Double portrait in black and white © Cory Smith
Vona Groarke (Edgeworthstown / Athlone, Ireland, born 1964)
The Clutch Handbag
.
Black bombazine with grosgrain binding,
a clasp of diamanté butterflies and a row
of bevelled ivory sequins threaded with slipknots.
.
Finesse. A lipstick of a certain red,
a bronze compact, the cachet
of an embossed cigarette case.
.
Emerald lining that is like glossy music
from a dance-hall band or the sheen
of sable eyes on the mink stole
.
whose snout rounds on the very shape
of a tear in the satin no bigger than
her incarnadine thumbnail
.
through which five decades
have slipped like small coins
skittering the open notes
.
of a foxtrot or an old-time waltz
that nobody, but nobody,
recalls.
. . .
from the collection Spindrift © Vona Groarke and The Gallery Press
. . .
Máire Mhac an tSaoi (Dublin, Ireland, born 1922)
A fhir dar fhulaingeas
.
A fhir dar fhulaingeas grá fé rún,
Feasta fógraím an clabhsúr:
Dóthanach den damhsa táim,
Leor mo bhabhta mar bhantráill.
.
Tuig gur toil liom éirí as,
Comhraím eadrainn an costas:
‘Fhaid atáim gan codladh oíche
Daorphráinn orchra mh’osnaíle.
.
Goin mo chroí, gad mo gháire,
Cuimhnigh, a mhic mhínáire,
An phian, an phláigh, a chráigh mé,
Mo dhíol gan ádh gan áille.
.
Conas a d’agróinnse ort
Claochló gréine ach t’amharc,
Duí gach lae fé scailp dhaoirse –
Malairt bhaoth an bhréagshaoirse!
.
Cruaidh an cás mo bheith let ais,
Measa arís bheith it éagmais;
Margadh bocht ó thaobh ar bith
Mo chaidreamh ortsa, a óigfhir.
. . .
from the collection An paróiste míorúilteach/The miraculous parish ( Rogha
dánta/Selected poems), edited by Louis de Paor, © Máire Mhac an tSaoi and The O’Brien Press/Clóiar-Chonnacht
. . .
Máire Mhac an tSaoi
Man for whom I endured
.
Man, for whom I suffered love
In secret, I now call a halt.
I’ll no longer dance in step.
Far too long I’ve been enthralled.
.
Know that I desire surcease,
Reckon up what love has cost
In racking sighs, in blighted nights
When every hope of sleep is lost.
.
Harrowed heart, strangled laughter;
Though you’re dead to shame, I charge you
With my luckless graceless plight
And pain that plagues me sorely.
.
Yet, can I blame you that the sun
Darkens when you are in sight?
Until I’m free each day is dark –
False freedom to swap day for night!
.
Cruel fate, if by your side.
Crueller still, if set apart.
A bad bargain either way
To love you or to love you not.
. . .
Translation from Irish into English: Biddy Jenkinson
. . .
Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin (Cork, Ireland, born 1942)
The Bend in the Road
.
This is the place where the child
Felt sick in the car and they pulled over
And waited in the shadow of a house.
A tall tree like a cat’s tail waited too.
They opened the windows and breathed
Easily, while nothing moved. Then he was better.
.
Over twelve years it has become the place
Where you were sick one day on the way to the lake.
You are taller now than us.
The tree is taller, the house is quite covered in
With green creeper, and the bend
In the road is as silent as ever it was on that day.
.
Piled high, wrapped lightly, like the one cumulus cloud
In a perfect sky, softly packed like the air,
Is all that went on in those years, the absences,
The faces never long absent from thought,
The bodies alive then and the airy space they took up
When we saw them wrapped and sealed by sickness
Guessing the piled weight of sleep
We knew they could not carry for long;
This is the place of their presence: in the tree, in the air.
. . .
from the collection The Girl Who Married the Reindeer
© Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin and The Gallery Press
. . .
Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill (Dingle/Tipperary, Ireland, born 1952)
Venio Ex Oriente
.
Tugaim liom spíosraí an Oirthir
is rúin na mbasár
is cúmhraín na hAráibe
ná gealfaidh do láimhín bán.
.
Tá henna i m’chuid ghruaige
is péarlaí ar mo bhráid
is tá cróca meala na bhfothach
faoi cheilt i m’imleacán.
.
Ach tá mus eile ar mo cholainnse,
boladh na meala ó Imleacht Shlat
go mbíonn blas mísmín is móna uirthi
is gur dorcha a dath.
. . .
From Selected Poems © 2004, Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill and New Island Books
. . .
Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill
“I Come from The East”
.
Eastern spices I bring with me,
and from bazaars, a mystery:
and perfumes from Arabic land
would not make bright your small white hand.
.
My hair is henna-brown
and pearls from my neck hang down
and my navel here conceals
vials of the honey of wild bees.
.
But my body breathes another musk
that smells of wild mint and turf:
scent of honey from an ancient hill
that has darkness in its tint.
. . .
Translation from Irish into English: Michael Hartnett
. . .
Dairena Ní Chinnéide (Dingle, County Kerry, Ireland)
Suantraí na Meánmhara
.
Chuaigh an Trodaí fén uisce
is bhí pátrúin a saoil san uisce glas
comharthaí ón bhfarraige eachtrannach
ag cur comhairle uirthi fanacht fó thoinn.
d’oscail domhan mealltach
is bhí sí ar a suaimhneas
i bhfad ó chlann is leannáin
domhan draíochta an Trodaí fé uisce
fhliuch sí, is fhliuch sí í féin
d’fhonn fothain a fháil ón teas
shnámh sí lena súile oscailte
is shnámhfadh sí go dtí an Ghréig
chun éalú óna laincisí saolta
léirphictiúir ghrinneall na Meánmhara
is macalla na dtonn in suantraí aici.
. . .
from the collection An Trodaí & Dánta Eile / The Warrior & Other Poems
© Dairena Ní Chinnéide and Cló Iar-Chonnacht
. . .
Dairena Ní Chinnéide
Mediterranean Lullaby
.
The Warrior went under water
and the patterns of her life lay in the green
signs from a foreign ocean
advising her to stay under the waves
a magically enticing world opened
and she was at peace
far from her family and her lover
the magical Warrior world under the waves
she wet and wet herself
to take shelter from the heat
she swam with her eyes open
and she would swim to Greece
to escape her mortal ties
images from the bottom of the Mediterranean
and echoes of the waves her lullaby.
. . .
Translation from Irish into English: Dairena Ní Chinnéide
. . . . .
