An Capaillín Bán

Seoirse Seartan

Caoineadh é seo a scríobh Seoirse Seartan dá chapall fad is a bhí sé ar imirce i Sasana

Foinse: Coiste Litríoctha Mhúsgraí

Mo chreach is mo chás ‘sé an bás a thagann go trom,
Nuair a leagtar ar lár an chara gur mhaith linn bheith buan,
Ní le fearaibh, le mnáibh ná le buachaillíbh ‘ bhaineann mo dhán,
Ach le láirín droch-mhianaigh ar a nglaodís An Capaillín Bán.

In Uíbh Laoghaire na nGaortha ‘sea a chaith sise a saol,
Níor fhás sí puinn riamh mar ba dhual di ó gach taobh dá gaol,
Gidh gur mó mála coirce is mine a dh’th sí go slan,
Is fíor bheag dá chomhartha a bhí ar chraiceann an Chapaillín Bháin.

Do bhí cáil na n-ocht nduine chliste i gceann a’ láirín,
D’ aithneófadh sí an difir a bhí idir droch cheól is ceól binn,
Ar filleadh ó Mháchromtha abhaile buail suas amhrán,
‘S ní bhéarfadh gaoth anoir nó aneas ar an gCapaillín mBán.

Bhí súil léi imithe gan aon choinne go bhfilleadh go deó,
Do bhí sí ar leath-shúil, gan dúil le sonas na só,
Ach dá ghéire radharc Cyclops nú an seabhac ar lorg préachán,
Is suarach ab fhiú iad seachas súilín an Chapaillín Bháin.

A cosa níor láidir cé gur tháinig buidéal ón dochtúir,
Chomh cam cnapanach gan dásacht, gan deiseacht, gan lúth,
Is cuimhin liom-sa lá ná raibh slán ach an t-aon chos amháin,
Is ba ghioballach fánach an láir í, an Capallín Bán.

Fé dheireadh thiar thall dob fhonn le hAthair na nGrás,
A theachtaire dúbhach a chuir chúchi le scéala an bháis,
Do cuireadh go galánta an láir bhocht: sin deireadh mo dháin,
Is síochán is sólás go bhfaighidh anam a’ Chapaillín Bháin.

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Seán Ó Duibhir a’ Ghleanna

Foinse: Coiste Litríoctha Mhúsgraí (Leagan cóirithe ag Peadar Ó Riada)

Éistígh liom-sa sealadh
go neosad díbh cé ‘r cailleadh.
gurb é Seán Ó Duibhir a’ Ghleanna
gan trácht ar a chéim.
Go bhfuil a choin ‘s a ghadhair ‘s a chapaill
go doimhin fé chré ‘s fé chartadh,
‘s nárbh fhios cár ghaibh an t-anam
‘bhí in áras a chléibh.
Gur cladhaire an bás a thagann
go ciúin, gan chaint ‘na theangan,
ar nós na taoide leathan
i gcuantaibh a scéithean.
Ach ó tá sé in am dúinn freagairt
bíodh garda Dé ‘n ár n-aice
a thógfaidh saor an t-anam
Go h-áras na Naomh.

Céad glóire leis an Athar
nár mhór le rá a ainm.
tá go cumhachtach ins na flaithis
le trácht ar an saol.
Do chúm ‘s do chlóidh na hAingil
go lonnrach, soillseach, lasmhar
gan smúit, gan cheó, gan pheaca,
gan teimheal mar an ngréin.
Do riaraigh spéir is scamaill
chuir solas ard sa ghealaigh
na réilthín chughainn a’ taithneamh
gach oíche ins an spéir.
Do líon gach abha ‘gus caise
le slaodaibh tiubha len’ fheartaibh
san mhór mhuir bhruchtach fhairsing
ó lán dá chuid éisc.

Céad glóire arís len’ ainm
go síorraí buan le seasamh
do thuill ‘s do fuair an ceannas
an chlú cheart ‘s an réim.
Do líon gach coill le crannaibh
go buacach, bláthmhar, daite
‘s na h-éin go binn ag cantainn
ar a ngéagaibh go léir.
Dá laighead le rá na beacha
do thug dóibh slí deas beatha,
gur chughaigh de údair ghasta
é d’ fhoghlaim ins an léann.
Nuair a bhíonn an ghrian ag taitneamh
Go gcnósaid a gcuid meala,
Mar stór i gcomhair a chaite
San Geimhreadh le céill.

An Hide and Go Seek

Amhrán go mbíodh an-éileamh i gcónaí air ag gach ócáid ina mbíodh slua bailithe ag scoraíocht nó pairtí is ea An Hide and go Seek agus bíonn sé fós le clos anois is arís.

Foinse: Coiste Litríoctha Mhúsgraí

Ar maidin inné ‘sea dhearcas an stuaire cailín,
Her limbs were complate, she was nately clothed in green,
A malaí ba chaol is a béilín ba ró-mhilis bhinn,
And I knew by her gaze she’d play at the hide and go seek.

Do dhruideas féin léi is d’iarraíos di póigín nó thrí,
She answered and said young man, you’re making too free.
‘Sé dúrt-sa féin léi, dá raghfá-sa liom-sa mar mhnaoi
I’d teach you to play a game they call hide and go seek
.

Do fhreagair an bhé, sé dúirt gur bhaoth é mo shlí,
I’ll tarry a while until more of this world I’ll see.
Mar táim-se ró-óg, cúig déag chun an fhómhair seo do bhí;
Too young a great deal to play at the hide and go seek
.

Ná codail ar a’ gcluais sin, tá muar-chuid caite ded’ ghnaoi,
Your mammy was younger than you when your face she did see.
Ná chreid-se ó éinne go ndéanfainn do mhalairt mar mhnaoi,
But come with me home and we’ll play at the hide and go seek.

Tá sluaite breá caorach ‘gam féinigh ba boga ‘gus laoi,
With no one to care for the milk, the butter or cheese.
Beir-se id’ charáiste is mise leat féinigh im shuí,
And when we come home from walking ’tis we’ll have a jolly good squeeze.

De réir do ráite tá mór-chuid com i do chroí.
By your false seduction, like Satan when he tempted Eve.
Dá mbeadh feiste chomh breá ort ‘s tá agat-sa á mhaoíomh
There’d be no chance at all you’d marry a girl like me.

Is mó cailín óg a shiúil le fear tamall slí
That fortune might later favour her progeny.
Féach Cupid is Venus do bhí le h-osna na gcroí
And if you don’t join me my ghost will torment you in sleep.

Bíonn adharca go leor ar na ba a bhíonn thar lear a dúirt sí.
The parents that rared me, controlled by them I will be.
Tabhair leat commendation is litir ó shagart leis thíos
And if your game will succeed then we’ll play while the rest are asleep!

from A Selected Life and Vertical Man

le Thomas Kinsella

1
Galloping Green: May 1962

He clutched the shallow drum
and crouched forward, thin
as a beast of prey. The shirt
stretched at his waist. He stared
to one side, toward the others,
and struck the skin cruelly
with his nails. Sharp
as the answering and bark
his head quivered, counting.

3
St. Gobnait’s Graveyard, Ballyvourney:
that evening

The gate creaked in the dusk. The trampled grass,
soaked and still, was disentangling
among the standing stones
after the day’s excess.

A flock of crows circled
the church tower, scattered
and dissolved chattering
into the trees. Fed.

His first buried night
drew on. Unshuddering.
And welcome…
Shudder for him.

Pierrot limping forward in the sun
out of Merrion Square, long ago,
in black overcoat and beret,
pale as death from his soiled bed,
swallowed back: animus
brewed in clay, uttered
in brief meat and brains, flattened
back under our flowers.

Gold and still he lay,
on his second last bed, Dottore! A withered smile,
the wry hands lifted. A little whilw
and you may not

Salut.
Slán.
Yob tvoyu mat’,
Master, your health

4

Philadelphia: 3 October 1972

I was pouring a drink when the night-monotony
was startled below by a sudden howling
of engines along Market Street,
cursed ambulances intermixing their screams
down the dark canyons.

Over the gramophone your death-mask
was suddenly awake
and I felt something for you
out in the night, near and moving nearer,
tittering, uneasy.

I thought we had laid you to rest
– that you had been directed toward
crumbling silence, and the like.
It seems it is hard to keep
a vertical man down.

I lifted the glass, and the furies
redoubled their distant screams.
To you: the bourbon-breath.
To me, for the time being,
the real thing…

***

The golden goodness trembles. It is time.
And more than time. Kindly
step forward,
A black
bloody Business,
The whole thing…

He stepped forward through the cigarette-smoke
to his place at the piano
– all irritation – and tore
off his long fingernails to play.

From palatal darkness a voice
rose flickering, and checked
in glottal silence. The song
articulated and pierced.

We learned over the shallows from the boat slip
and netted the little grey shrimp-ghosts
snapping, and dropped them
in the crawling biscuit-tin.

Do Mhicí

Do Mhícheál Óg Ó Lionáird

A gharsún óig
A chara d’éag
Le loinnear na gréine
I ngach gníomh i do shaol.

Is gearr bhí do thréimhse
A Mhicí geal óg
Sa domhain seo trom-cúiseach
Inar fhág tú do chló.

Do cháirde do tháilleadh
Anois ‘tá fé bhrón
Do cheol is do chomhrá
Imithe go réim Dé

A fhaid thar na mara
Thall is abhus
Ag obair, ag súgradh
Níor thóg tú riamh sos.

Tá do phort deiridh seinmthe
Do phaidir scoir réidh
Tá an fiach dubh os do chionn
A Mhicí, mo thrua
Deireann gach éinne “ag an mbás atá an bua”.