Grammar

You can’t talk yet, and you’re not
too put out about that.
Words send you into convulsions,
especially verbs - the Imperative Mood
is the funniest thing you’ve ever heard.
Wake up. Go asleep. Do. Don’t. Be.

You have your own lingo
any fool could understand,
even a linguist, given time.
Grin. Yowl. Gurn.
Yawn. Grunt. Silence
that makes perfect
sense to everyone.

You’re behind schedule
according to doctors’ charts,
the childish child experts.
But if you learn, and I’m afraid you will,
as many words as there are rules of grammar
in the libraries of An Gúm

you won’t say a blessed thing
worth anything more
than what you’ve already learned
in the womb’s elocution room,
the punctuation of laughter back to front,
the declension of rain into tears.

Gramadach

Gramadach

Níor tháinig do chaint leat fós,
ná níl aon chorrabhuais
ina thaobh san ort.
Cuireann briathra sna trithí tú,
is an modh ordaitheach,
ní mór ná go dtachtann le greann.
Dúisigh. Codail. Dein. Ná dein. Bí …

Tá do bhéarlagar féin agat,
réamhurlabhra a thuigfeadh dúramán
nó an teangeolaí féin le haimsir.
Straois. Strainc. Scread.
Gnúsacht. Meánfach. Tost
gur léir don uile a bhrí uilíoch.

Tán tú chun deiridh
de réir chairteacha na ndochtúirí,
na saineolaithe linbh leanbaí.
Ach má thugann tú leat,
mar is baolach go dtabharfaidh,
oiread focal is ’tá rialacha graiméar
i leabharlanna an Ghúim

ní déarfaidh tú aon ní
gur fiú aon ní in aon chor é
thar an méid a d’fhoghlaimís
in aragal na broinne,
poncaíocht do gháire droim ar ais,
díochlaonadh na fearthainne id dheoir.