Bántost ar an bhfaill
go mbogann an t-aer
faoi sciathán a éiríonn ón bhféar.
Dathaíonn an naoscach an ciúnas.
’S mo chluasa ag iascach
as íochtar na báine
taibhsíonn méil uain tríd an mbrádán.
Dealraíonn an féithchiúnas an fhaí.
Éistím le ribíniú is le hath-thiubhú an cheoigh
corramhíola ag innilt ar mo ghrua.
Beag beann ar bhalbhú an lae
cúplálann cuileanna rua ar leaba chaorach.
A white quietude drapes the cliff
until the air is stirred
by wings rising from the grass.
A snipe lends colour to the silence.
As my ears trawl
the depths of the whiteness
a lamb bleats through the mist.
A silent pulse gives shape to the cry.
I hear the fog stream and thicken again
as midges nibble at my cheek.
Oblivious to the muting of the day
russet flies copulate in a sheep’s fleece.
Today’s poem is from Ceaití Ní Bheildiúin’s recently published Lig don nGiorria Suí / Let The Hare Sit (with translations by Paddy Bushe)
go mbogann an t-aer
faoi sciathán a éiríonn ón bhféar.
Dathaíonn an naoscach an ciúnas.
’S mo chluasa ag iascach
as íochtar na báine
taibhsíonn méil uain tríd an mbrádán.
Dealraíonn an féithchiúnas an fhaí.
Éistím le ribíniú is le hath-thiubhú an cheoigh
corramhíola ag innilt ar mo ghrua.
Beag beann ar bhalbhú an lae
cúplálann cuileanna rua ar leaba chaorach.
A white quietude drapes the cliff
until the air is stirred
by wings rising from the grass.
A snipe lends colour to the silence.
As my ears trawl
the depths of the whiteness
a lamb bleats through the mist.
A silent pulse gives shape to the cry.
I hear the fog stream and thicken again
as midges nibble at my cheek.
Oblivious to the muting of the day
russet flies copulate in a sheep’s fleece.
Today’s poem is from Ceaití Ní Bheildiúin’s recently published Lig don nGiorria Suí / Let The Hare Sit (with translations by Paddy Bushe)
