“But the blooming words declare the storm with bravery”: Five 21st-century Iranian women poets
Posted: March 31, 2012 Filed under: A FEW FAVOURITES / UNA MUESTRA DE FAVORITOS, English, Farsi / Persian, Fereshteh Sari, Five 21st-century Iranian women poets, Nasrin Behjati, Nasrin Ranjbar Irani, Pegah Ahmadi, Sylvana Salmanpour Comments Off on “But the blooming words declare the storm with bravery”: Five 21st-century Iranian women poets
“A Rush” by Sylvana Salmanpour
With soft words
I draw a childhood dream
on a nascent memory.
I write in peace
so that the silky dream of the notebook
will not tear apart.
But the blooming words declare
the storm with bravery.
“Those Days” by Fereshteh Sari
Those days
Poetry
was my room
and wherever I felt unsafe
I gravitated into its eternal sanctuary.
These days
there aren’t any rooms
that can harbour me against the crowd
and behind every window
inside and outside every room
a two-faced clown sneers.
“The Stone I become” by Nasrin Ranjbar Irani
I do not grow or nurture
the stone, I become
the stone
I mask the spring’s mouth
I do not cry or distress others
The Rock, I become
The Rock
that intrudes into the peaceful pond
Neither do I laugh nor do I want others to laugh
The stone, I become
the stone and I shatter the mirrors.
To poetry
I vow, to joy, to dew,
that I will be a stone again
an undeniable slash across the brow
But before these all
I want to be
the glass
the flame
the mirror
Ah! A crystal ball
and the spring rain…
Once and Only Once
To be in love, in love, in love
in this lifetime,
Once and Only Once!
“Neither a Satellite nor the Internet” by Pegah Ahmadi
A poem ambles across the wall
forever and a day
In the heart of the kitchen it spins,
spins on the porch
And when it returns
It utters:
Neither a Satellite nor the Internet
I am not the universal Media
Nothing but a new leaf on this arid plant
Or the thought of a rendezvous
Makes me rejoice
I am only a poem to brush your hair
A poem to pass through you!
“A Day without You” by Nasrin Behjati
And I commenced my day
Without you or your name
I spilled you out of my tea
Out of my breakfast
From the kitchen
And I didn’t nurture the plants…
so that I could witness your rage,
Your name from autumn
The autumn from the field
And the field from the poems, I
removed
I heaved you out of my memories and
the seasons and I walked to the mirror
To cut short the locks you loved so,
Alas! In the mirror a sunflower reflected
Your unkind frame,
Outlined my face forevermore,
I had become you!
_____
The poems featured here from five Iranian women poets were translated
from Persian (Farsi) into English by Sheema Kalbasi.
Visit her literary site: http://www.sheemakalbasi.com
Quatrains that Question: 20th-century Iranian poets: Mohammad Mehdi Fulâdvand, Abdulhosayn Nosrat, Mohammad-Taqi Bahar
Posted: March 28, 2012 Filed under: Abdulhosayn Nosrat, English, Farsi / Persian, Mohammad Mehdi Fulâdvand, Mohammad-Taqi Bahar Comments Off on Quatrains that Question: 20th-century Iranian poets: Mohammad Mehdi Fulâdvand, Abdulhosayn Nosrat, Mohammad-Taqi Bahar
It is better that the world be a mystery for us,
Better that a hundred voices be in the assembly of the wise.
If the veil drops from the face of the mysterious Belovéd,
What more need will there be for supplication, glorification, and pride?
*
The world is like a bubble. What kind of bubble?
A bubble, not on water, but on the surface of a mirage.
A mirage which is seen in a dream.
A dream which is seen by someone who is dead-drunk.
*
Our freedom is the principle of our development,
Which is the purpose intended by God.
Live freely, but be careful not to allow
Your freedom to be the brigand* of others’ freedom.
_
*brigand = bandit, plunderer, robber
_____
Translations from Persian (Farsi) into English: © Reza Saberi
Isfahâni, Sabzvâri, Behizâd, Sarvi: رباعیات
Posted: March 28, 2012 Filed under: English, Farsi / Persian, Hamid Sabzvâri, Hushang Hekmati (Sarvi), Jalâl Behizâd, Saghir Isfahâni Comments Off on Isfahâni, Sabzvâri, Behizâd, Sarvi: رباعیات
I do not do anything except with a pure and sincere heart.
I do not care for anyone’s approval or disapproval.
Even if I am hurt by the whole world,
I want no one to be hurt by me.
*
If you wish to step onto the road of love,
You must first have the mind for love, then the heart for it.
Think not of the comforts and difficulties of love.
Take to the sea and ask not where the shore is.
*
O moon-like Sâqi*, give me wine in this month of fasting.
For fasting became forbidden to me now.
Let me break my fast – for my eyes saw the crescent moon
Of your eyebrow and the full moon of your face.
_
(*Sâqi – the cupbearer / wine-servant, in a tavern –
often a handsome youth; in Sufism, Sâqi is a spiritual master)
_
*
The spirit is intoxicated when it sees the belovéd’s face.
Any nonbeing becomes being – by his existence.
Alas, alas, this exhilarating wine of union
Goes from one hand to another in the feast of life.
*
I have drunk the water of life from my belovéd’s lip.
I have drunk the wine of spirit from the cup of unity.
I know neither disbelief nor belief.
I have tied belief and disbelief with the knot of love.
_____
20th-century Persian Rubáiyát (“Quatrains”) by Saghir Isfahâni (#1 and #3), Hamid Sabzvâri (#2),
Jalâl Behizâd (#4), Hushang Hekmati (Sarvi) (#5).
Translations from Persian (Farsi) into English: © Reza Saberi
Perfect Poems: the Mediaeval Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám / عمر خیام
Posted: March 28, 2012 Filed under: English, Farsi / Persian, Omar Khayyám Comments Off on Perfect Poems: the Mediaeval Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám / عمر خیام
In the sphere of the sky, whose depth is invisible,
There is a cup from which everyone must drink in turn.
When your turn comes, do not sigh.
Drink it happily, for it is your turn to drink.
*
Time is ashamed of that person
Who sits lonely and grieves over days now past.
Drink wine from a glass to the sound of a harp
Before the glass smashes into a rock.
*
Yesterday I saw a jug-maker in the bazaar,
Who was treading a lump of clay, repeatedly,
While that clay told him in its own language:
“I used to be like you. Treat me kindly!”
Why do you grieve over existence, my friend?
Why do you afflict your heart and soul with futile thoughts?
Live joyfully and spend your life happily in the world.
They did not consult you in the beginning anyway.
*
Some people are thoughtful about religion.
Others are suspicious of any conviction.
I am afraid one day a voice may call out:
” Oh ignorant ones, the way is neither this nor that. “
*
From the nadir of the black mud to the zenith of Saturn,
I have solved all the major problems of being.
I untied many difficult knots, using many tricks.
Every knot I’ve opened, except the knot of death.
_____
Omar Khayyám (1048-1131) was born in Nishapur, Persia (contemporary Iran),
and is considered to be among the greatest of all the world’s poets.
He composed a thousand rubáiyát (Persian-language quatrains) – brief poems in
four lines that touch upon Life’s big themes: the love for the Belovéd (be it human and
amorous, or be it the love of God (Allah); the meaning of Life; Spirituality;
the mystery of Death.
Khayyám was a profoundly mystical thinker – Sufi and Muslim –
an astronomer and mathemetician who was also a poet. People have interpreted
and mis-interpreted the meanings of his quatrains – 19th-century translator
Edmund FitzGerald most famously (yet beautifully) – but Khayyám’s voice – intelligent,
warm, vigorous, direct – speaks to all our human wonderings even now, 900 years
“down the road”. The contemporary translations here, from Persian(Farsi) into English,
have been done with a simple, pleasing clarity by Reza Saberi.
“An Acrostic to Benito Juárez” by Rubi / “Acróstico a Benito Juárez” por Rubi
Posted: March 21, 2012 Filed under: English, Spanish, ZP Translator: Alexander Best | Tags: Poema a Benito Juárez Comments Off on “An Acrostic to Benito Juárez” by Rubi / “Acróstico a Benito Juárez” por Rubi
“Acróstico a Benito Juárez” por Rubi / “An Acrostic to Benito Juárez” by Rubi
B enito Juárez B enito Juárez:
E ra mexicano. E specially Mexican was he.
N acido en Oaxaca, N atal place? Oaxaca, and he was
I ndígeno – ¡seguro! I ndigenous – for sure!
T oda su infancia T ending sheep was the task
O vejas cuidaba. O f his childhood.
* *
J uárez político J uárez the Politician
U nió a los pobres, U nited with the poor, en-
A mó la justicia, A moured of justice,
R echazó a los franceses. R epelled the French.
E n conclusión él fue Ever known shall he be, the
Z apoteco valiente. Z apotec most brave.
_____
Hoy día – el 21 marzo – se celebra el natalicio del prócer mexicano – Benito Juárez .
Rubi…¡te agradecemos!
Benito Juárez (1806-1872) was President of México, serving five terms between 1858 and 1872.
Illiterate till the age of 12, by 1834 he was a lawyer, and by 1847 – governor of the state of Oaxaca.
As President he began nation-wide reforms, including the promotion of a civil society
– this included the curtailment of the powers of the dominant Catholic Church. He brought an end to
the Franco-Mexican War (“The Maximilian Affair”) of the 1860s, and his political movement,
La Reforma, though interrupted by the sometimes-regressive presidency of Porfirio Díaz, is
clearly viewed as the first push toward modernization of Mexico’s economy, politics, and society.
Today, March 21st, is Benito Juárez’ birth date.
Interpretación del poema en inglés / Poem interpretation into English from Spanish:
Alexander Best
Happy Persian New Year! / !سال نو مبارک
Posted: March 20, 2012 Filed under: Abbas Kiarostami, English, Farsi / Persian, Ishrat Qahramân Comments Off on Happy Persian New Year! / !سال نو مبارک
When I started up out of sleep
it was just the beginning of spring
– no more,
no less.
The stray dog
washes its body
in spring rain.
Your life will become radiant through love.
You will become spirit from head to toe through love.
When the spring wind of love comes into motion,
Any branch which is not dry – starts dancing !
Толстой, Майков, Фет, Пушкин, Дельвиг: Весна Pycckar! / Russian Spring!
Posted: March 20, 2012 Filed under: English, Russian Comments Off on Толстой, Майков, Фет, Пушкин, Дельвиг: Весна Pycckar! / Russian Spring!
Алексей Толстой / Count Aleksey Tolstoy (1817-1875)
Early-early Spring
The early-early spring it was,
new blades of grass peered forth,
rivulets ran, the air was warmly soft,
and the woods were of transparent green.
The shepherd’s horn at break of day
was yet unheard in the village;
the forest ferns still kept their fronds
in spikes of laces furléd.
*
Early-early spring it was –
white gleamed from the silver birch-trees –
– and then I beheld thine eyes to smile
from under lowered eyelids…
Was it in answer to my love
thine eyelashes did tremble – ?
O Life – woods – sunshine clear!
O Youth, O hopes high soaring!
And tears came to my eyes
As I adored thy features…
*
It was in early-early spring –
the silver birches gleamed –
in this morning of our life,
O happiness – and tears!
O Life – woods – and sunshine clear!
Fresh breath of silver birches!
_____
Аполлон Майков / Apollon Maykov (1821-1897)
Весна / Spring
Посвящается Коле Трескину
Уходи, зима седая!
Уж красавицы Весны
Колесница золотая
Мчится с горней вышины!
Старой спорить ли, тщедушной,
С ней – царицею цветов,
С целой армией воздушной
Благовонных ветерков!
А что шума, что гуденья,
Теплых ливней и лучей,
И чиликанья, и пенья!..
Уходи себе скорей!
У нее не лук, не стрелы,
Улыбнулась лишь – и ты,
Подобрав свой саван белый,
Поползла в овраг, в кусты!..
Да найдут и по оврагам!
Вон – уж пчел рои шумят,
И летит победным флагом
Пестрых бабочек отряд!
(1880)
_____
Афанaсий Фет / Afanasy Fet (1820-1892)
Vesna na dvore / Spring Has Come
What fresh, invigorating air!
No words can do it justice—none!
How loud, at noontide, runnels in the gulley
Spin their silvery skeins against the stones!
Birdsong trembles in the ether, fades;
Rye is greenly sprouting in the field—
And soft a gentle voice is singing:
“Another spring, and you alive to greet it!”
(1856)
_____
Александр Пушкин (1799-1837)
Ты и вы
Пустое вы сердечным ты
Она обмолвясь заменила,
И все счастливые мечты
В душе влюбленной возбудила.
Пред ней задумчиво стою,
Свести очей с нее нет силы;
И говорю ей: как вы милы!
И мыслю: как тебя люблю!
(1828)
Alexander Pushkin (1799-1837)
You and Thou
She used the hearty thou, by chance,
Instead of you, so stiff and formal,
Arousing happy dreams at once
Inside my loving heart and soul.
I’m standing speechless in a glow
Admiring her sincerely;
I tell her: you are charming, really!
I think inside: I love thee so!
(1828)
_____
Антон Дельвиг (1798-1831)
Романс
Прекрасный день, счастливый день:
И солнце, и любовь!
С нагих полей сбежала тень –
Светлеет сердце вновь.
Проснитесь, рощи и поля;
Пусть жизнью все кипит:
Она моя, она моя!
Мне сердце говорит.
Что, вьешься, ласточка, к окну,
Что, вольная, поешь?
Иль ты щебечешь про весну
И с ней любовь зовешь?
Но не ко мне,- и без тебя
В певце любовь горит:
Она моя, она моя!
Мне сердце говорит.
(1823)
Anton Delvig (1798-1831)
Romance
Oh what a lovely, happy day!
There’s love, the sun, the plain!
The shadows all have gone away
My heart is light again.
Wake up, you groves and fields, and see
That all is filled with life!
She’s mine! – my heart is telling me,
She’s mine, and all is live.
Why do you, little swallow cling
Onto to my windowpane?
Perchance, you sing about the spring
Inviting love again?
It’s not for me, as I can see,
The singer’s love, divine.
It is my heart who’s telling me:
She’s mine, oh yes she’s mine!
(1823)
Translations from Russian: Alec Vagapov
_____
Mohammad-Taqí Bahār: “Rid the heart of darkness” – a poem for Nowruz
Posted: March 19, 2012 Filed under: English Comments Off on Mohammad-Taqí Bahār: “Rid the heart of darkness” – a poem for Nowruz
Mohammad-Taqí Bahār (Iranian poet, 1884-1951)
Spring now, flowers are coming, there’s happiness in the green vine,
Blossoms are blooming – all except mine.
Free spirit, don’t lose heart, on New Year’s Day *,
I heard from the lips of a lily today:
Do not sing the seven illusions this New Year’s Eve **, I beg thee:
Complaint, curse, corruption, cacophony, clumsiness, chaos and cruelty.
The seven symbols make: of serene “sabzeh”, of scented “sonbol” and sweet “seeb”;
Of “senjed”, “samanu”, “seer” and “somaq”.
Send the seven symbols to the table of a lover.
Toss the seven illusions toward the door of an ill-wisher.
It’s New Year’s Eve – rid the heart of darkness.
Eventually this shadow-night will turn to brightness.
Carry out the New Year traditions and, God willing,
Bring back that feeling of excellent beginnings !
_____
Glossary:
“sabzeh” – a flowerpotful of newly-sprouted wheat
“sonbol” – the Hyacinth flower – native to Iran, early Spring bloomer
“seeb” – apple
“senjed” – fruit of the mountain-ash tree, or red date, a.k.a. jujube
“samanu” – a creamy wheat germ pudding
“seer” – garlic
“somaq” – red berries of the Sumac tree
Editor’s note: Also “serkeh” – vinegar – representing old age and patience…
_____
* The Persian/Iranian New Year is always the same day as the
First Day of Spring – March 20th this year. It is known as
Nowruz – “New Day”. Nowruz is pre-Islamic in origin, and is
celebrated by the Kurdish people as well.
** March 19th this year
Ailbhe Ní Ghearbhuigh: Habla la “Voz” irlandesa / The Irish “Voice” Speaks
Posted: March 17, 2012 Filed under: Ailbhe Ní Ghearbhuigh, English, Irish, Spanish | Tags: Saint Patrick's Day Poems Comments Off on Ailbhe Ní Ghearbhuigh: Habla la “Voz” irlandesa / The Irish “Voice” Speaks
.
Ailbhe Ní Ghearbhuigh
(nace 1984, Tralee, condado de Kerry, Irlanda
/ born 1984, Tralee, County Kerry, Ireland)
“Cuando Uno Se Desespera”
.
Hay algunos días cuando
– admitámoslo –
me canso de
unirme por su defensa
Me agoto de estar arraigado
aquí junto a su cabecera
Esta lengua
que ha sido violada,
estoy esperando que se recupere,
cuidando de ella, diligentemente,
deseándole que la Vida entre en ella de nuevo
Y cuando veo
sus huesos pudriéndose
calcificándose
Sé que
algún día
no quedará nada
sólo el polvo, mudo…
como yo – si pensamos en esto.
_____
“Laethanta Lagmhisnigh”
.
Admhaím corrlá
bím traochta
dá cosaint os comhair an tsaoil
Bím bréan de bheith fréamhaithe
cois leapan
na teangan éignithe
seo
ag guí biseach uirthi
á faire go cúramach
ag impí beatha inti arís
Is nuair a chím
a cnámha lofa
ag cailciú
tuigim
ná beidh fágtha
lá éigin
ach smúit bhalbh . . .
ach an oiread liom féin.
_____
“When One Despairs”
.
Some days, let’s admit it,
I tire
of rallying to her defence
I weary of being rooted
here by her bedside
this language
that has been violated
hoping she’ll come around
watching her assiduously
wishing the life back into her again
And when I see
her rotting bones
calcifying
I know that
one day
there will be nothing left
nothing but dust, mute . . .
like myself, come to think of it.
_____
“Un Tema de Cierto Pesar”
.
No, no estoy tan deprimido que
me quedo
debajo del edredón
todo el día
– eso sería una exageración.
Sólo es que
mi ojo
me hizo feliz verle a usted,
Desconocido,
a quien dejé ahí
anoche.
Y esta mañana
en mi boca
hay un sabor de cerveza negra
– y el pesar.
_____
“Áiféilín”
.
Nílim chomh duairc
go bhfanfainn
fén duvet
ar feadh an lae
sin áibhéil.
Níl ann ach gur
thug mo shúil
taithneamh éigin duit,
a stróinséir
is gur fhágas
im dhiaidh tú
oíche aréir
agus go bhfuil
blas pórtair
is áiféala
im’ bhéal
ar maidin.
_____
“A Matter of Some Regret”
.
No, I’m not so depressed
as to stay
under the duvet
all day
That would be an exaggeration.
It’s just that
my eye
gladdened at the sight of you,
Stranger,
left behind
last night.
And this morning
there’s a taste of stout
and regret
in my mouth.
.
.
© Ailbhe Ní Ghearbhuigh
Translation from Irish into English:
© Gabriel Rosenstock
_____
“Barrio Chino”
.
Barrio chino
bullicio sin final
un sonido resaltó
entre los enredados sonidos
jalándome hacia
su súplica…
era un pescado
en una vasija poco profunda
pataleando
con mucha urgencia.
Una mujer que lo miraba
con ojos saltados
como los ojos del pescado,
alcanzando la orilla
sin esperanzas.
_____
“Herida”
.
El Corrib* se desbordó
anoche
una poza debajo del Arco
el cielo amenaza esta mañana
y a mi casi me aplastan
en la luz roja del semáforo
un hombre de nariz aguileña
sentado en un pequeño muro,
dolor en sus ojos.
un cisne en sus brazos,
una bolsa negra la cobijaba,
una herida brillante es su blanco cuello.
.
.
*Corrib – un río en el condado de Galway, Irlanda
_____
“Chinatown”
.
rírá síoraí Chinatown
éiríonn torann amháin
os cionn an chlampair
is meallann mé chuige
lena impí…
iasc a bhí ann
in árthach íseal
ag slup slaparnach
le hoiread práinne.
Bean á fhaire
a súile ar bolgadh
amhail súil an éisc
ag cur thar maoil
le neart gan feidhm.
_____
“Cneá”
.
bhris an Choirib a bruacha
aréir
bhí tuile fén bPóirse
bhagair an spéir ar maidin,
is ba dhóbair gur deineadh leircín díom
ag solas tráchta dearg
bhí fear cromógach suite
ar bhalla íseal,
goin ina shúile.
ina bhaclainn, bhí eala,
sac dubh uimpi
is cneá dearg ar a muineál bán.
_____
“Chinatown”
.
Chinatown
the racket’s neverending
one sound rose
above the jingle jangle
drawing me towards
its plea…
it was a fish
in a shallow vessel
slup-slopping about
with much urgency.
A woman watching it
her eyes bulging
like the eyes of the fish
bulging to the brim
helplessly.
.
.
Translation from the Irish: Gabriel Rosenstock
_____
“Wound”
.
the Corrib* broke its banks
last night
a pool under the Arch
the sky threatened this morning
and I was almost flattened
at a red traffic light
a hook-nosed man sat
on a low wall,
hurt in his eyes.
in his arms was a swan,
a black sack around her,
a bright red wound on her white neck.
.
.
*Corrib – a river in County Galway, Ireland
Translation from the Irish: by the poet herself.
_____
About the Poet:
Ailbhe Ní Ghearbhuigh’s first collection of poetry, Péacadh, was published in 2008. She has read poetry in Montréal, New York, Paris and Baile an Fheirtéaraigh. She was raised speaking Irish and English, but writes in Irish only as she thinks it’s a more exciting language.
_____
Traducciones del inglés en español /
Translations from English into Spanish:
Alexander Best (“Cuando Uno se Desespera” y “Un Tema de Cierto Pesar”)
Lidia García Garay (“Barrio Chino” y “Herida”/ “Chinatown” and “Wound”)
_____
Caitríona Ní Chléirchín: La nueva poetisa lírica irlandesa / The new love lyricist of Irish poetry
Posted: March 17, 2012 Filed under: Caitríona Ní Chléirchín, English, Irish, Spanish, ZP Translator: Alexander Best, ZP Translator: Lidia García Garay | Tags: Saint Patrick's Day Poems Comments Off on Caitríona Ní Chléirchín: La nueva poetisa lírica irlandesa / The new love lyricist of Irish poetry
.
Caitríona Ní Chléirchín
(nace/born 1978, Gortmoney, Emyvale,
condado de Monaghan, Irlanda/Ireland)
“Segando con Guadaña”
.
Érase una vez, la guadaña
era afilada
con la piedra de guadaña
ocultada
debajo del tocador
por miedo de que
un niño hiciera pedazos de ella.
.
Hoy día, no quedan ni guadaña ni piedra de guadaña
sólo los pedazos de recuerdo.
_____
“Spealadóireacht”
.
Tráth, cuireadh
faobhar ar speal
le cloch faobhair
a cuireadh faoi cheilt
faoin drisiúr
ar eagla go ndéanfadh
leanbh conamar de.
.
Inniu, níl speal, ná cloch faobhair,
ná drisiúr a thuilleadh,
níl ach conamar na gcuimhní againn.
_____
“Scything”
.
Once, a scythe
would be sharpened
with the scything stone
hidden
under the dresser
for fear
a child would make fragments of it.
.
Today, no scythe or scything stone remains
only the fragments of memory.
_____
“Abeja”
.
Como una abeja casi en mi corazón,
apareciste floreando por mis pechos,
y todos tus besos eran las picaduras más dulces,
atrayéndome con besos-picaduras.
Hiciste la miel en mi ombligo,
pero la picadura la más grande fue entre mis piernas.
Me pinchaste
con palabras tan suaves.
Revoloteó el corazón
y debajo de ti
como un azahar o un tallo, me doblé.
Me abriste como una puerta de miel
y todo mi dulzura bebiste.
Está moteado ahora el cuerpo con picaduras azules-rojas,
con salpicadura de gema morada,
y pintada por todo con mordiscos de amor y odio.
Clavaste en mí tu aguijón,
y llena mi cabeza tu zángano.
Una abeja salvaje, un abejorro zumbando
dentro de mí para siempre,
nunca mostrándome ninguna clemencia.
_____
“Beach”
.
Ba gheall le beach i mo chroí thú.
Tháinig tú amach ag bláthú trí mo chíocha
is ba chealg mhilis iad na póga
cealgphógadh do mo chealgadh.
Rinne tú mil i m’imleacán,
ach chuaigh an chealg ba mhó idir an dá chos.
Phrioc tú mé
le briathra míne.
Tháinig eitilt ar mo chroí
is lúb mé fút mar bhláth, mar ghas.
D’oscail tú mé mar dhoras meala
is d’ól tú uaim
achan mhilseacht.
Anois tá mo cholainn breactha le cealga gormdhearga,
buailte le seodchealga corcra
clúdaithe le baill seirce is fuatha ó bhun go barr.
Sháigh tú ionam do chealg bheiche
is níor stad do dhordán riamh i m’inchinn.
Beach fhiáin ab ea thú, bumbóg ag crónán go síoraí ionam
is ní raibh trócaire ar bith agat dom.
_____
“Bee”
.
Like a bee almost in my heart,
you emerged flowering though my breasts,
and your every kiss was the sweetest sting,
enticing me with sting-kissing.
You made honey in my navel,
but the greatest sting went between my legs.
You pricked me
with words so gentle.
My heart fluttered
and beneath you
like a blossom or a stem, I bent.
You opened me like a honey door
and all my sweetness you drank.
My body is speckled now with blue-red stings,
with purple gem-sting stippling,
and dappled all over with love and hate bites.
You thrust your bee-sting into me,
and your drone still fills my brain.
A wild bee, a bumbling humming bee
forever inside me,
never showing any mercy.
_____
The poet tells us:
“The ‘musics’ of Irish and English are different…In Irish you can hear the sea, the mountains,you can hear echoes of loss. I’m not saying you can’t hear these in English – just that Irish is more musical, less clinical. English has been described by some Irish speakers as the language to sell pigs in – I think that’s too harsh. I think in the way we speak English in Ireland you can hear the longing for Irish. Irish is more elemental, earthy, more natural in a way – a language greatly wounded and for that reason maybe closer to the body and emotion – for me as a poet.”
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© Caitríona Ní Chléirchín
Translations from Irish to English:
by the poet herself.
.
Translations from English into Spanish /
Traducciones del inglés al español:
Alexander Best (“Bee”)
Lidia García Garay (“Scything”)
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Zócalo Poets 