Walt Whitman: Míorúiltí

Míorúiltí 

Dhéanfása scéal mór as míorúiltí ab ea?
Óm thaobhsa de, ní heol dom faic ach míorúiltí.
Pé acu an ag siúl sráideanna Mhanattan atáim
nó sracfhéachaint agam á tabhairt trasna na ndíonta i dtreo na spéire
nó mé ag lapadaíl cosnochta ar an gcladach díreach
 ar imeall an tsáile,
nó mé im sheasamh fé na crainn sna coillte
nó ag  comhrá le cara dil i rith an lae, nó luí sa leaba
le cara dil istoíche.
nó suí chun boird ag dinnéar leis an gcuid eile,
nó ag  breathnú ar stróinséirí os mo chomhair sa tram,
nó féachaint ar na beacha meala agus iad gnóthach timpeall na coirceoige
- athmhaidin samhraidh -
nó beithígh ag iníor sa ghort
nó éanlaith, nó iontas na bhfeithidí san aer
nó iontas luí na gréine, nó na réaltaí is iad ag lonrú
go séimh is go ciúin,
nó cuar caol tanaí gleoite fíneáilte na gealaí úire
san earrach . . .
tá gach aon orlach ciúbach den spás míorúilteach,
agus an rud céanna á leathadh ar fud gach slat chearnach
de dhromchla an domhain,
gach troigh den chroí tíre ag cur thar maoil mar an gcéanna.
Míorúilt leanúnach domsa is ea an mhuir
na héisc sa snámh - na carraigeacha - gluaiseacht na dtonn
- longa is na fearaibh iontu,
an bhfuil míorúiltí níos éachtaí ann ná iad?

Miracles

Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge
of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with anyone I love, or sleep in the bed
at night with anyone I love,
Or sit at the table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honeybees busy around the hive
of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining
so quiet and bright,
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon
in spring . . .
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread
with the same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same.
To me the sea is a continual miracle,
The fishes that swim-the rocks-the motion of the waves
-the ships with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?

    ~ Walt Whitman ~
    
    (Leaves of Grass)

Jack Kerouac: Máistir Haiku

Máistir haiku ab ea Kerouac. Ní fhéadfá a rá go raibh máistreacht aige air féin, áfach, agus an méid alcóil, benzedrine is drugaí eile a chaith sé siar i gcaitheamh a shaoil ghairid.
Bhí deamhain éigin á thiomáint an t-am ar fad mar is léir d’éinne a léigh Windblown World: The Journals of Jack Kerouac 1947 -1954 in eagar ag Douglas Brinkley (Viking, 2004). Ba ghránna an duine é Kerouac ar go leor bealaí, bá aige leis an Ku Klux Klan! Ina dhiaidh sin is uile, ní ceart róshimpliú a dhéanamh air: bhí cáilíochtaí ar leith ag baint leis, gan aon agó. 
Sa bheathaisnéis a scríobh Barry Miles, Jack Kerouac, King of the Beats: A Portrait (Virgin Books, 2002), faighimid an méid seo:

“Like Narcissus he was a man constantly examining his own reflection. Kerouac never forgot himself:  he watched himself see things, he watched himself experience things. Other people become involved in activities, act unconsciously, but Jack only experienced his own consciousness of these activities. Everything was seen through this consciousness, at a remove, smaller, less involved, but tightly focused, as if seen through a magnifying lens. Because of this, his experiences seemed to him to be more intense than those of other people…’

Is an-léamh go deo ar Kerouac é sin. (Aithním cuid de na comharthaí sóirt céanna ionam féin, is baolach!) Ar aon nós, cé nach ndeir Barry Miles mórán in aon chor faoi Kerouac mar fhear haiku, tá míniú tugtha ansin aige dúinn ar chuid de na cúiseanna a dhein máistir haiku de.

éist le cantain
na n-éiníní: caillfear
na héiníní go léir!

titim na hoíche: ródhorcha
chun an leathanach a léamh,
rófhuar

an bhfuil nádúr an Bhúda
ag gadhar?
uisce is ea uisce
 

aréir ambaist
taibhreamh agam
faoi Harry Truman

stop na feithidí go léir
in ómós
don ghealach

Nat Wills, bacach bóthair
Meiriceá
1905

Fógra: ag teacht go luath: sioc maidine/Morning Frost

Gliogáil le méadú

Fógra: ag teacht go luath/coming soon

Fóta Haiga: Gal

Íomhá Ron Rosenstock

gal is ea an uile ní scamall … brionglóid Machu Picchu

all is vapour cloud… a dream Machu Picchu

Fianna/Deer

Fianna

fianna
gan choinne
is líontar an réiteach lena ngile

murach airdeall na bhfianna
bheadh brat dorchadais ar an domhan

an fhuaim is lú –
cipín briosc á scoilteadh –
taifeadta do na glúine a thiocfaidh

éist, sceithfidh ár gcartlanna
fianna ar fán san fhoraois

Deer

suddenly
there are deer
and the clearing fills with light

were it not for the alertness of deer
the world would be in darkness

the littlest of sounds –
a dry twig cracking –
recorded for posterity

listen, all our archives will crumble
deer roam freely in the forest

Ryunosuke Akutagawa: Dea-aimsir

An bhfuil dea-aimsir chugainn go luath? Tá seanfhocal sa Ghaeilge, 'Tiocfaidh an lá a mbeidh gá ag an mbó lena heireaball.' Chun cuileoga an tsamhraidh  a choimeád uaithi, gan amhras. Chonaic mé cuileog an lá cheana sa chistin, an chéad cheann i mbliana agus seo mí na Bealtaine cheana féin.
Haiku le Ryunosuke Akutagawa a thaitníonn go mór liom Seoid:

leathchluas an choinín, leis,
ar liobarna -
brothall ceart

Níl a fhios ag mórán daoine go bhfuil leabhar gearrscéalta de chuid Akutagawa againn sa Ghaeilge. Tá. Agus is ón mbun-Seapáinis a aistríodh iad.

Rashoomon
Seán Ó Dúrois
Coiscéim 1995

Gearrscéalta le Akutagawa Ryuunosuke atá aistrithe go Gaeilge ag Seán Ó Dúrois