Faoi cheo
an tír faoi cheo
na crainn ina gcuimhne orthu féin
na bóithre ag téaltú
i dtreo na rúndiamhra
is scáth an duine cois claí
ag féachaint anall ort
as saol atá i bhfolach
as saol a mheabhraíonn ort
Under mist
the land under mist
the trees a memory of themselves
the roads creeping
towards mysteries
and someone’s shadow by a fence
looking over at you
from a hidden world
a world that thinks of you
Ar lorg
ó dhoras go doras a chuaigh tú
do do lorg féin
nó ar thóir an té a d’aithneodh
dathanna d’anama
nó gur tháinig tú chomh fada
le doras gan tairseach
is guth ann a dúirt go mín leat
go raibh tú tagtha
abhaile
Seeking
from door to door you went
looking for yourself
or for someone who would recognise
the colours of your soul
till you came as far
as a door without a threshold
with a voice that said gently
that you
had come home
Ceithearnach coille
Ba chuimhin léi seitreach an chapaill
is an ceithearnach sa diallait
ag féachaint uirthi go leithleach
faoi eagna fhuar na gealaí
ag cuimhneamh ar scéal eile
i measc na mílte eachtra
ag titim ag titim is an fhuil
ina tuile a bhorr is a bháigh
na páirceanna is na coillte
siolla dochloiste ina bhéal
is a shúile ag sú na hoíche
Bushranger
She remembered the horse neighing
and the outlaw in the saddle
distantly regarding her
beneath the moon’s cold wisdom
recalling one adventure
among the thousands
and falling always with his blood
a flood that swelled and drowned
paddocks and forests
an unheard syllable in his mouth
and his eyes absorbing the night
Is scríbhneoir agus file Astrálach é Colin Ryan, a fhoilsíonn ábhar go rialta i dTinteán. Tá sé lonnaithe i Melbourne.
Colin Ryan is an Australian writer and poet, who regularly contributes to Tinteán. He is based in Melbourne.
His most recent interview with Tinteán can be read here.
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Ceanndánacht
Julie Breathnach-Banwait
Mar bhléid a éiríonn sí, a gathanna ag clogadadh mo chraicinn. Glaonn sí mar bhagairt nach féidir a dhiúltú. Is seasaim ina bealach go dúshlánach, mo bhosa ardaithe ina treo ar thóir oiread na fríde dá bhfuil á thairiscint aici, blogam fiú a líonfadh lán mo bhéil, braon a fhliuchfadh mo phíobán, ach doirteann sí mar phrás leáite is líonann sí mo scornach le gríosú tintrí. Is monarc í gan trócaire, banríon le binb, a coróin mar a bheadh fáinne feirge ag dó, a súile lasta ag druileáil cuais isteach i mo chorp. I meán lae is í ag crith ina craiceann féin, gabhann a lámha alpacha greim ar bharr mo chinn, mar bhos bhorb a airím í trasna mo phluca, mar gheoin gháirsiúil i dtiompán mo chluaise. Ní shioscann an t-arracht seo. Is fiabhras is tine a teanga, is foirnéis a grá, lasair a póg. Ach fós, síneann mé ina treo go n-íonsaíonn sí m’aghaidh, is tart orm fós ar thóir a séimheacht nach dtiocfaidh. Ní bhogann an beithíoch seo ach go n-ídíonn sí gach unsa atá ina cosán.
Wilfulness
She rises like a sword, her rays pounding my skin. Calling like a threat that cannot be ignored. I stand before her wilfully, my palms raised before her in search of smidgens of what she offers, a swig that would fill my mouth, a drop that would wet my throat, but she spills like molten brass and fills my throat with fiery lightning. She is an unmerciful monarch, a venomous queen, her crown a fiery ring of range, her gleaming eyes boring holes into my body. At midday, as she shimmers in her own skin, her consuming hands grip the top of my head, I feel her like an abrupt slap across my cheek, a coarse wail on my ear drum. This monster does not whisper. Her tongue is feverous, a fire, her love a furnace, her kiss a shard of lightning. Yet I stretch towards her so she attacks my face, thirsty yet, for her gentleness that will not come. This beast does not shift but consumes each ounce on her course.
Is scríbhneoir Gael-Astrálach dátheangach i Julie Breathnach-Banwait. Tá sí lonnaithe ins na Goldfields, Iarthar na hAstráile.
Julie Breathnach- Banwait is an Irish-Australian bilingual poet and writer. She is based in the Goldfields, Western Australia.
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Dymphna Lonergan
Ar an traein go Minto
Leanbh beag ciúin ag stánadh
ar a íomhá féin
i bhfón a mháthair
On the train to Minto
A small quiet baby
is staring at his own image
in his mother’s phone
An Bhialann
Bananaí buí i mbabhla sa chistin
Duine ar bith sa seomra
Tógaim ceann go fáilí go dtí mo sheomra
don mhaidin
Maidin ina dhiaidh nochtar
na gadaithe bananaí
Cúigear againn
The Restaurant
Yellow bananas in a bowl in the kitchen
No one in the room
I take a banana furtively to my room for the morning
Next morning the banana thieves
are revealed
Five of us
Trí ubh
Trí ubh bruite i mbabhla bán
ar an lá deiridh
Breathnaím orthu le hiontas
Three eggs
Three boiled eggs in a white bowl
on the last day
I look on them with wonder
Radharc
Canna spréite gan uisce in aice le
carnán clocha ildathach
faoi bhun chros mór adhmaid
View
A watering can with no water
next to a heap of coloured stones
under a large wooden cross
Fuaim nua
Criogair ag crónán, ag dordán
go láidir
Ní féidir linn ár smaointe féin
a chloisteáil
A new sound
Ciccadas buzzing,
humming noisily
We cannot hear our own thoughts
Ar ais in Adelaide
Aer fionnuar na maidine
Gaoth bheag
Guth na n-éan
Cuisneoir lán
Easpa criogair
Níl baile ar bith mar mo bhaile féin
Back in Adelaide
Cool air of the morning
A light breeze
The sound of birds
A full fridge
No ciccadas
There is no place like home
Is scríbhneoir dátheangach í Dymphna Lonergan as Báile Átha Cliath ach atá ina conaí in Adelaide leis na blianta fada. Dymphna Lonergan is a bilingual writer originally from Dublin, residing in Adelaide.
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Tinteán 