Aistear
le Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill
Dán do Lá le Pádraig, 1997
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A Phádraig, ís fada an aistear againn é ó Choíll Fhochlaid atá in aice na farraige thiar. Bhí linn ar dtúis ach ansan do chuaigh an saol is an aimsír go mór inár gcoinnibh. Chaitheamair gabháilt de dhair le doirnibh, gad a chur um ghaineainh, is ór buí a shníomh i dtuirní briste as tuí na ngarraithe, plúr na mban is na bhfear á seoladh thar lear orainn is sinn fágtha go hatuirseach bró mhuilinn á iompó le gach deoir againn. B'ionann is gabháilt tríd an Mhuir Rua costhirím is nochtaíthe ár dteacht i dtír ín aon chor. Deir síad go bhfuil fuar againn; gur turas in aistear é ár dturas go dtí seo; ag snámh de shíor i gcoinne an easa choitianta atá ag géimneach go hard inár gcluasa. Deir siad go sníomhann gach sruth le fánaidh is sa deireadh go gcaithimíd tabhaírt isteach is géilleadh do ríachtanaisí an tsaoil réadaigh. Ach tá dearmhad orthu. Chonaícis-se leís na rudaí a tharla i gcoinne an oird nádúrtha; an cailín ag treasnú abhainn an tSuca gan a bróga a fhliuchadh: tusa ag ísliú dream an díomais is na draoithe dúra gan aon mhaith: Is i ndeargainneoín Rí Teamhrach do lasais an tine Chásca ar Chnoc na Sláine nár múchadh riamh ó shin a toit ná a bladhmann. Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill |
Patrick, we have journeyed far from the wood of fochluth by the western sea. We started well but life and times turned on us. We had to fell the oaks with our fists, moor to a shifting sand, weave threads of gold from common straw with a spun wheel, the best of our men and women were banished to foreign lands and we were left drained each tear a millstone round our neck. But we made it a miracle naked and dryfooted through the Red Sea parting. They say we've blown it; our journey vain so far; buffeting the common current and its craven caterwauling. They say a brook beguiles and we two will go with the flow captivated by the real world's call. But they are wrong. You have seen nature's orders countermanded; a girl crossing rhe River Suck and her shoes bone dry: the proud that you struck down, along with useless desiccated druids: You death-defied the King of Tara and on Slane's hill you lit the Easter flame whose spark and smoke still nurture us. translation: Pól Ó Duibhir |