By Louis de Paor
A bilingual poetry assortment (English & Irish-language) via Louis de Paor. A collaboration among 3 diverse artists operating in 3 diversified media. Kathleen Furey's photos of loss and separation and Ronan Browne's musical settings offer a counterpoint to Louis de Paor's poems, which fight always in the direction of mild and redemption.
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The fuel line is leaking, the chook is long past from the
cage, the skyline is dotted with vultures;
Benny eventually received off the stuff and Betty now has a job
as a waitress; and
the chimney sweep used to be rather soft as he
giggled up via the
I walked miles in the course of the urban and recognized
not anything as an enormous claw ate at my
belly whereas the interior of my head felt
ethereal as though i used to be approximately to go
it's no longer rather a lot that not anything means
something yet extra that it retains meaning
there's no unlock, simply experts and self-
appointed gods and hucksters.
the extra humans say, the fewer there's to say.
even the easiest books are dry sawdust.
—from "fingernails; nostrils; shoelaces"
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Extra info for Agus Rud Eile De (And Another Thing)
25 ClNTARE M-am aparat zadarnic si ma strecor din lupta ίη umbra lunii albe, cu lancea nalta rupta. Pusei pamint si ape, zagaze intre noi, $i sintem, pretutindeni, alaturi, amindoi. Te intilnesc pe toata poteca-n asteptare, Necontenita muta a mea insotitoare. Pe la fintini iei unda pe palme si mi-o dai, Iscata dintre pietre si timpuri, fara grai. Ti-ai desfacut camasa si-ntrebi cu sinii-n mina De vreau s-astimpar setea din ei sau din fintina. Ai dus la turtur gura cu gura mea plecata, Voind sa bei cu mine scinteia lui deodata.
O unghie pe saptamina Sa-ti coaca la cite o mina, Si-n zilele de sarbatoare Un deget si de la picioare. De pofte sa-ti sece obrazul, De bube sa nu-ti misti grumazul, Sa-ti iasa cocoasa Si gilci si cucuie-n camasa. Buricul, bubat din nascare, Sa-ti singere subt cingatoare. De glezne tiris sa-ti atirne Ghiulele de capete cirne, Rinjite, scrisnite si nerazbunate: Maceluri, osinda, pacate . . IOO May your kisses and sighs stink to high heaven, Foul grave of swamp waters. May one nail a week Fester on each hand, And on feast-days let one toe be stricken.
We have crumbled into completeness Cloudlike under the skies. I came from above You from below. You arrived from the living I from the dead. 25 ClNTARE M-am aparat zadarnic si ma strecor din lupta ίη umbra lunii albe, cu lancea nalta rupta. Pusei pamint si ape, zagaze intre noi, $i sintem, pretutindeni, alaturi, amindoi. Te intilnesc pe toata poteca-n asteptare, Necontenita muta a mea insotitoare. Pe la fintini iei unda pe palme si mi-o dai, Iscata dintre pietre si timpuri, fara grai. Ti-ai desfacut camasa si-ntrebi cu sinii-n mina De vreau s-astimpar setea din ei sau din fintina.