S’é an geimhreadh deireanach agam
is níorbh fhiú faic an bás
atá romham anois gan an smólach
a chloinstin sa choill: cluinim é
ann, inar ndeachamar ag fánaíocht
agus is eol dom – domsa
mar chách – nach raibh ach leath-
mhuinín riamh agam as a leithéid.
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After sitting here with my Collins Irish dictionary purchased on Saturday in Turlough House National Folklife collection and museum of Country Life, Mayo of the yew plain and branch of the National Museum of Ireland and winner of Museum of the Year in 2001, where i also purchased Sacred Ireland A to Z of rath, cairn and ringfort in the four provinces -- i gave it a first outing Dave and please forgive my inept attempt at being Muldoon to yr Ní Dhomhnaill, but this is my first ever re-rendering and so only the work of an apprentice who will next semester avail of the beginners language course in Harcourt street and spend the rest of my days acquiring it, trying it out in Achill at Lynotts at my uncles in Bunacurry.
It is the final winter
and worth nothing, the death
before now existing
without and thrushes
in woods understanding it.
duos who wander and knowing
like home, always it has been
however half confident
ever able to span this breadth.
~
forever the tongue and lip
slipping between profundity
and silliness, warbling
in woods, fellows of grá
agus síocháin, traditional
sean nós, old style, an ancient
little bird has whistled
from the tip of his bright
yellow beak; the blackbird
from a bough laden with yellow blossom has tossed a cry over Belfast Lough
as the poet wrote within
the margins of an illuminated
pslater book 1200 years ago.
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