One Day / Lá dá raibh radio feature by Louis de Paor (Gold Award winner in the New York Festivals Radio Awards) rebroadcast on RTÉ Lyric FM; Interview on The Poetry...
Launch event for Louis de Paor's Crooked Love / Grá fiar
Louis de Paor launched his new dual language selection Crooked Love / Grá fiar with co-translators Biddy Jenkinson and Kevin Anderson. Watch now on YouTube.
No point telling me it’s a trick
light and dust have played on me,
that it was your shadow I saw in the window
as I washed the dishes this morning,
listening to the radio in the corner
while you ironed children’s clothes,
half-listening to me as usual
giving out about the world and its ways.
No. I wasn’t dreaming. I saw you clear
as day with my own two eyes just now
going past the gable end of the house
when I knew in my mind you were there
behind me pretending to listen to me
and the dull radio. For the sake of peace,
I didn’t bother glancing sideways
over my shoulder to try and catch you
inside and out at one and the same time.
After twenty-five years and more of this,
I know it’s no bother at all to you
to be there alongside me and away
somewhere I can’t follow you, unlike the man
in Banville’s novel who was about to go
through the French doors in the Anglo-Irish mansion
when he turned back at the last moment
and was afflicted by the most incredible loneliness
for the rest of his life for the person
he might have become had he stepped
through the glass between him and himself.
You, on the other hand, can be there
and not there, inside and out, whatever,
coming and going as you please
through the door I never thought to close
between you and your self
in case you’d want to follow her:
the girl who crossed that threshold long ago
and waits for you still at the gable end.
I hear you lilting quietly
just behind me, a sure sign
you’re your old self today.
The music stops and I feel you
looking right through me
as I keep an eye out the window
for the woman I’ve followed all my life
and haven’t caught up with yet.
If I went as far as the gable end
I doubt I’d ever turn back, my love.
Multi-tasking
Ná habair led thoil gur cleas é seo
a d’imir an solas is an dusta le chéile orm,
gurb é do scáil a chonac sa bhfuinneog sin
is na háraistí á ní agam ar maidin,
ag éisteacht leis an raidió sa chúinne
agus tusa ag iarnáil éadaí na leanaí
ag leathéisteacht liomsa mar is gnáth
ag tabhairt amach faoin saol mar atá.
Ní rabhas ag taibhreamh. Chonac
go soiléir lem dhá shúil féin tú ag dul
timpeall bhinn an tí agus a fhios agam
go maith go rabhais ansan laistiar dom
ag ligint ort bheith ag éisteacht liomsa
is an raidió tur. Ar son na síochána
níor bhacas fiú le féachaint chliathánach
thar mo ghualainn ag iarraidh breith ort
istigh is amuigh san aon am amháin.
Tréis cúig bliana fichead den obair seo
tuigim nach aon stró ort bheith ansan
in aice liom agus fós in áit eile nach féidir
tú a leanúint, ní hionann is an té sin
in úrscéal Banville a bhí ar tí dul amach
tríd na doirse Francacha sa tigh Angla-Éireannach
nuair a chas ar a sháil ag an neomat deireanach
is go raibh uaigneas dochreidte
an chuid eile dá shaol air i ndiaidh an duine
a d’fhéadfadh teacht ann dá siúlfadh sé
tríd an doras gloine idir é agus é féin.
Is féidir leatsa a bheith ann agus as,
amuigh is istigh, aon uair is maith leat,
ag teacht is ag imeacht tríd an doras
nár chuimhnigh mé riamh a dhúnadh
idir tú is tú fhéin ar eagla go mbeadh
fonn ort í a leanúint, an bhean óg
a chuaigh tríd na doirse Francacha fadó
atá ag fanúint leat ag binn an tí go fóill.
Tá tú ag portaireacht os íseal ar mo chúl,
comhartha follasach go bhfuileann tú
istigh leat fhéin inniu. Nuair a stadann
an chantaireacht go hobann, braithim
do shúile ag dul tríom is mé ag faire
tríd an bhfuinneog amach don mbean
a bhfuil uaigneas an domhain i gcónaí
ina diaidh orm is nár éirigh liom fós
teacht suas léi. Dá rachainn chomh fada
le binn an tí, ní móide, a chroí, go gcasfainn.
*
Echoes
On the old railway line
between Dublin and Maynooth,
there’s a man down on one knee,
knocking on the sleepers
that keep the rails perfectly apart.
He listens to the tree’s response
as intently as a surgeon who has heard
the murmur in his daughter’s heart
for the first time, or a woman
with her heart in her mouth
at the door of an apartment
after years and years away
who hears nothing but the echo
of her knock retreating through the cold corridor
of today. The railway line has been closed
for what seems like forever
but the listener will not be relieved
till he finds the soft spot
in the hard wood before the train
that has not yet arrived
and never will is derailed.
My faith is undiminished
in the careful stranger
down on one knee listening
to the confident echo of his fist
as it moves before him
through the deserted halls of the future.
He is all there is between us and the end of the line.
Macalla
Ar an seanabhóthar iarainn
idir Má Nuad is Baile Átha Cliath
tá fear ar a leathghlúin ag cnagadh
ar na bíomaí adhmaid a scarann
na ráillí go cothrom fan na slí.
Éisteann sé le freagra an chrainn
chomh cúramach le máinlia
a bhfuil croí fabhtach a iníne
á bhrath aige den gcéad uair
nó le bean ag doras árasáin
a bhfuil a croí ina béal aici
tréis na mblianta fada ar shiúl
ná cloiseann faic ach macalla
caol a doirn ag dul i léig
tré dhorchla fuar an lae.
Tá an t-iarnród dúnta le stáir
ach ní féidir an t-éisteoir
a scor go n-aimseoidh sé
an ball bog san adhmad cruaidh
sara gcuirfear an traein
nár tháinig is ná tiocfaidh
dá cúrsa díreach. Tá mo mhuinín
iomlán sa bhfear atá thíos
ar a leathghlúin ag éisteacht
le macalla láidir a dhoirn
ag imeacht roimhe tré phasáiste
tréigthe an todhchaí. Níl eadrainn
agus deireadh na líne ach é.
*
from Lá dá raibh…| One day…
11 The Wetlands of Sorrow
In the wetlands of sorrow,
withered irises
are crumpled handkerchiefs
grimy as trampled confetti;
Conamara ponies stand
to attention in the rain,
as graceful and awkward
as the hillpeople
who stood too long on both sides
of this road last night
while the memory of a good neighbour
was carried to the cemetery
on the slender shoulders of his four daughters.
The earth longs to dry
the silver tear
we all saw
bright as a ring,
on the bare finger
of the eldest girl.
11 Ar Thalamh Phortaigh an Bhróin
Ar thalamh phortaigh an bhróin
tá ciarsúir chraptha
na bhfeileastram feoite
chomh salach
le cith confetti faoi chois.
Seasann capaillíní Chonamara
ar aire sa bhfearthainn
chomh grástúil místuama
le muintir an tsléibhe anuas
a d’fhan rófhada ar dhá thaobh
an bhóthair seo aréir
agus cuimhne dea-chomharsan
á hiompar go teampall na cré
ar ghuaillí cúnga a chlann iníon.
Is fada leis an dtalamh
go dtriomóidh an deoir airgid
a chonacthas
chomh glé le fáinne
ar mhéar nocht
an chailín is sine orthu.
Contents List
Clár | Contents
I
Don gcéad ghlúin a mhairfidh tréis 8 | For the first generation to survive
bhás na Gaeilge the death of Irish
Caora finiúna 12 | Grapes
Fuarán 16 | Fountain
Iascaire is ea m’athair le ceart 20 | My father is a fisherman by right
Cloigíní 24 | Bells
Luascáin 28 | Swings
IV
Luck 102 | Luck
Ar Oileán Bruny 108 | On Bruny Island
Garbhach, Inis Cara 112 | Garbhach, Inis Cara
Aesthetics 118 | Aesthetics
Mise agus an leabhar i gCafé na Beatha 126 | The Book and I in Café de la Vie
V
Macalla 134 | Echoes
Pluaiseanna 136 | Caverns
Ar cuairt 142 | Visiting
Rósanna 146 | Roses
Téada 150 | Strings
Paidir Ameiriceánach 154 | American prayer