2017-11-18

Haiku le Issa ón mbliain 1822

Sa bhliain 1822

  • Rugadh an seandálaí Gearmánach Heinrich Schliemann.
  • Rugadh Ulysses S. Grant a bheadh ina 18ú hUachtarán ar SAM.
  • Rugadh Gregor Mendel, géineolaí Seiceach.
  • Rugadh César Franck, cumadóir Beilgeach.
  • Rugadh Mathew Arnold, file Sasanach.
  • Rugadh Louis Pasteur, micreabhitheolaí Francach.
  • Cailleadh E.T.A. Hoffmann, scríbhneoir Gearmánach.
  • Cailleadh Percy Bysshe Shelley, file Sasanach.
  • Cailleadh Kristjan Jaak Peterson, file Eastónach.
  • Rugadh an tAthair Sylvester Malone, cara le Conradh na Gaeilge.
  • Cailleadh John McNamara, bailitheoir lámhscríbhinní.
  • Rugadh Mícheál Caomhánach faoina ndúradh
‘His interest in Irish literature and mythology, and his knowledge of the Irish language itself, combined with a real writing talent, his devotion to translation, and an ability to compose verse, mark him out as a literateur, a man of letters. Though he wrote in English, the literary tradition to which he belongs is firmly an Irish one’
  • Sa bhliain 1822 d'fhoilsigh an tAthair John McEnroe eagrán nua den Teagasc Críostaí le Andrew Donlevy agus scríobh sa réamhrá
'The Irish language is venerable for its antiquity, and valuable for the many literary documents it contains; in harmony of sound it is inferior to no language, to many it is superior in strength of expression. Laudable and effective efforts have been made of late to restore the Irish to its antient degree on the scale of learned languages . . .'


Sa bhliain chéanna chum Issa an haiku seo i measc scata eile:


an t-oisín ag spraoi
agus é dall
ar an tsaighead

.鹿の子や矢先もしらでどち狂ふ

shika no ko ya yasaki mo shirade dochi kuruu


An Doras a dhruid an Pápa/ The Door the Pope Closed

Le

Biddy Jenkinson 

Léamh stáitse ar dhráma úrnua i nGaeilge sa Halla Cóisire, Smock Alley, Céadaoin 29 Samhain @6.30 

Rehearsed reading of brand new play in Irish at The Banquet Hall, Smock Alley, Wed Nov 29th @ 6.30pm


Tugtar caoinchuireadh duit leis seo go dtí léamh stáitse ar An Doras a dhruid an Pápa - dráma nuascríofa le Biddy Jenkinson, file agus drámadóir nótáilte - sa Halla Cóisire, Smock Alley, ar an gCéadaoin 29 Samhain. Sa chliar tá Bláthnaid Ní Chofaigh, Máire Ní Ghráinne agus Donncha Crowley. Tristan Rosenstock an stiúrthóir.

Beidh scailtín fíona agus scroid ar fáil ar 6pm agus ansin léifear Gníomh 1 den dráma ar 6.30 pm, léamh a leanfaidh thart ar 30 nóiméad.

I nGaeilge a bheidh an seó agus beidh fortheidil Bhéarla ann. Beidh fáilte romhat fanacht linn ina dhiaidh agus an dráma a phlé agus d'fhéadfadh an plé sin a bheith ina chabhair dúinn nuair a dhéanfar lánléiriú ar an dráma an bhliain seo chugainn.

RSVP le do thoil
www.everlastingvoices.ie
everlastingvoicesperformance@gmail.com
www.facebook.com/GuthannaBinneSíoraí
Twitter:     @GuthannaBinne

LEABHARLANN NA bhFUAIMEANNA CAILLTE NÓ IAD AG DUL I LÉIG/ THE LIBRARY OF LOST AND VANISHING SOUNDS

DÉ SATHAIRN 2 NOLLAIG
Saturday 2 December 3.00pm
Powerscourt Theatre
Top floor, Powerscourt Townhouse
South William St, Dublin 2
Cead isteach/admission: €10
Booking: https://www.eventbrite.ie/e/leabharlann-na-bhfuaimeanna-cailltethe-library-of-lost-sounds-tickets-39868470669?aff=erellivmlt

LEABHARLANN NA bhFUAIMEANNA CAILLTE NÓ IAD AG DUL I LÉIG



Cleatar sean-chlóscríobháin láimhe;cnagarnach statach agus teilifíseán á dhúiseacht; bús gutháin á dhiailiú; daoine ag feadaíl; barr buidéil alúmanaim ag cnagaireacht; crónán ón bhflóta bainne - níl ansin ach cuid de na fuaimeanna atá ag dul i léig. Sa tionscadal léifidh ceathrar filí - Marcus MacConghail, Doireann Ní Ghríofa, Proinsias Mac A' Bhaird agus Máire Dinny Wren dánta nua mar gheall ar fhuaimeanna nach gcloistear níos mó agus cloisfear fuaimrian ón gceoltóir agus dealbhóir fuaime Fergus Kelly.

 

THE LIBRARY OF LOST AND VANISHING SOUNDS


The clatter of an old manual typewriter; the crackle of static as a television comes on; the whirr of a phone dial; people whistling; the crinkle of an aluminium bottle top; the hum of an electric milk float - these are just some of the sounds that are becoming part of the past. Tonight four poets - Marcus MacConghail, Doireann Ní Ghríofa, Proinsias Mac A' Bhaird and Máire Dinny Wren - will read new poems on the theme of lost sounds, to a sound-track created by musician and sound sculptor Fergus Kelly.

2017-11-17

DYLAN AMHRÁN 7 - PRESSING ON

BRÚ AR AGHAIDH

Táim ag brú ar aghaidh
Sea ag brú ar aghaidh
Táim ag brú ar aghaidh
'Dtí an ghairm ó mo Thiarna ard.

Tugadh faoi mo stopadh, mé ’chroitheadh lena mbuairt:
“Hé, cruthaigh gurb é ’n Tiarna é, tá comhartha uaim”
Cén comhartha atá uait, is istigh tá ’n uile ní,
Tá an chaora sa chró, is níl aon ghá le himní.

Táim ag brú ar aghaidh
Sea ag brú ar aghaidh
Táim ag brú ar aghaidh
'Dtí an ghairm ó mo Thiarna ard.

Croith an dusta ded’ chos, ná féach siar
Níl aon ní a cheanglódh thú, roinneadh ort do sciar,
An cathú ní haon dóithín é, b’é Ádhamh a thug don diabhal an svae
Pheacaigh sé níl aon rogha agam, sé mo nádúr é.

Táim ag brú ar aghaidh
Sea ag brú ar aghaidh
Táim ag brú ar aghaidh
'Dtí an ghairm ó mo Thiarna ard.

PRESSING ON


Well I’m pressing on
Yes, I’m pressing on
Well I’m pressing on
To the higher calling of my Lord

Many try to stop me, shake me up in my mind
Say, “Prove to me that He is Lord, show me a sign”
What kind of sign they need when it all come from within
When what’s lost has been found, what’s to come has already been?

Well I’m pressing on
Yes, I’m pressing on
Well I’m pressing on
To the higher calling of my Lord

Shake the dust off of your feet, don’t look back
Nothing now can hold you down, nothing that you lack
Temptation’s not an easy thing, Adam given the devil reign
Because he sinned I got no choice, it run in my vein

Well I’m pressing on
Yes, I’m pressing on
Well I’m pressing on
To the higher calling of my Lord   

2017-11-16

TRAEIN MHALL /DYLAN AMHRÁN 6 - SLOW TRAIN

TRAEIN MHALL


Uaireanta bíonn goimh orm is déistin
Cad sa diabhal atá ag tarlú do mo chompánaigh
Bhfuil siad slán nó fós ar strae
Nó an eol dóibh an praghas a ísleodh a svae
A gcuid prionsabal saolta a mbeidh orthu iad a fhágáil
Tá traein mhall, tá traein mhall ag teacht chugainn gan mhoill.

Bhí bean agamsa thíos in Alabama
B’as an iargúil di siúd, ach bhí bonn lenár gcaidreamh
Ar sí, “Hé, gan aon agó
Cuir cruth ort féinig agus dea-chló,
Gheofá bás anseo, is ní bheadh ionat ach cuid den staidreamh”
Tá traein mhall, tá traein mhall ag teacht chugainn gan mhoill.

Ola ón gcoigríoch,’tá i gceannas ar an tír seo
Féach timpeall ort, is cinnte go mbraitheann tú náire,
An síc ina rí ochón
Na seoda is na fáinní sróin’
Todhchaí ár dtíre á beartú ’cu in Amstardam is i bPáras
Tá traein mhall, tá traein mhall ag teacht chugainn gan mhoill.

Tá ár n-ego neamhleáite, ár ndlíthe as dáta, ní bhaineann linn níos mó
Ní féidir seasamh thart ag feitheamh agus i ngátar
I dtír seo na mbua
Jefferson ag iompú ina uaigh
Buaileam sciath na ngamal a láimhseálfadh, mar dhea, Sátan
Tá traein mhall, tá traein mhall ag teacht chugainn gan mhoill.

An teagmhálaí mór le rá, an bréag-lia, fuathaitheoir mná
Máistir cur i gcéill is an máistir atá praiticiúil
Ach an namhaid dom is léir
Caitheann seisean fallaing ghlé
Na díchreidmhigh, na gadaithe ag caint in ainm an reiligiúin
Is tá traein mhall, tá traein mhall ag teacht chugainn gan mhoill.

Ocras is tart ar a lán, is pléascann an t-ardaitheoir gráin,
Ó, cé gur costasaí an bia a stóráil ná é a bhronnadh
Deir siad linn gan a bheith cúthail
Do chuid aislingí ’leanúint
Tá caint ar ghrá a bheith againn dá chéile, taispeáin dom an duine atá sona,
Tá traein mhall, tá traein mhall ag teacht chugainn gan mhoill.

Bhuel, go hIllinois do chuaigh mo bháb, leis an mbuachaill atá sí chun a chrá
Duine gan dóchas, ach ní raibh aon leigheas agamsa ar an scéal
Is cuma liomsa faoin eacnamaíocht
Is cuma liomsa faoin réalteolaíocht
Ach cuireann sé isteach orm an dream is ionúin liom bheith ’na bpuipéad
Tá traein mhall, tá traein mhall ag teacht chugainn gan mhoill.


SLOW TRAIN


Sometimes I feel so low-down and disgusted
Can’t help but wonder what’s happenin’ to my companions
Are they lost or are they found
Have they counted the cost it’ll take to bring down
All their earthly principles they’re gonna have to abandon?
There’s a slow, slow train comin’ up around the bend

I had a woman down in Alabama
She was a backwoods girl, but she sure was realistic
She said, “Boy, without a doubt
Have to quit your mess and straighten out
You could die down here, be just another accident statistic”
There’s a slow, slow train comin’ up around the bend

All that foreign oil controlling American soil
Look around you, it’s just bound to make you embarrassed
Sheiks walkin’ around like kings
Wearing fancy jewels and nose rings
Deciding America’s future from Amsterdam and to Paris
And there’s a slow, slow train comin’ up around the bend

Man’s ego is inflated, his laws are outdated, they don’t apply no more
You can’t rely no more to be standin’ around waitin'
In the home of the brave
Jefferson turnin’ over in his grave
Fools glorifying themselves, trying to manipulate Satan
And there’s a slow, slow train comin’ up around the bend

Big-time negotiators, false healers and woman haters
Masters of the bluff and masters of the proposition
But the enemy I see
Wears a cloak of decency
All nonbelievers and men stealers talkin’ in the name of religion
And there’s a slow, slow train comin’ up around the bend

People starving and thirsting, grain elevators are bursting
Oh, you know it costs more to store the food than it do to give it
They say lose your inhibitions
Follow your own ambitions
They talk about a life of brotherly love show me someone who knows how to live it
There’s a slow, slow train comin’ up around the bend

Well, my baby went to Illinois with some bad-talkin’ boy she could destroy
A real suicide case, but there was nothin’ I could do to stop it
I don’t care about economy
I don’t care about astronomy
But it sure do bother me to see my loved ones turning into puppets
There’s a slow, slow train comin’ up around the bend   

2017-11-15

DYLAN AMHRÁN 5 - SHOT OF LOVE

INSTEALLADH GRÁ

Tabhair dom instealladh grá, tabhair dom instealladh grá

Níl instealladh hearóin uaim mar leigheas ar m’aicíd
Níl instealladh tuirpintín uaim, ar mo ghlúine ag impí,
Níl instealladh cóidín uaim chun go ndéanfainn aithrí
Níl instealladh fuisce uaim, le bheith im’ Mhichael D.

Tabhair dom instealladh grá, tabhair dom instealladh grá

‘Dhochtúir, bhfuil tú ’g éisteacht? Teastaíonn roinnt Medicaid
Chonac ríochtaí seo an domhain, is tá eagla orm, mo léir
Níl aon phianta orm, ach maróidh sé mé dar Donn
Mar an slua úd lean Íosa, nuair a chuireadar praghas ar a cheann.

Tabhair dom instealladh grá, tabhair dom instealladh grá

Níl uaimse aon ailibí nuair a chaithim am led’ thaobh
Tá na ráflaí cloiste agam, gach ráfla acu saobh
Ná taispeáin aon scannán dom, ná tabhair aon leabhar dom le léamh
Ní shásódh sé sin an phian istigh, ná ní ghearrfadh sé an téad.

Tabhair dom instealladh grá, tabhair dom instealladh grá


Cén fáth a dteastódh uaim tú ‘mharú
Dhein tú m’athairse a mharú, is banéigniú,
Tatú ar mo leanaí ón nimh id’ pheann
Níl im’ Dhia ná im’ chairde ach greann.

Tabhair dom instealladh grá, tabhair dom instealladh grá

Ní mian liom a bheith le héinne anocht
Veronica amuigh, Mavis, cailín bocht
Tá neach ar gráin leis mé, tá sé gar dom, mear mín
An ceart dom díreach suí siar go dtaga sé aniar?

Tabhair dom instealladh grá, tabhair dom instealladh grá

Cad tá ar an ngaoth ag séideadh anocht?
Níl fonn orm dul trasna na sráide is tá an gluaisteán as a riocht
Glaoch fóin, tá gach éinne tar éis bogadh is léir
Mo choinsias ag cur as dom, tá, ón oíche aréir.

Tabhair dom instealladh grá, tabhair dom instealladh grá

Tabhair dom instealladh grá, tabhair dom instealladh grá
Más dochtúir tusa, tabhair dom instealladh grá.

 

SHOT OF LOVE


I need a shot of love, I need a shot of love

Don’t need a shot of heroin to kill my disease
Don’t need a shot of turpentine, only bring me to my knees
Don’t need a shot of codeine to help me to repent
Don’t need a shot of whiskey, help me be president

I need a shot of love, I need a shot of love

Doctor, can you hear me? I need some Medicaid
I seen the kingdoms of the world and it’s makin’ me feel afraid
What I got ain’t painful, it’s just bound to kill me dead
Like the men that followed Jesus when they put a price upon His head

I need a shot of love, I need a shot of love

I don’t need no alibi when I’m spending time with you
I’ve heard all of them rumors and you have heard ’em too
Don’t show me no picture show or give me no book to read
It don’t satisfy the hurt inside nor the habit that it feeds

I need a shot of love, I need a shot of love

Why would I want to take your life?
You’ve only murdered my father, raped his wife
Tattooed my babies with a poison pen
Mocked my God, humiliated my friends

I need a shot of love, I need a shot of love

Don’t wanna be with nobody tonight
Veronica's not here, Mavis just ain’t right
There’s a man that hates me and he’s swift, smooth and near
Am I supposed to set back and wait until he’s here?

I need a shot of love, I need a shot of love

What makes the wind wanna blow tonight?
Don’t even feel like crossing the street and my car ain’t actin’ right
Called home, everybody seemed to have moved away
My conscience is beginning to bother me today

I need a shot of love, I need a shot of love

I need a shot of love, I need a shot of love
If you’re a doctor, I need a shot of love   

2017-11-14

DYLAN AMHRÁN 4 - RING THEM BELLS

Buail na Cloig/ Ring them Bells

Buail na cloig, a bhodaigh
Ó chathair úd na néal
Buail na cloig ó na tearmainn
Thar na gleanntáin go réidh
Táid leathan táid domhain
Is an saol bun os cionn
Is an t-am ag rith ar gcúl
An bhrídeog leis is trua.

Buail na cloig, Naomh Peadar
Áit a séideann gaoth
Buail na cloig le do chrua-lámh
Chun go dtuigfidh gach n-aon
Ó tá ’na bhuaicthráth
Sa bhaile, ar an má,
Is tá fuineadh gréine i ndán
Don bhó bheannaithe bhán.

Buail na cloig, a Mharta.
Do mhac an bhochtáin
Buail na cloig chun go gcloisfidh cách
Aon Dia amháin
Ó an t-aoire tá fá shuan
An tsaileach faoi ghruaim
Is tá caoirigh an tslé’
’Dul amú.

Buail na cloig do na daill is bodhráin
Buail na cloig dúinn go léir atá ar fán
Buail na cloig do bheagán an áidh
’Thabharfaidh breith ar an gcóip nuair ’thagann an lá
Buail na cloig, ar eite an t-am,
Páiste ’ligeann glam,
An neamhurchóid gann.

Buail na cloig, a Chaitríona
Ó do sheomra gach lá
Buail iad buail ón daingean
Don lile ’tá faoi bhláth
Línte – ‘’Dhia na bhFeart
Trodaireacht lán de neart
Is nil achar ann a thuilleadh
’dir ceart is mícheart.

Ring them bells

Ring them bells, ye heathen
From the city that dreams
Ring them bells from the sanctuaries
’Cross the valleys and streams
For they’re deep and they’re wide
And the world’s on its side
And time is running backwards
And so is the bride

Ring them bells St. Peter
Where the four winds blow
Ring them bells with an iron hand
So the people will know
Oh it’s rush hour now
On the wheel and the plow
And the sun is going down
Upon the sacred cow

Ring them bells Sweet Martha
For the poor man’s son
Ring them bells so the world will know
That God is one
Oh the shepherd is asleep
Where the willows weep
And the mountains are filled
With lost sheep

Ring them bells for the blind and the deaf
Ring them bells for all of us who are left
Ring them bells for the chosen few
Who will judge the many when the game is through
Ring them bells, for the time that flies
For the child that cries
When innocence dies

Ring them bells St. Catherine
From the top of the room
Ring them from the fortress
For the lilies that bloom
Oh the lines are long
And the fighting is strong
And they’re breaking down the distance
Between right and wrong