Gaelic Heart, English Tongue

The Mist

2009-12-05T08:34:00.000-08:00

The morning mist caresses the bay,
Engulfs the boats, half-beached by the low tide,
And touches the promenade’s wall like a kiss.

On this cold November morning,
The locals go about their daily pleasure;
The odd jogger, leaving their mark on the dew-soaked grass,
Dogs looking like their owners’ personalities,
Housewives walking off last night’s rosé in pairs.

I look across to where the port would be, and the mountains beyond,
But the sea-cloud has hidden them from God’s sight;
Now, the world is nothing more than a few hundred square metres;
A mystic land in a Western suburb.

In this dream-soft mist, and despite the cold,
I feel ease and comfort,
Like the blanket of a newborn child.

A divine line I hear from my music player;
Tighinn air a’ mhuir am fear a phosas mi...

...but not just yet; wait until the mist lifts.

('Tighinn air a’ mhuir am fear a phosas mi': 'The man who I shall marry will come from overseas.')

Priest

2009-12-01T08:40:00.000-08:00

(English Translation of 'Sagart')

Don’t bless me.

Don’t tell me
About your God,
Your book,
Or your psalms.

Only tell me
About yourself
And just yourself,

Because I don’t want to get to know Jesus,
Or Mary
Or Joseph,
But you;

The young gay priest
Who’s standing in front of me,
Who was trying to kiss me
Last Thursday night....

There will be a time
When you won’t even
Allow yourself
To love anyone

And I will never understand
That aspect of Catholicism,
Especially as love
Is the most holy of human traits
That there is.

But in you I see
The Soul without Sin,
The Sacred Heart
That the God of Life gave to you;

Love.

Love, Version 2.0

2009-12-01T08:36:00.000-08:00

(English Translation of 'Iarracht, Uimh. II')

Now, while the light is low,
And the soft music is playing,
I take off my clothes, one by one,
And let them fall onto the floor.

I lie down on this single bed,
Single, so that there won’t be
Any space between us
For as long as we are together

We listen to the melody
Coming from the music player
As if it were the soundtrack of this scene
As if we were in some film.

I touch you, and I instantly feel
Peace – the only word I have for it.
I don’t have to translate it for you;
You feel it too – no words necessary.

I don’t notice until right then
That the worry and lack of confidence,
Have slipped away along with my clothes
All that’s left is my pure, honest body.

Now, totally naked beside you,
Proud of the love we make,
I trust this new fire,
That it won’t burn me

...this time.

The Gods

2009-12-01T08:25:00.000-08:00

(Translation of 'Na Déithe')
To Samuel Marr

Could you find true love before you should
But wait for him, day after day
Until you are both ready
To spend your lives together?

Must we wait, without any advice,
Until some heavenly clock is struck
That tells us that our souls are allowed
To finally intertwine?

But who owns this destiny,
And why do we not control it,
Or do we not control our own lives
In any way? (well, that’s what they say.)

If this time in the world
Is nothing but a guided tour
We can be here, not doing a thing,
Noticing nothing at all;

I won’t be like that, because I know
That life is not eternal;
Death is a (sort of) friend of Life
And I will meet him later

But just for now, I know well
Just how lucky I am;
I have Friendship, Love and Happiness
The most beautiful Gods, to me.

Malahide, 3rd January 2009
(Translated into English: 29th November 2009)

Winter Prayer

2009-11-27T05:50:00.000-08:00

Almost December.

A lone leaf clings to a branch;

Like faith, refusing to let go.

Peace

2009-11-22T12:18:00.000-08:00

November morning;

Both my soul and the weather

Calm, after the storm.

Angelus

2009-10-27T03:57:00.000-07:00

The nearby Catholic parish church tolls its bell at six;
The Angelus;
A moment of reflection and meditation;

I lie here in my life-bed at home,
Where heartbreaking and love-making have both taken place,
With tears, laughter and dreams soaked into the mattress.

Now, alone, another cycle complete,
Drained of energy by your love,
For one becomes a lover with time, and a caretaker with age,
But you made me old before my time.

As the bell is tolled, the final strike,
I arise from my bed, and move to the piano
To play for memories and dreams

Without conscious effort, I start to play
And silently shed two tears, one for each of us.

Clontarf, Dublin; 27th September 2009

Morning in Chapelizod

2009-08-12T03:55:00.000-07:00

I awaken

in the single bed
in the spare room
of my friends' house

after a night in
with a DVD,
bottle of wine,
candles lit,
lights low...

They have been together for quite a while now;
Their new, rented house in a suburban retreat,
Their ginger cat, innocent and free...

I sit on the other sofa,
knock back my own Merlot
as they share their Chardonnay
and we both watch the movie.

Yet just before the movie ends
and before the final glass is poured
he rings me to say goodnight
and that he'll call me in the morning...

Chapelizod, Dublin
12th August, 2009

The Rugby Player

2009-06-03T06:22:00.001-07:00

As the flowing words begin
To ebb and waft over me,
My mind allows itself to wander
As my eyes rest upon your image;

A fitting t-shirt and wavy brown hair,
With typical Leinster Rugby bottoms,
With toned shapes and perfect skin,
I sigh is all I possess

A dialect of fluent relaxation
And an entertaining attempt at Irish (my own tongue);
To look at you, in the way I do
Raises my heart, but causes me shame

We both pay attention to
The lecturer of adopted words,
But let me dream a little more
About something that could never be.

22nd April 2008

Fork in the Path

2009-06-03T06:21:00.004-07:00

On my way home, earlier tonight
I come to a fork in the footpath;
I can take the coastal route, unlit,
Or the path along the busy main road.

I take my chances and veer to my left.
Left. Away from the mechanical sounds
and orange streetlamps,
Finding my way along the coastline
With the moonlight, straight ahead of me
Being my chosen guide home.

I notice the city lights from across the coast;
Poolbeg, Sandymount, Dún Laoghaire and beyond,
I notice the glimmer and their reflection
In the almost-calm waters of Dublin Bay.

I look behind me, to check if I am safe
In the soothing darkness that I have chosen to enter
And I breathe easy, for no-one I see
And yet already I knew that I would be protected.

Soon I leave the lunar tranquillity to return to the main road
And to cross it, to return home,
Yet it is an area that I wish I never had to leave
Where I could rest in the softness of the moon and the sea.

Monday, 8th December 2008

The Black Land

2009-06-03T06:21:00.003-07:00

We pass through
The black land
Under the grey night sky

The glimmer of light,
here and there

Of a house
a car
a farm
or the Moon.

But for the majority,
Darkness -

Far away
from the buzz of neon,
the concrete angles,
the whirr of motors.

Yet that Faraway is drawing close
As this bus leaves the darkness;
its headlights cut through it

Through the darkness
the silence,
the peace.

We return tonight
to the city and light
Yet in the rural darkness
Can one escape urban strife.

Butler

2009-06-03T06:21:00.001-07:00

My family come from the likes
of Lords, Earls, and other nobles

And I would hope that my own blood
Is still blue, or maybe purple

Not for status, nor grandeur,
for in a Republic, no royalty exists...

But what of De Buitléir?

The only one of the Irish spelling
that I knew of when I was young
was that of Éamon de Buitléar
(slightly different).

A man of nature, of heritage,
of nativity.
A man of media, of words,
of knowledge.

There is true nobility.

The War

2009-06-03T06:20:00.003-07:00

Long live the Republic,
God save the Queen,
Yet to neither island am I loyal
For both have disgraced me

Their languages I fluently speak
Their customs I seem to know
But on neither soil, I have noticed,
Am I allowed to grow

For every day is still a war
For possession of my mind;
To be reclaimed is still important
Yet my treatment is unkind

For to one language I have turned my back
To the other I gave my life
And for this fight for the underdog
I have earned so much strife

To make sure that my hybrid origins
Are never widely revealed
I change my name, I shift my tongue
And my history is sealed

All my life I look for me
In how my name is said,
Yet by the time I find myself
I’m sure that I’ll be dead.

April 2008

Kingstown

2009-06-03T06:20:00.001-07:00

In the Irish town of Dún Laoghaire, once called Kingstown,
One could see the effect that our Monarch hath made
As the town is somewhat of a façade, you see;
No longer English, but never Gaelic to be.

For despite the loss of the English name,
Those English sounds remain the same,
For “Dun-leary” is how the people would say
O’Leary’s Fort, or Doon-leerah, today.

So one is unsure why such efforts were made,
To reverse our attempts to drive Gaelic away,
When although the native’s presence was in some way saved,
Nothing but English is heard there today!

As the monument of the Crown looks over the pier
And across to Wales, and England so dear,
One wonders why in their English ‘Dunleary’ is said
When Kingstown would make much more sense instead!

But alas! Nothing but a mere poet am I,
Who deals with the Gaels, and as each day goes by
One becomes quite sad, as light starts to fade
Over the natives’ presence in the Ireland we made.

Clontarf, Dublin
25th August 2008

Night's Silence Falls

2009-06-03T06:18:00.000-07:00

Night's silence falls
Fear invites himself in
Who knew uncertainty
Would make such a din!

A dream I had, a tiger I saw, and on my bed
He bit an antelope's heart out, raw.

Was it a warning, and what should I make
Of the blood, wiped into the duvet case?

I tried to lead the tiger out of my room,
To the back garden, but I woke up too soon.

I didn't see the result of that dream
And what's worse, I didn't see the result of me.

Dublin, 5th October, 2005