Gedicht
Liam Ó Muirthile
WHAT IS IT?
I go from room to roomaround the house
looking for something,
and, to be honest, I won’t know
what it is
till I find it.
It’s not the bread tin,
nor the coarse brown flour,
nor the fine white flour,
though I take them out
and measure them on the scales
and bake a single loaf.
It’s not any book I was devouring,
if memory serves me correctly,
that I put down absent mindedly,
although I stand at the shelves
and scan the book stacks
and fall to my knees.
It’s not any missing key.
I wasn’t going out.
I didn’t leave anything on, although
I’m shuffling from room to room
scouring the whole house for something
and it’s nothing
and I’m scouring quiet sorrow.
© Translation: 2005, Greg Delanty
Cad é
Cad é
Táim ó sheomra go seomraar fud an tí
ag lorg rud éigin,
is nach mbeidh fhios agam
cad é nó
go bhfaighidh mé é.
Ní hé an stán aráin é
an plúr garbh donn
ná an plúr mín bán,
cé go dtógaim amach iad
is go gcuirim sa mheá iad
is go ndeinim builín amháin.
Ní haon leabhar a bhíos a léamh é
más buan mo chuimhne
is a leagas uaim,
cé go seasaím ag na seilfeanna
is go bhféachaim tríothu
is go dtéim ar mo ghlúine ar an urlár.
Ní haon eochair a bhí uaim í
ní rabhas ag dul amach
níor fhágas aon ní ar siúl,
cé go bhfuilim ó sheomra go seomra
ar fud an tí
ag lorg rud éigin
is nach faic é
is go bhfuilim ag déanamh bróin chiúin.
© 2000, Liam Ó Muirthile
From: Walking Time agus dánta eile
Publisher: Cló Iar-Chonnachta, Galway
From: Walking Time agus dánta eile
Publisher: Cló Iar-Chonnachta, Galway
Gedichten
Gedichten van Liam Ó Muirthile
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Cad é
Táim ó sheomra go seomraar fud an tí
ag lorg rud éigin,
is nach mbeidh fhios agam
cad é nó
go bhfaighidh mé é.
Ní hé an stán aráin é
an plúr garbh donn
ná an plúr mín bán,
cé go dtógaim amach iad
is go gcuirim sa mheá iad
is go ndeinim builín amháin.
Ní haon leabhar a bhíos a léamh é
más buan mo chuimhne
is a leagas uaim,
cé go seasaím ag na seilfeanna
is go bhféachaim tríothu
is go dtéim ar mo ghlúine ar an urlár.
Ní haon eochair a bhí uaim í
ní rabhas ag dul amach
níor fhágas aon ní ar siúl,
cé go bhfuilim ó sheomra go seomra
ar fud an tí
ag lorg rud éigin
is nach faic é
is go bhfuilim ag déanamh bróin chiúin.
From: Walking Time agus dánta eile
WHAT IS IT?
I go from room to roomaround the house
looking for something,
and, to be honest, I won’t know
what it is
till I find it.
It’s not the bread tin,
nor the coarse brown flour,
nor the fine white flour,
though I take them out
and measure them on the scales
and bake a single loaf.
It’s not any book I was devouring,
if memory serves me correctly,
that I put down absent mindedly,
although I stand at the shelves
and scan the book stacks
and fall to my knees.
It’s not any missing key.
I wasn’t going out.
I didn’t leave anything on, although
I’m shuffling from room to room
scouring the whole house for something
and it’s nothing
and I’m scouring quiet sorrow.
© 2005, Greg Delanty
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