Poems from Colin Ryan

Gan rogha

Bualadh chun bóthair, sin é an cleas
a deirteá is tú ag cuimhneamh
ar chonairí rúnda do dhúchais,
ar an bhfásach thiar nach bhfaca tú riamh;
anseo bhí na páistí ag súgradh
ar shráidíní crochta faoi dhealbha mire,
an gheargáil ag brúchtadh smúite:
ach níl sé i ndán duit dúiseacht
as an taibhreamh seo,
níl sé i ndán duit taibhreamh eile
a roghnú.

 

Set forth, that’s the thing to do, you used to say, remembering the secret paths of your kind and the desert back there which you’d never seen. Here the children were playing on steep streets under mad statues, with the gargoyle belching darkness. But you aren’t fated to awaken from this dream, nor to choose another.

Thart

Bhí an cogadh thart
is na fothracha múchta
ag maisiú an earraigh:
na lusanna cumhra
bog faoinár gcosa
is dearmad déanta ag na héin
ar challán na staire:
bhreathnaíomar suas
ar chaisleáin gheala na spéire
is bhreathnaigh cloigeann linbh
orainn le súile folmha

 

The war had finished, the ruins smothered with the garnish of Spring: sweet herbs underfoot, the birds forgetting the uproar of history. We looked up at the bright castles of the sky, and a child’s skull looked at us with empty eyes.

Colin is a regular contributor to Tinteán and issues his own Irish language online newsletter An Lúibín. Mura mian leat An Lúibín a fháil, cuir teachtaireacht dá réir chun rianach@optusnet.com.au

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s