Pangur Ban Pangur Ban

Messe ocus Pangur Bn, I and Pangur Ban my cat,

cechtar nathar fria saindan: Tis a like task we are at:
bth a menmasam fri seilgg, Hunting mice is his delight,
mu memna cin im saincheirdd. Hunting words I sit all night.

Caraimse fos (ferr cach clu) Better far than praise of men
oc mu lebran, leir ingnu; Tis to sit with book and pen;
ni foirmtech frimm Pangur Bn: Pangur bears me no ill will,
caraid cesin a maccdn. He too plies his simple skill.

O ru biam (scl cen scs) Tis a merry thing to see

innar tegdais, ar n-oends, At our tasks how glad are we,
taithiunn, dichrichide clius, When at home we sit and find
ni fris tarddam ar n-thius. Entertainment to our mind.

Gnth, huaraib, ar gressaib gal Oftentimes a mouse will stray

glenaid luch inna lnsam; In the hero Pangur's way;
os m, du-fuit im ln chin Oftentimes my keen thought set
dliged ndoraid cu ndronchill. Takes a meaning in its net.

Fuachaidsem fri frega fl 'Gainst the wall he sets his eye

a rosc, a nglse comln; Full and fierce and sharp and sly;
fuachimm chein fri fegi fis 'Gainst the wall of knowledge I
mu rosc reil, cesu imdis. All my little wisdom try.

Faelidsem cu ndene dul When a mouse darts from its den

hi nglen luch inna gerchrub; O how glad is Pangur then!
hi tucu cheist ndoraid ndil O what gladness do I prove
os me chene am faelid. When I solve the doubts I love!

Cia beimmi a-min nach r So in peace our tasks we ply,

ni derban cch a chele: Pangur Ban, my cat, and I;
maith la cechtar nr a dn; In our arts we find our bliss,
subaigthius a enurn. I have mine and he has his.

He fesin as choimsid du Practice every day has made

in muid du-ngni cach oenlu; Pangur perfect in his trade;
du thabairt doraid du gl I get wisdom day and night
for mu mud cein am messe. Turning darkness into light.
Is Mise Raifteir an file,
Ln dchais is grdh,
Le sile gan solas,
Le cinas gan cr.
Ag dul sar ar m'aistear
Le solas mo chro
Fann agus tuirseach
Go deireadh mo shl
Fach anois m
Is mo chl le bhfalla
Ag seinm ceoil
Do phca folamh
le Antaine Raifteir 1784-1835
"Anois teacht an Earraigh
beidh an l dl chun shneadh,
Is tar eis na fil Brde
ardigh m mo sheol.
Go Coillte Mach rachad
n stopfaidh me choche
Go seasfaidh m sos
i lr Chondae Mhaigh Eo."
I gClr Chlainne Mhuiris
A bheas m an chad oche,
Is I mballa taobh thos de
A thoss m ag l
Go Coillte Mch rachad
Go ndanfad cuairt mhosa ann
I bhfogas dh mhle
Do Bhal an tha Mhir.
Fgaim le huacht
go n-ironn mo chro-se
Mar a ironn an ghaoth
n mar a scaipeann an ceo
Nuair a smaoinm ar Cheara
n ar Ghaileang taobh thos de
Ar Sceathach an Mhle
n ar phlna Mhaigh Eo.
Cill Aodin an baile
a bhfsann gach n ann,
T smara is subh craobh ann
is meas de gach srt,
I'm Raftery the poet,
Full of hope and love,
With eyes without sight,
My mind without torment.
Going west on my journey
By the light of my heart.
Weary and tired
To the end of my road
Behold me now
With my back to the wall
Playing music
To empty pockets.
by Frank O'Connor
Now with the springtime
The days will grow longer
And after St. Bride's day'
My sail I'll let go
I put my mind to it,
And I never will linger
Till I find myself back
In the County Mayo.
In Clare of Morris family
I will be the first night
and in the Wall on the side below
it
I will begin to drink
to Maghs Woods I shall go
until I shall make a months visit
there
two miles close
to the Mouth of the Big Ford.
I swear
that my heart rises up
as the wind rises up
or as the fog lifts
when I think about Ceara
or about Gaileang on the lower
side of it
about Sceathach an Mhle
or about the plains of Mayo.
Cill Liadain is the town
Is d mbinnse i mo sheasamh
i gceartlr mo dhaoine
D'imeodh an aois dom
is bheinn ars g.
Bonn cruithneacht is coirce,
fs eorna is ln ann,
Seagal i gcraobh ann,
arn plir agus feoil,
Lucht danta poitn
gan licence dhol ann,
Mruaisle na tre ann
ag imirt is ag l.
T cur agus treabhadh
is leas gan aoileach
Is ioma sin n ann
nr labhair me go fill,
itheanna is muilte
ag obair gan scth ann,
Deamhan caint ar phingin cosa
n dada d shrt.
An Ghaeilge
Is mise an Ghaeilge
Is mise do theanga
Is mise do chultr
D'sid na Fil m
D'sid na huaisle
D'sid na daoine m
is d'sid na lena
Go brdil a bh siad
Agus mise faoi rim.
Ach thinig an strainsir
Chuir s faoi chois m
Is rud n ba mheasa
Nior mhaith le mo chlann m
Anois tim lag
Anois tim trith
Ach fs tim libh
Is beidh m go beo.
Tg suas mo cheann
Cuir thas ar mo chro
where everything grows
there are blackberries and
raspberries there
and every sort of fruit
and were I to be standing
in the center of my people
age would depart from me
and I would be again young.
There is always wheat and oats
growing barley and flax there
rye in branch there
flower-bread and meat
the folks who make moonshine
without a licence selling it there
the pride of the country
playing and drinking.
There is sowing and plowing
and fertilizing without manure
and its many the thing there
of which I have not yet spoken
kilns and mills
working without rest there
with hardly any talk about a
pennys rent
or about nothing of that sort.
The Irish Language
I am Irish
I am your language
I am your culture
The poets used me
The nobles used me
The people used me
and the children used me
Proud they were
And I flourished
But the stranger came
He suppressed me
Something worse than that was
my own people rejected me
Now I am weak
Now I am feeble
But still I am with you
and I will be forever.
Raise up my head
Put joy in my heart
Labhrag m
labhrag m!
Labhair an Teanga Ghaeilge
labhair an teanga Ghaeilge liom,
A chuid mo chroi a str,
An teanga a leabhair mo mhithair liom,
In irinn ghlas fad.
'S teanga bhinn r sinsear ,
An chaint is milse glr:
labhair an teanga Ghaeilge liom,
Is bain dem'chro an brn.
labhair an teanga Ghaeilge liom,
'S teanga cheart na nGael:
An teanga bhinn is rsa 'ta
L fil ar fud an tsaoil.
A str mo chroi is beannacht ort,
A chailn ig gan chim,
C bhfil sa saol aon teanga mar
r dteanga fin le fil?
Iascaire is ea mathair le ceart
Conas n raibh a fhios againn
cheana
agus diamhair na mara
chomh gl sin ina shil?
L an adhlactha, iompraonn s
doircheacht mhoch na maidine
ar an tr sin a shneann
dhoras an tsipil
go dt bruach an tsaoil.
Silann thar an slua
at bailithe sa chls,
a chois bite sa ghaineamh
gan cabhair a iarraidh
inne d chlann mhr mhac.
N thuigimid an fharraige fs,
dar leis, a cneastacht n a racht.
Speak me
Speak me, Oh speak me!
Speak the Irish Language
Oh speak the Irish language with me,
Treasure of my heart,
The language my mother spoke to me,
In green Ireland long ago.
She is the language of our ancestors,
The sweetest sounding speech:
Oh, speak the Irish language with me,
And remove sorrow from my heart.
Oh speak the Irish language with me,
The true language of the Gael:
The oldest language there is
to be found in all the world.
Treasure of my heart a blessing on you,
Young flawless girl,
Where in the world is there any language like
Our own language to be had?
My father is really a fisherman
How did we not know already,
when the deep mystery of the sea
shines so brightly in his eyes?
On the day of the burial, he
carries
the early morning dark
on that beach that stretches
from the church door
to the edge of the world.
Walks past the crowd
that has gathered in the yard,
his feet sunk in sand,
asking no help
from any of his many sons.
We still dont understand the sea,
he says, its kindness or its anger.
T naomhg an bhrin
bun os cionn ar a ghualainn
chomh dubh le fuil thachta,
an fharraige ag fiuchadh
le deora goirt
a loiscfeadh sil na grine.
Scarann tonn na sochraide roimis
is cuireann s a dhearthir
sa pholl at tochailte
aige fin is an ngealaigh
arir. Nuair a shilann
n uaigh ar ais,
t gile na dtonn
is uaigneas an domhain i ngleic
i sil ghlas mo shinsir.
Tar is an Rabharta
(Muighinis 2004)
Tonnta reatha ag rince chun
cladaigh,
faoilein go biorrach ar foluain,
ceann rin bh
is ag gobadh anos chun anla,
salachar feamainne ar charraig,
broc le chur de ag an bhfarraige.
Seasaim ar trigh
mar a sheas mn ar oileinn mara,
iad ag caitheamh gainimhe le sile
ag imp ar Dhia
an stoirm a cheans
is na hiascair a thabhairt abhaile.
Achainamse, go dtiocfaidh lagtr
maidin ghrine
is go nochtar athuair
tobairn mara,
suaiteacht cealaithe,
ionlach ar dhuirling chun
feamainne.
The naomhg of sorrow
is upside down on his shoulders,
as black as clotted blood,
the ocean boiling
with salt tears
that would burn the eye of the
sun.
The funeral-wave parts
and he buries his brother
in the hole
he dug up with the moon
the night before. When he walks
back from the grave,
the brightness of the sea
and the loneliness of the world
grapple in my fathers green eyes.
After the Surge
(Muighinis 2004)
A run of waves dancing to the shore,
sharp-eyed seagulls hover,
a seals head being drowned
then re-emerging for breath,
seaweed littered on a rock,
a badger-like loaded sea.
I stand on a strand
as the women stood on an island
casting sand at the brine,
imploring God
to ease the storm
and bring the fishermen home.
I beseech that the ebb-tide may come
on a sun-bright morning,
and that once more
a sea-well is revealed,
turbulence cancelled,
a spreading ground on the shore for
seaweed.
Ollphiast Shell
(do mhuintir Rois Dmnaigh,
Iil 2005)
Tholl s grinneal mara
is bhain s mant as talamh,
chaoin na slibhte,
deora a chuir sruth leis na
mairbh.
T aghaidh a thabhairt aici ar na
portaigh,
pluid cinais
cranndacht shuain gan muscailt,
Ros Dmnach ar chiumhais na
dtonn.
Nimh ag spuaiceadh aisti,
samhlam,
ag doirteadh ar thalamh, ar
uisc, ar chrann,
claochl fiachmhar,
scanradh D,
deireadh an domhain!
Ach nuair a bhonn an bhagairt
thart,
scrach na tre cinaithe
is fuil an chrachta fuartha,
go bhfillimid ar lapadal na
dtonn,
iomair cuartha is gile r na
gainimhe,
solas domhanda!
The Shell Serpent
(for the people of Rossport,
July 2005)
He burrowed through the sea-
bed
and bit the land,
the mountains wept,
tears in a stream that carried the
bones of the dead.
Hes facing the bogs now,
a silent blanket,
sleeping treeness without a stir,
Rossport on the edge of the
waves.
I see him spewing out poison,
pouring over land, water, tree,
an almighy metamorphosis,
frighting even God,
the end of the world.
And when the threat has past,
the countrys scream silenced,
the blood in the wound cold,
that we may return to the
lapping waves,
cyclical ridges and golden sand,
a light to the world.
Conair an Cheoil
Ghabh an ceol conair na
colainne, ar dts go mall
is ansan ina shruthn le fna
aiteann faoi bhlth gach taobh
de
gur rith ars go ridh trd an m
it a raibh na blthanna lana
ag sil lena thadhall.
Cn fhaid eile go mbainf siansa
na bchna amach
is duibheagn an tosta?
Conair an cheoil n heol dinne a
ts n a deireadh.
An riasc igin is foinse di?
Barr slibhe?
Loch?
Ghabhamarna conair an cheoil,
trth, ms cuimhin leat.
B Potgars r mistir, Pythagoras was our master,
ceol na sfar r stiradh
amach asainn fin
isteach ionainn fin
timpeall!
An cuimhin leat an nath aige?
Os cionn an scamaill
Gona scil
T an ralt
Gona loinnir.
Thar aon n eile
Tabhair ms duit fin.
Nuair a stop an ceol
thost an chruinne.
Musics Path
Music took the bodys paths,
slow at first,
and then as a sloping stream
(flowering gorse on each side)
which ran readily through the
plain
where the water-meadow
blossoms
had been hoping to feel its
presence.
How much longer till it merged
with the melody of the sea,
the depths of silence?
Musics path, no one knows its
beginning or end.
Some marsh its source?
Or mountaintop?
A lake?
We took musics path once, you
may remember.
the music of the spheres our
guide
out of ourselves
into ourselves
around!
Remember his aphorism?
Above the cloud
with its shadow
is the star
with its light.
Above all things
reverence thyself.
When the music stopped
the universe became silent.
Ar Bhs Mhunir Niazi On the Death of Munir Niazi

Nl inne anois a ghlaofaidh ar We have nobody now to call

ais ar na gaotha ar fn
Nl inne a darfaidh cad t ag
an trthnna r:
Tionlacan garg le bailc scairt an
mhuezzin
C a chanfaidh feasta dinn tost
glrach na bhfothrach, titim
ghasta na n-ll
C a sheasfaidh leis fin i mbaile
bocht trigthe is ag feitheamh
go ciin
Le hir na geala? Varsa ag dul
f ar fhor na spire is ea do
chrose
back the wandering winds
No one to tell us what evening is
saying
The muezzins cry, bitter
accompaniment to a freezing
shower
Who now will sing for us the
tumultous silences of ruins, rapid
fall of apples
Who will stand alone in a poor
deserted village quietly waiting
For the moon to rise? Your heart
is a stanza sinking on the
horizon

Solta sceite na pomagrnaite, Oozing seeds of a pomegranate,

lonmhar dearg, do bhs
Stoirm chantalach, treascairt,
clagarnach, calln,
Folt striceadh, bilteach thine
ag dul as; fiscim searbhsholta
f mfhiacla
numerous, blood-red, your death
A cantankerous storm, a
downfall, clatter of rain,
confusion,
Hair being torn, a raging fre
going out; teeth crunching bitter
seeds

Curf: Chorus (after each verse):

Dlamn na binne bu Seaweed of the yellow cliff
Dlamn Gaelach Irish seaweed
Dlamn na binne bu Seaweed of the yellow cliff
Dlamn Gaelach Irish seaweed

A'non mhn Oh gentle daughter

Sin anall na fir shir Here come the wooing men
A mhithair mhn Oh gentle mother
Cuir na roithlan go dt m Put the wheels in motion for me

T ceann bu ir There is a yellow-gold head

Ar an dlamn gaelach On the Irish seaweed
T dh chluais mhaol There are two blunt ears
Ar an dlamn gaelach On the Irish seaweed
 Rachaimid 'un an Ir We'll go to Newry
Leis an dlamn gaelach With the Irish seaweed
Ceannimid brga daora I would buy expensive shoes
Ar an dlamn gaelach Said the Irish seaweed

Brga breaca dubha The Irish seaweed has

Ar an dlamn gaelach Beautiful black shoes
T bearad agus tris The Irish seaweed has
Ar an dlamn gaelach A beret and trousers

chuir m scala chuici I spent time telling her the story

Go gceanninn cor d That I would buy a comb for her
'S an scal a chuir s chugam The story she told back to me
Go raibh a ceann cortha That she is well-groomed

"What did you bring from the

Caid thug t 'na tre?
land?"
Arsa an dlamn gaelach Says the Irish seaweed
Ag sir le do non "Courting with your daughter"
Arsa an dlamn maorach Says the stately seaweed

"You're not taking my

Chan fhaigheann t mo 'non
daughter"
Arsa an dlamn gaelach Says the Irish seaweed
Bheul, fuadidh m liom "Well, I'd take her with me"
Arsa an dlamn maorach Says the stately seaweed

Dlamn na binne bu Seaweed of the yellow cliff

Dlamn a' tsleibhe Seaweed of the mountain
Dlamn na farraige Seaweed from the sea
Is dlamn a' deididh Seaweed __