#irish language poetry

[robynshaikucorner]

Ag mothú na mothúcháin sin,

Faoi mo chorp is faoi m'inchinn.

Ceapaim nach bhfuil ann ach tromluí,

Go n-éireoinn sa gcorp ceart,

Nuair a thiocfadh an t-am ceart.

Ach níor tháinig an t-am sin.

Níor dhúisigh mé sa gcorp ceart.

Dhúisigh mé i gcorp lofa,

Le na tréithe firinscneacha seo...

Cuireann sé fonn múisce orm agus

Leanann an tromluí mé.

I mo dhúiseacht, i mo shuimhneas,

Ní thagann deireadh leis.

Ba mhaith liom éalú uaidh.

Ach tá rogha ar bith agam.

[gailyinthedark]

Sorry but this is probably the coolest thing I've ever read.

(source)

[bumblesandhoney]

[sintrosi]

Bhí sé brónach.

cad é

ag faire ar a grá daoine an oiread sin

cén fáth

Níl grá ag aon duine di ar an mbealach céanna

It was sad.

What is.

Watching her love people so much.

Why.

No one loves her the same way

Had a friend share this on Twitter to me.

I thought it needed to be as Gaeilge

I hope i didn't mess it up

[mariemariemaria]

"The Blackbird of Belfast Lough" is a 9th century Irish poem written in the complex metre know as snám súad, literally ‘the swimming of the sages’, or ‘poetic floating’.

It has been translated into English many times, here by Seamus Heaney and Ciaran Carson. Which translation do you prefer?

[mashed-potatoes-art]

Bantiarna Gheimhridh / Lady Winter

Tágann sí ag bás an fhómhair, 's ag damhsa na deireadh duilleoga 's ag racht goil na n-éin ag tús an codladh chruinne.

Bánaíonn mo bharraí, le síoc 's sneachta, 's Cuireann sí an leac oighir ar na haibhneacha 's na lochanna.

Taispeánann sí dom na réalta is soilsí sa spéir na hoíche, 's mise i mo theach teolaí, ag taitneamh as teas na tine.

Fágann sí ag breith an tearrach, nuair a éiríonn na chéad bláthanna, 's a dhúisíonn an domhain, le ceol na n-éin.

Cuirim coróin na cróch ar a cheann, nuair a thagann sí póg fuar dom 's deirim léi: "Slán leat, feicfidh mé tú an bhliain seo chugainn, A Bhantiarna Gheimhridh, tá tú i mo chuimhne 's mo chroí ".

She comes at the death of autumn, and at the dance of the last leaves, and at the weeping of the birds at the start of the world's slumber.

She whitens my fields, with ice and snow, and she puts the ice on the rivers and lakes.

She shows me the brightest stars in the night sky whilst I am in my cozy home, enjoying the warmth of the fire.

She leaves at the birth of spring, when the first flowers bloom, and the world awakens with the song of the birds.

I put a crown of crocus' on her head, when she gives me a cold kiss and I tell her: Goodbye, I will see you next year, Lady Winter, you are in my memories and my heart.

[bubbler-the-bubble]

Dán: Mo Chara, McGee

Nuair a bheidh sé ag cur baistí,

Nó nuair a bheidh stoirm i mo chroí,

Bíonn tú in aice liom,

Agus cruthaíonn tú spraoi.

Má a bheidh fadhbanna i mo shaol,

Má bheadh mé ag dul go gaol,

Beiféa tú in aice liom,

Ghéofá mé as an baol.

Is cara iontach tú,

Tugann tú dom na fadhbanna is lú,

Beidh grá agam i gconaí duit,

Má bheadh tú i gconaí u mo cúil.

Notaí:

Scríobh mé "Mo Chara, McGee" cúpla mí ó shin. Tá sé faoi mo chara, mar is cara iontach í. An bhain tú taitneamh as an dán? B'fhéidir go bhfuil bótúin sa dán mar níl gaeilge líofa agam, tá brón orm :( Má tá aischóthú agat, ba mhaith liom é a chloisteáil. 🥰

Translation:

I wrote the poem "Mo Chara, Mcgee" a few months ago. It's about my friend, because she's a great friend. Did you enjoy the poem? There might be mistakes because I don't have fluent irish, sorry :( If you have any feedback, I'd like to hear it. 🥰

[mathsandcomedydotcom]

The Stony Grey Soil of Monaghan:

as Gaedhilge*:

‘cré clochach liath Mhuineacháin’

nó:

‘ithir clochach liath Mhuineacháin’

Pádraig Caomhánach (1904–1967)

In English:

‘the stony grey soil of Monaghan’

Patrick Kavanagh (1904–1967)

Figure 1: ‘the stony grey soil of Monaghan’ in Irish Gaelic, in my own handwriting.

Figure 2: ‘the stony grey soil of Monaghan’ in Irish Gaelic, in Bunchló Ársa.

____

* In Modern Standard Irish: ‘as Gaeilge’

[alchemisland]

Inner City Oldtime

Our own tongue throat stranger And failing to nourish will or may perish We pause, wishing to answer betters in Irish Cannot know a lost language Vanishes, we answer in English Less than swill of which our Liffey consists. What is Irishness What is native wit? Slack jaws guffawing Slenting houses built from haunted bricks Wheezing with upright’s effort Struggling to stand upright At…

[chronically-chaotic-cryptid]

The way I know the specific indescribable subset of tumblr users that would go crazy over 'listen, God, I'm talking to you'

[crimeronan]

opening my very old (well, like 1.5-year-old) original fiction novel draft to scan it n see what the characters are doing. discovering i wrote Very Long Swaths of dialogue in one scene entirely in irish. & being like. ok. past kitkat. this was admirable practice and probably isn't half-bad grammatically although who am i to judge. however. your future self has NOT been studying enough to know what the Fuck is happening here,

[robynshaikucorner]

Spotsolas lasta ar an aimsir chaite.

Mo bhotúin, na timpistí,

Chuile shonra feicthe

Aríst is aríst eile.

An aimsir chaite thréshoilseach.

Seasann an aimsir láithreach taobh thiar di.

Bíonn sí mothrach taobh thiar di,

's caitheann an caite dathanna ortha.

Fanann an todhchaí sa dorchadas,

Ag tíocht sa solas in áit an láithrigh.

Bíonn sí gan chruth cinnte

Go dtí go soilsíonn na soilse ortha.

Fanfaidh

An neamhchinnteacht sin

Go deo na ndeor.

[ly0nstea]

I'm translating some fics into irish to get over some writers block and that had me translating the poem ozymandias so i though i'd give it to the world cuz i sure couldn't find smth like this online

I wouldn't call it good, but hey, I tried, right? Any feedback on where and how I definetly fucked up are welcome (I only did OL LC be kind)

“Bhuail mé leis an teastalaí le ó an ciantír

Dúirt sé: Dhá ollmhór agus gan stoc de cloch

seas ar na fásaigh, gar dó, ar na gaineamh,

Leath bánn, na cuntanós spíonta ag bím, cé grainc,

Agus rocach beola, agus tarcainse de fuar ceannas,

Léirionn é na dealbhóir a léigh na díograis go mhaith

Cé acu a maireadh, ghrean é ar na rudaí marbh

Na lámh ag magadh fúthú agus na chroí a cothú

Agus ar na seastán, an focal seo:

“Is mise Ozymandias, rí na rí;

Féach ó mo obair, na Tréin, agus caoin!”

Níl aon rud eile ach fágtha. Timpeall ar meathlú

le na obair ollmhór, gan teorainn agus lom

an aonarach agus cothrom gaineamh sín go mór agus go fada.

— Percy Shelley, Ozymandias”

The english version too

“I met a traveller from an antique land

Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desart. Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:

And on the pedestal these words appear:

"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings;

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away.

— Percy Shelley's, Ozymandias”

[bumblesandhoney]

Irish words that are random and lovely and weird

[eggs4lyfe]

In the poem 'Colscaradh' (divorce) by Pádraig Mac Suibhne, the final line "scar siad gan a chrann" means they separated without a dispute.

HOWEVER: directly translated, it means "they cut without a tree", which is much more beautiful actually.

[boybasher]

toy soldier