Two Translations

Elegy for a Child

It is not that the spring bringsyou back. Birds riotous aboutthe house, fledglings learn to fly.

Nor that coming on petals drifted in the orchardis like opening your door, a draught of pastel,a magpie hoard of useless bright.Clouds move over the riverunder the sun—a cotton sheet shook out.The pines bring me newsfrom deeper in the woods:the rain will come sing on the roof soon.

It is not the day's work in the garden,the seedlings neatly leafmould mulched in lines.Not the woodpile trim bespeaking good husbandry,conjuring up the might-have-been.

It is not the anarchic streamin a stone-sucking dash past the crane's haunt, fickle,sky mirror now, now shattered bauble,

nor the knowledge of planets in proper order,their passage through my fourth housefixed before I was born.It is not that the night you dieda star plummeted to earth.It is not that I watched it fall.

It is not that I was your mother,nor the rooted deep down loss,that has brought me this momentto sit by the window and weep.

You were but a small bird balancedwithin meready for flight.

Marbhna do Pháiste(ó Bhéarla Paula Meehan)

Ní hé go seolann an t-earrachar ais thú. Glór na n-éan timpeallan tí, gearrcaigh ag foghlaim eitilte.

Ná go samhlaím oscailt dorais duitle piotail gheala pastail ar snámh san úllord,taisce éin ach gan éan ar bith ar fáil.

Gluaiseann scamaill thar an abhainnfaoin ngrian—bráillín cadáis á chroitheadh.Tugann crainn ghiúise chugam an scéaló íochtar domhain na coille:tiocfaidh an bháisteach is seinnfidh ar an díon.

Ní hé obair mhór an lae sa ghairdínná na gasa óga i líne múirín úir.Ná an carnán adhmaid a léiríonn tíosacht teaghlaigh,a mheabhraíonn dom an saol nach raibh i ndán.

Ní hé an sruthán geal ainrialachag greadadh leis thar láthair an chorr éisc,scáthán gléineach solais nó gloine briste,

ná an fios go bhfuil na pláinéid ina ngluaiseachttrí mo theach san ord

a ceapadh dóibh roimh ré.Ní hé gur thuirling réaltaan oíche a d'éag tú.Ná go bhfaca mé ag titim í ón spéir.

Ní de bhrí gur mise a bhí mar mháthair agat,ná gur mise a d'fhulaing an bhris seo im' chroí is im' aeNí hiad a thug ormsuí anseo ag caoineadh.

Ní raibh ionat riamh ach éinín beag ar tinneallistigh ionamfaoi réir chun siúil.

Child Burial

Your coffin looked unreal,fancy as a wedding cake.

I chose your grave clothes with care,your favourite stripey shirt,

your blue cotton trousers.They smelt of woodsmoke, of October,

your own smell there too.I chose a gansy of handspun wool,

warm and fleecy for you. It isso cold down in the dark.

No light can reach you and teach youthe paths of wild birds,

the names of the flowers,the fishes, the creatures.

Ignorant you must remainof the sun and its work,

my lamb, my calf, my eaglet,my cub, my kid, my nestling,

my suckling, my colt. I would spintime back, take you again

within my womb, your amniotic lair,and further spin you back

through nine waxing monthsto the split seeding moment

you chose to be made flesh,word within me.

I'd cancel the love feastthe hot night of your making.

I would travel aloneto a quiet mossy place,

you would spill from me into the earthdrop by bright red drop.

Adhlacadh Páiste(ó Bhéarla Paula Meehan)

Ba shíofrúil do chónra,maisithe mar cháca bainise.

Roghnaigh mé d'aibíd le cion is cúram,do rogha léine stríocach,

do threabhsar cadáis gorm.Bhí boladh mhusc an fhómhair ar gach aon ní,

do bholadh féin á chumasc leis an gcrann.Roghnaigh mé an geansaí d'olann caorach,

teolaí agus bog duit thíos ansin.Chomh fuar go domhain sa talamh mar a luíonn tú.

Níl solas ar bith mar lóchrann duit sa duibhele cosán na n-éan allta a shoiléiriú,nó ainmneacha na mbláthna n-iasc, na ndúl.

Aineolach beidh tú feastaar an ngrian is ar a saothar,

m'uainín, mo lao, m'iolairín,mo choileán, mo mhionnán, mo shicín,

mo shearrach, mo leanbh diúil. Dhéanfainn an t-ama roiseadh, tú a shú isteach arís faoi scáth mo bhroinne,

chuig do neaidín aimníneach istigh faoim' choim,is tú a theilgeadh siar

thar an turas sin trí ráithechuig an nóiméad sin a roghnaigh

tú chun beithe,cuisle an bhriathair bheo im' cholainn istigh.

Chuirfinn feis an ghrá ar ceal,oíche mhacnasach do dhéanta.

Thaistealóinn liom féingo dtí áit chiúin chaonaigh,

áit a silfeá uaim arís isteach sa chrédeoir gheal dhearg ar dheoir.