Aistear
le Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill

Dán do Lá le Pádraig, 1997


A Phádraig,
ís fada an aistear againn é
ó Choíll Fhochlaid atá in aice na farraige thiar.

Bhí linn ar dtúis
ach ansan do chuaigh an saol is an aimsír
go mór inár gcoinnibh.
Chaitheamair gabháilt de dhair le doirnibh,
gad a chur um ghaineainh,
is ór buí a shníomh i dtuirní briste
as tuí na ngarraithe,
plúr na mban is na bhfear á seoladh thar lear orainn
is sinn fágtha go hatuirseach
bró mhuilinn á iompó le gach deoir againn.

B'ionann is gabháilt tríd an Mhuir Rua
costhirím is nochtaíthe
ár dteacht i dtír ín aon chor.

Deir síad go bhfuil fuar againn;
gur turas in aistear é
ár dturas go dtí seo;
ag snámh de shíor i gcoinne an easa choitianta
atá ag géimneach go hard inár gcluasa.

Deir siad
go sníomhann gach sruth le fánaidh
is sa deireadh
go gcaithimíd tabhaírt isteach is géilleadh
do ríachtanaisí an tsaoil réadaigh.

Ach tá dearmhad orthu.
Chonaícis-se leís na rudaí a tharla
i gcoinne an oird nádúrtha;
an cailín ag treasnú abhainn an tSuca
gan a bróga a fhliuchadh:
tusa ag ísliú dream an díomais
is na draoithe dúra gan aon mhaith:
Is i ndeargainneoín Rí Teamhrach
do lasais an tine Chásca ar Chnoc na Sláine
nár múchadh riamh ó shin a toit ná a bladhmann.

Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill
Patrick,
we have journeyed far
from the wood of fochluth by the western sea.

We started well
but life and times
turned on us.
We had to fell the oaks with our fists,
moor to a shifting sand,
weave threads of gold from common straw
with a spun wheel,
the best of our men and women were banished to foreign lands
and we were left drained
each tear a millstone round our neck.

But we made it
a miracle
naked and dryfooted through the Red Sea parting.

They say we've blown it;
our journey
vain so far;
buffeting the common current
and its craven caterwauling.

They say
a brook beguiles
and we two
will go with the flow
captivated by the real world's call.

But they are wrong.
You have seen nature's orders
countermanded;
a girl crossing rhe River Suck
and her shoes bone dry:
the proud that you struck down,
along with useless desiccated druids:
You death-defied the King of Tara
and on Slane's hill you lit the Easter flame
whose spark and smoke still nurture us.

translation: Pól Ó Duibhir



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