Mustanbih / Mustanbih

MUSTANBIH

Do Peter Van de Kamp

Focal Arabaise a chiallatonn 'Beiditinach a spreagann gadhair chun

tafainn tri aithris a dhéanamh orthu go hdirithe agus é ar strae sa

ghaineamhlach istoiche agus é ag iarraidh campa äitrithe-nd a

champa féin- a bhaint amach'

Ag amhastrach ataim le scör bliain

is ta macalla uaim-rud is annamh-

slogtha ag an bportach deireanach.

Uaigni me nä an drücht leamh a ölaim

d'fhonn is an piachan a mhaolü.

Is eol dom im chroi istigh carsanach

gur i gciorcail gan chrioch até mo shiül

is da n-admhainn é

bhi se chomh maith agam mo bhéal a dhünadh

stanadh ar na réaltai

go luifinn siar agus bas 'fhäil gan hum.

Födla ni aithnim.

Bhi se chomh maith acu

ainmneacha go léir na log

a chur i bpota is iad a bhruith

d'fhonn is nimh na neamhaithne

a fhäisceadh as gach siolla goirt.

Gibris ghlan a labhrann an lon.

Nil na luibheanna eolach ar a rüin nios mö.

Chuaigh Tadhg na Gealai ar imirce.

Ni ghlanann an bhäisteach mo chlümh.

Ni thriomaionn an dealin mé.

Scairteann an gallan ar mo sheachran mé,

Is ni chuireann Jönai an Scrogaill ar m'eolas mé.

Dhearüdas fadö

na comharthai is cöir dom faire amach orthu.

I gCiarrai dheineas geonail im choileän

I dTiobraid Arann do labhair im mhac tire

MUSTANBIH

For Peter Van de Kamp

An Arabic word denoting a 'Bedouin who provokes dogs to bark by

imitating them, thereby hoping to find an inhabited camp in the

desert night, or his own shifting dwelling'

I am barking these past twenty years

now the last bog swallows my rare echo.

I am more alone than the dull dew

I must drink to clear my hoarseness.

My wheezing heart knows

I walk in endless circles.

Were I to admit that

I'd shut my mouth keep it shut lie back

stare at the stars

die without a murmur.

Ireland I do not recognise.

They might as well

throw her place-names in a pot

boil them

and extract the poison of anonymity

from every sour syllable.

The blackbird yodels gibberish.

Herbs no longer harbour secrets.

My Moonman has packed his bags.

Rain doesn't clean my coat.

I don't dry out in sunny spells.

The standing stone directs me falsely.

Joney Longneck, the heron, doesn't correct me.

I've long forgotten the signs to watch for.

In Kerry I whined like a puppy.

In Tipperary I spoke like a wolf.

In Kildare like a hound of the hunt.

On the Border like a gentle wolfhound.

On a golf course in County Clare

Im fhaolchü tläith ar an Teorainn.

I ngalfchürsa i gCo. an Chläir

Chrom polaiteoir ar dhrannadh liom

Duine nach n-aithneodh claiomh Oscair-

Gearr na gColann-

Thar a mhaide gailf fein.

I bPort Läirge Thoir sreang dheilgneach

in airde ag Düitseach agus fögra sa Sachs-Bhearla

KEEP OUT!

Ar abhainnti beaga na Sionainne lobhann 3,000 iasc.

Chuala ni i nGleann na Smöl

a chuir creathän triom:

an Tälcheann is é ag spochadh faoi Oisin,

Faoi Oisin mac Fhinn a shéan a dhul ar neamh

gan gadhar a dhilseachta fairis!

Streancan fidle i Liatroim a bhuair mo lionn.

Fuil bhroic ar bhöthar ag glioscarnach faoin ngealaigh.

Bean si in Eachroim

ar thrairseach ionad oidhreachta

a chior mo chlümh go cneasta:

"Och-cén seachrän a d'imigh ort?"

Ligeas lid ar aill i gConamara.

An rön fein nior fhreagair.

Breallach a scaoil faoilean

Anuas ar mo chloigeann

a chuir mearbhall seachtaine orm

gur chuas sa töir ar chreatlach Chnü Dhearöil

an t-abhac aoibhinn do bhiodh ag Fionn

ceithre dhorn in airde ann!

Ach ni sofheicthe na dusta anois é

na an bhrideach bhideach a fuarthas dé

Blänaid a d'imigh as cuimhne Gael:

Nach aisteach i teanga seo an ghadhair

na tuigeann na gadhair féin i!

Tuigid ... tuigid . . . ach ta bodhaire Ui Laoire orthu.

Siülöd feasta ar gcül go heireaball siar

glan amach asam fein

go dti an äit üd a mbeidh Cnü

ag a bhfuil croi na bd, a chothrom fein croi,

ag cur na saolta chun suain

he wouldn't know Oscar's sword-

The Hewer of Bodies-

from his golf club.

In Waterford there's a Dutchman's fence

with a sign in English

KEEP OUT!

In Shannon tributaries countless dead fish.

What I heard in Glenasmole

gave me the shakes:

St. Patrick mocking Oisin-

Oisin son of Fionn who refused heaven

without his faithful dog beside him.

Strains of a fiddle in Leitrim blackened my humours.

A badger's blood in the mud bothered my moonlight.

A banshee in Aughrim

combed my hair affectionately:

"Och-what wandering is this?"

On a Connemara cliff I howled.

No seal echoed me.

Some seagull clam-bombed my head.

Delirious for days I searched

for the skeleton of Cnü Dearöil

that delightful dwarf that once was Fionn's.

Four fists high he stood.

Now he's dim as dust

as is the pigmy bride procured for him

Blänaid, a name no more blowing in the breeze.

How strange the dog's tongue

that dogs themselves don't understand.

They do... they do. . . then feign deafness.

Henceforth I'll walk backwards to the end

clean out of myself

to that place where Cnü

with the heart of a whore

big as himself

puts worlds to sleep

windmusic fingering my mind.

Translated by Desmond O'Grady