Poetry International Web
en/nl
dutch news
previous
 
 
 

Fuar Fuar í Éire
Cromann rósanna feoite a gceanna
Fé chaidhp bhán sheaca na Nollag.
Iadsan atá gan chosaint, gan fothain,
Crithidís leo san anró fuar follamh.
 
Uafás roimh ocras á ngreadadh
Ní stadann mionéin ach ag priocadh;
Deargáin ón Oirthear ag lorg sa tsneachta,
Is beag má fhaigheann faic dá bharra.
 
Ó airde na craoibhe pailme dorcha
Faireann súil shaintiúil an mheaig
Tiomáint na mionchuileachtan,
Piarda de fhrancach á scaipeadh.
 
An t-éan ata fann mar a fhéadfaidh,
An fámaire laidir mar a shantóidh.
Insa chruas bán gan trócaire
Cá bhfaighídís fríd féin an dóchais?
 
Cá bhfaigheann an dreoilín bia agus tearmann
Ach i gcaortha an eidhneáin agus sa chuileann
Is fé chaidhp bhán na Nollag lonraíonn baclóga,
Áit a gcanfaidh, sa Mheitheamh, gearrcaigh óga.
 
Frost Over Ireland
Roses hang their withered heads
Beneath the white cap of Christmas frost.
The ones without hope, without shelter,
Shiver in the hollow of the cold.

Terrified at the hunger upon them,
Small birds peck at emptiness.
Here in the snow, redwings from the East
Search in the frosted absences.

From the dark heights of a fir tree
The magpie’s greedy eye observes
The songbirds’ growing panic
When a fat rat sends them scurrying.

It is the small bird that struggles
While the predator takes his ease.
In this blank hardness without mercy
Will they find even a worm’s worth of hope?

It is the berries of ivy and holly
Who give the wren its bed and board;
Buds glistening under the frosty cap
Are the waiting June where songbirds are.