Poem
Ceaití Ní Bheildiúin
ENLIGHTENMENT IN THE CONDEMNED MOUTH
l. The SubtractingIs it right to part the language
from the memory
the memory from the story
the story from the song
the song from the poem
the poem from the tradition
the tradition from the history
the history from the land
the land from the placename
the placename from the geography
the geography from the ecology
the ecology from the faith
the faith from the prayer
the prayer from the soul
when it is a bad omen to have a soul
parted from its tongue?
ll. The Adding
I peel back the thin layer of moss
revealing layer upon layer of words
that are no longer formed by voice or mouth;
syntax, strange to the man of today
which filters down through rock and bog
into the source of a loose-tongued river.
And I pour humbly, in on top
my small collection of words
pleading with the mountain to take possession of the syllables
because I hear each word amongst them
tormented, the need in them to be linked back
each creature of them calling to its elders
below: Stop! Come back to us!
Don’t go under the eclipse.
© Translation: 2016, Cathi Weldon
SANAS SA GHOB DAORTHA
SANAS SA GHOB DAORTHA
l. An DealúAn ceart an teanga
a dhealú ón gcuimhne
an chuimhne ón scéal
an scéal ón amhrán
an t-amhrán ón dán
an dán ón traidisiún
an traidisiún ón stair
an stair ón talamh
an talamh ón logainm
an logainm ón tíreolaíocht
an tíreolaíocht ón éiceolaíocht
an éiceolaíocht ón gcreideamh
an creideamh ón bpaidir
an phaidir ón anam
nuair mana is ea anam
scartha óna teanga?
ll. An Suimiú
Scamhaim an scraith chaol chaonaigh siar
ag nochtadh sraith anuas ar shraith d’fhocail
nach múnlaítear i ngion nó i ngob níos mó;
comhréir, coimhthíoch d’fhear an lae inniu
a shíothlaíonn trí charraig is trí phortach
isteach i bhfoinse bhéalscaoilte abhann.
Is doirtim go humhal
mo chnuasach beag focal orthu
ag impí ar an gcnoc na siollaí a shealbhú
mar go gcloisim gach briathar iontu
ciaptha, gá acu le nascadh siar
gach neach ag glaoch ar a shinsear
thíos: Stad! Fill chugainn!
Ná himigh faoin urú.
© 2015, Ceaití Ní Bheildiúin
From: Listowel Writers’ Week Winners’ Anthology 2015
Publisher: Listowel Writers\' Week, Listowel
From: Listowel Writers’ Week Winners’ Anthology 2015
Publisher: Listowel Writers\' Week, Listowel
Poems
Poems of Ceaití Ní Bheildiúin
Close
ENLIGHTENMENT IN THE CONDEMNED MOUTH
l. The SubtractingIs it right to part the language
from the memory
the memory from the story
the story from the song
the song from the poem
the poem from the tradition
the tradition from the history
the history from the land
the land from the placename
the placename from the geography
the geography from the ecology
the ecology from the faith
the faith from the prayer
the prayer from the soul
when it is a bad omen to have a soul
parted from its tongue?
ll. The Adding
I peel back the thin layer of moss
revealing layer upon layer of words
that are no longer formed by voice or mouth;
syntax, strange to the man of today
which filters down through rock and bog
into the source of a loose-tongued river.
And I pour humbly, in on top
my small collection of words
pleading with the mountain to take possession of the syllables
because I hear each word amongst them
tormented, the need in them to be linked back
each creature of them calling to its elders
below: Stop! Come back to us!
Don’t go under the eclipse.
© 2016, Cathi Weldon
From: Listowel Writers’ Week Winners’ Anthology 2015
From: Listowel Writers’ Week Winners’ Anthology 2015
ENLIGHTENMENT IN THE CONDEMNED MOUTH
l. The SubtractingIs it right to part the language
from the memory
the memory from the story
the story from the song
the song from the poem
the poem from the tradition
the tradition from the history
the history from the land
the land from the placename
the placename from the geography
the geography from the ecology
the ecology from the faith
the faith from the prayer
the prayer from the soul
when it is a bad omen to have a soul
parted from its tongue?
ll. The Adding
I peel back the thin layer of moss
revealing layer upon layer of words
that are no longer formed by voice or mouth;
syntax, strange to the man of today
which filters down through rock and bog
into the source of a loose-tongued river.
And I pour humbly, in on top
my small collection of words
pleading with the mountain to take possession of the syllables
because I hear each word amongst them
tormented, the need in them to be linked back
each creature of them calling to its elders
below: Stop! Come back to us!
Don’t go under the eclipse.
© 2016, Cathi Weldon
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