The King’s English

Our country from Dingle to the Graig
Stuck out its igneous tongue
At Slea Head erasing liquids
There, Jesus,
Framed in glossed reproduction,
Offered his burning paper heart
Over us on the settle,
While the Rock King’s “Wooden Heart”
Ruled the Radio Éireann’s waves;
Disturbed from her dolls she listened
And began to sing:
Through gapped milk teeth
The King’s tongue jostled hers,
Once used to Irish kings,
Pushed open her lips to reproduce
His broadcast wireless creation
And yet she said not a word
Of the King’s English
To peg at a dog!
Her grandfather muttered away
About a banjaxed tongue
And Cuchulainn, dead against the airwaves.
 
Here, over Johnny’s bar,
Beneath the Sacré Coeur,
Three knackered tongues in cheek,
No better off than Jesus,
I offer her Wooden Heart,
Become paper too.

Béarla Briste

Béarla Briste

Sháigh ár ndúiche, ón Daingean siar thar an nGráig,
A teanga chloiche dóite amach
Faoi Cheann Sléibhe a scriosann na leachtaigh.
Thall ,frámaithe ina mhacasamhail shnasta,
Ofrálann Íosa a chroí páipéir ag dó
Os ár gceann ar an raca,
Agus Rí an Rac lena  “Chroí Adhmaid”
I réim ar thonnta Raidió Éireann;
Tarraingthe óna bábóga, chuir Cáit cluas uirthi féin
Agus chroch suas an t-amhrán:
Idir na fiacla diúil mantacha
Ghéill a teanga féin,
Teanga ríthe na hÉireann,
Do theanga an Rí
A sháigh í féin idir a beola
Ag lorg macasamhla
Dá cruthú craobhscaoilte –
Bíodh nach raibh focal aici
De Bhéarla an Rí
Le caitheamh chuig an madra.
Labhair a Daideo trína fhiacla mantacha fhéin
Faoin bpraiseach theanga
Agus faoi Chúchulainn, glan i gcoinne thonnta an aeir.

Abhus, i bPáras,
Ag seasamh le beár Johnny Granville faoin Sacré Coeur,
Trí theanga buailte isteach agam le pluc na dáiríreachta,
Mé oidhre ar Íosa,
Ag ofráil croí adhmaid Cháit
Iompaithe go páipéar anseo.