Baile Beag/Little Town, le Julie Breathnach-Banwait 2025
Aicrileach ar chanbhás/Acrylic on canvas
An Tuiscint
Le Dymphna Lonergan
‘An bhfaca tú an taispeántas fós?’
Baineadh geit aisti leis an nguth íseal seo ina cluas. Chas sí. ‘Ní fhaca.’
Méar ar a bheola tharraing sé a lámh go séimh.
Sheas sí suas, á leanúint mar zombaí isteach sa dánlann fholamh.
Léim a croí leis na dathanna os a comhair amach. Tithe ildathach ar thaobh cnoic, cois trá, agus sráideanna cama.
Mhothaigh sí é taobh thiar di. I nóiméad amháin, d’aithin sí é. Bhí sí cinnte anois.
Bhí a fear céile ag feitheamh léi san fhorhalla. Thóg sé a lámh the. ‘An bhfaca tú aon rud a thaitin leat?
‘Chonaic.’
The Awakening
by Dymphna Lonergan
‘Have you seen the exhibition yet?’
She jumped with the soft voice in her ear. She turned. ‘No, I didn’t’
His finger on his lips, he pulled her hand gently.
She stood up. Following him like a zombie into the empty gallery.
Her heart leapt with the colours before her. Multi-coloured houses on the side of a hill, by the sea, and crooked streets.
She became aware of him behind her. For one minute, she recognised him. She was sure now.
Her husband was waiting for her in the foyer. He took her warm hand. ‘Did you see anything you liked?’
‘I did.’
Is file agus údar dátheangach í Dymphna Lonergan. Tá sí páirteach i bhfoireann eagarthóireachta Tinteán.
Dymphna Lonergan is a bilingual author and poet. She is part of the Tinteán Editorial team.
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Prós dhán
Síob
Le Colin Ryan
Í ag fanacht le síob ar thaobh an bhóthair, agus cé nár mhór an fonn a bhí air duine ar bith a chrochadh anonn leis dhruid sé i leataobh, ag ligean di druidim aniar leis, an doras a oscailt, í féin a shocrú in aice leis, a haghaidh a iompú air, aghaidh ba dheacair dó a dhéanamh amach. Ba bhean í nach raibh óg ná aosta, ard ná iséal, agus bhrúigh sé faoi an fonn a bhí air a rá léi nár den chiall é síob a ghlacadh ó strainséir mar bheadh a fhios aici sin agus cead aici a comhairle féin a dhéanamh. Siúd chun siúil iad, an bóthar tuaithe rompu, na crainn crom os a chionn, é breac le solas na gréine. Iad araon ina dtost, iad araon ar a marana a déarfá, an bóthar rompu, iad ar fhoscadh na gcrann faoi spéir gan teorainn, nó gur chuala sé í ag rá rud éigin, ag cur ceist air. Ar mharaigh tú duine riamh? Rinne póirseáil ina chuimhne, ar lorg na ndaoine ar thug a lámh a mbás, má thug, agus b’fhaoiseamh dó a bheith in ann a rá go raibh sé neamhchiontach, ba chuma pé rud eile a chuirfí ina leith. An bóthar rompu, é ag éirí, amharc acu ar leiceann cnoic anois agus seanreilig ann. D’airigh sé lámh ar a sciathán. Druid isteach anseo, a dúirt sí, agus lig amach mé. Seo í m’áit chónaithe, seo í an áit ar cuireadh mé. Í ag imeacht uaidh i gcoinne an chnoic i measc na n-uaigheanna, ag imeacht as amharc agus é ag féachaint uirthi. Ghluais sé, é ag gabháil ar fhoscadh na gcrann, faoi spéir gan teorainn.
Léite ag Tommy Fogarty as an ngrúpa Gaeilge Brisbane.
Read by Tommy Fogarty from Gaeilge Brisbane.
Lift
She was waiting for a lift by the side of the road, and although he had no great desire to bring anyone along with him, he pulled in, allowing her to approach, open the door, settle herself next to him, turn her face to him, a face he found difficult to make out. She was a woman neither young nor old, neither tall nor short, and he suppressed the urge to tell her that it was not wise to take a lift from a stranger because she would know that and did as she thought fit. Off they went, the country road ahead of them, dappled with sunlight under the curving trees. Both of them silent, each absorbed in thought, you would say, the road before them, sheltered by the trees under an endless sky, until he heard her say something, asking him a question. Have you ever killed anyone? He searched his memory, seeking those who had died by his hand, if any, and it was a relief to be able to say he was innocent, no matter what else he might be accused of. The road before them, rising, a hillside in view with an old cemetery. He felt a hand on his arm. Pull in here, she said, and let me out. This is my home, this is where I was buried. She walked away from him up the hill among the graves, disappearing from view as he watched. He set off again under the shelter of the trees, under an endless sky.
Is file agus scríbhneoir gaeilge é Colin Ryan as an Astráil. Tá dhá leabhar filíochta curtha i gcló aige agus dhá chnuasach gearr scéalta. Breis eolais anseo faoin údar.
Colin Ryan is an Australian Irish language poet and writer. He has published two books of poetry and two collections of short stories. More here about the author.
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Tinteán 