.

Cosa na Lobhar á bPógadh ag Meher Baba

Cosa na Lobhar á bPógadh ag Meher Baba 

Dusta na mbóithre ar a gcosa míchumtha

agus Meher Baba á bpógadh arís is arís eile

barróg á tabhairt aige dá n-anamacha áille

cumhracht Dé á leathadh ar fud na bhfud

níos milse ná seasmain

An tAon Réaltacht: crann É -

sú, fréamhacha, géaga

dírithe gach áit

grian, gaoth ag damhsa i measc na nduilleog

lobhar lonrach ag glacadh scíthe faoina scáth.

  

Meher Baba Kisses the Feet of Lepers 

Dust of the roads on their misshapen feet

kissed over and over again by Meher Baba

embracing their beautiful souls

God’s fragrance spreading far and near

sweeter than jasmine

The One Reality that is the tree, He

the sap, roots, branches

pointing everywhere

sun and wind dancing among the leaves

shimmering leper resting in its shade.

  

 

Stour o the causeys on thayr misshauchelt feet

preed ower'n ower agane bi Meher Baba

oxterin thayr bonnie sowls

The Almichtie's fume spreidin aw airts

doucer nor jasmine

The yin reality thit's the tree, He

the sap, ruits, brainches

pyntin awgates

sin an wund dauncin amang the leaves

skimmerin leper ristin in'ts shed

Leagan Béarla na hAlban le John McDonald:

An Coirnéal Sanders

August von Pettenkofen - Stillleben mit totem Huhn und Krug

An Coirnéal Sanders Thug a mháthair, Dúitseach-Éireannach, rabhadh dó gan feadaíl a dhéanamh ar an Domhnach (ní mian leat dul go hIfreann, an mian?) Ní dúirt sí faic mar gheall ar chearcdhíothú. Maraíonn KFC thart ar 1.54 milliún sicín in aghaidh na bliana. Fásann siad go tapa réidh le marú laistigh de 30 lá. Seachain loit chraicinn: is é is cúis leis ná amóinia i gcac na n-éan eile i ngéibheann

Colonel Sanders His Dutch-Irish mother warned him never to whistle on Sundays (you don't want to go to Hell, do you?) She never warned him about henocide. KFC kills c. 1.54 million chickens a year. They are a fast-growing breed ready to slaughter after 30 days! Watch out for skin lesions caused by ammonia in the waste of caged companions.

Airdeall an Linbh

 

Ealaín: Delacroix

Sular nocht ego

sular nocht aigne

is cuimhne

bhíothas dírithe

ar an uile ní

b'in airdeall

an linbh

ní raibh ionsaitheacht

ar bith

i dtafann na ngadhar

ná fearg

ná bagairt

ná uaigneas

ghabh grian

an tráthnóna

faoi

is ba den chéad uair

i gcónaí é

Gluaisrothar nó Eachtraí Paramhans Swami Pooranand ji Saraswati

 Gluaisrothar 5HP BSA atá inti

gan maolaire turrainge 

gan sprionga

ach a ghluaiseann go deas réidh mar sin féin

agus go leor dusta ina diaidh.

Cén gá atá le hEach-Chumhacht má tá Cumhacht Dé agat?

Tá na póilíní Briotanacha ag faire amach

ní hamháin san India -  nach ag spiaireacht ar leath an domhain atáid? 

Agus é ag druidim le chowk

scaoileann siad urchair leis.

Téann piléar trína ghualainn dheas

ach ní chuireann sé sin stop le Paramhans.

5HP agus Cumhacht shíoraí Dé anuas air sin?

Níl na Briotanaigh in ann déileáil lena leithéid.

Motorcycle or The Adventures of Paramhans Swami Poornand ji Saraswati

His motorcycle is a 5HP BSA

that has no shock absorbers

no springs

it trundles along nicely however

raising dust wherever it goes

Who needs HorsePower when you have GodPower?

British police are on the lookout

not just in India - are they not spying on half the world? - 

and as he nears a chowk

they open fire.

A bullet goes through his right shoulder

but Paramahans keeps on driving.

5 HP combined with infinite GodPower?

Too much for the British.

Graonlannaigh

Graonlannaigh

Dhiúltaíodar do Chríost
Nuair a thug misinéirí le fios dóibh
Nach raibh rónta ar bith ar neamh!

Misinéirí saonta!
Tá neamh lán de rónta
Is iad ina luí ar an Trá Órga

Nach bhfuil siad feicthe agam le mo shúile cinn –
Is iontais eile nach iad
Nár shamhlaigh aon mhisinéir riamh!

Greenlanders

They denied Christ
When informed by missionaries
There were no seals in heaven!

Foolish missionaries!
Heaven abounds with seals
All stretched out on the Golden shore

Haven’t I seen them with my own two eyes –
And countless other wonders
No missionary ever imagined.

Cara scoile a d’éag

Leáite ataoi sa cheol
a sheinnteá is tú id gharsún
an corn Francach
ag fógairt go mbeifeá ann go deo


Cad d’imigh ar an gcorn?
Bhfuil beola eile inniu leis

Portráid Díom Féin (Amach Anseo)

Portráid Díom Féin (Amach Anseo) Beidh clog éigin á bhualadh agam is dócha chun fanacht im dhúiseacht     an tost a bhlaiseadh     idir na clingeanna

Self-Portrait (In the Future) I'll be tinkling some sort of a bell I suppose in order to stay awake     taste the silence     between the ringings.

Bhí fhios agam nach raibh ann ach crann (do Ko Un)

Bhí fhios agam nach raibh ann ach crann (do Ko Un) Bhí fhios agam nach raibh ann ach crann ach claochlaíodh le soilse é le maisiúcháin le sneachta bréige agus i dtús an 21ú haois thugamar ómós de shaghas éigin dó Is gearr go mbeidh orainn é a chaitheamh amach is é a thabhairt d'inneall athchúrsála thuas ansin ar Chnoc Chill Iníon Léinín is béicfidh sé mar a bhéic anuraidh is an bhliain roimhe sin - an spíonlach - cad is ea é? Cad is ea sinne?

I knew it was only a tree (for Ko Un) I knew it was only a tree but it had been transformed by lights and decorations artificial snow and now, early in the 21st century we pay it obeisance, of sorts We'll have to throw it out soon and give it to the recycling machine up above on Killiney Hill and it will scream like it screamed last year and the year before - the needles - what are they? What are we?

Port na bPúcaí

Is iomaí uair a chuala mé Port na bPúcaí á sheinm ag ceoltóirí éagsúla, ar an mbosca ceoil, ar an bpíb uilleann agus fiú ar an bpíb mhála. Nuair a chuala mé Caoimhín Ó Raghallaigh (veidhlín) agus Breandán Ó Beaglaoich (bosca ceoil) á sheinm tháinig dán chugam, nó b'fhéidir gur cheart píosa cantaireachta a thabhairt air. Dhein an ceol seamán díom. Is iad seo a leanas na focail:

Port na bPúcaí


Cúr
cúr
cúr

ag teacht
ag teacht de dhroim na dtonn
ag teacht de dhroim na dtonn chugainn

cuilithíní
cuilithíní
cuilithíní

ag teacht
ag teacht de dhroim na dtonn
ag teacht de dhroim na dtonn chugainn

glór
glór
glór

ag teacht
ag teacht de dhroim na dtonn
ag teacht de dhroim na dtonn chugainn

glór na míolta móra
ar tonnta iad
ag teacht
ag teacht de dhroim na dtonn
ag teacht de dhroim na dtonn chugainn

glór na míolta móra
ar púcaí iad
ag teacht
ag teacht de dhroim na dtonn
ag teacht de dhroim na dtonn chugainn

glór na bpúcaí
ar míolta móra iad
ag teacht
ag teacht de dhroim na dtonn
ag teacht de dhroim na dtonn chugainn

cúr
cúr
cúr



Foam, foam, foam, coming, coming on the waves, coming to us on the waves,

ripples, ripples, ripples, coming, coming on the waves, coming to us on the waves, voice, voice, voice, coming, coming on the waves, coming to us on the waves,

voice of whales that are waves, coming, coming on the waves, coming to us on the waves, voice of whales that are spirits, coming, coming on the waves, coming to us on the waves, voice of spirits that are whales, coming, coming on the waves, coming to us on the waves, foam, foam, foam.

Tamall ina dhiaidh sin, thaispeánas na focail don chumadóir Conallach Derek Ball. Iar-shíciatraí é Derek agus cónaí air i nGlaschú. Is maith a thuig sé an claochlú a chuir an ceol orm agus chuir seisean ceol dá chuid féin leis na focail! Tá an ceol sin ar fáil anseo: