Peter Sirr

Translated by Peter Sirr

1. WINNOWING / AG CÁITHEADH

   

   

   ENGGLE

   Here we go again,

   trying to separate

   life’s brilliant possibilities

   from the cushy numbers

   we’ve settled for.

   In the end

   none of us will know

   whether it was the wheat or the chaff

   that flew off in the wind.

   Translated by Peter Sirr

   Seo linn ag iarraidh
   féidearthachtaí éigríochta an tsaoil
   a scaradh ó
   na cúinsí teoranta ab áil linn.
   
   Ag an dé deiridh
   n’fheadar éinne againn
   cé acu é
   an cháith nó
   an gráinne
   a scaoileadh le gaoth.

2. THE WEATHER ON MARS / AIMSIR

   

   

   ENGGLE

   A dark, spirit-slumping

   woolly-hat-pulled-down-even-inside

   kind of day. Beside me

   the black cat snores in his chair,

   folded in on himself. On the hob

   spuds boiling for the hens …

    

   Something I heard recently

   is lodged in my inner eye:

   that snow falls from the skies of Mars,

   pouring down from the black depths

   only to vaporise

   before it could touch the ground.

    

   The snow sings in its great distances

   and the cats joins in:

   not ours to reason why,

   our lot is to freeze and melt,

   freeze and melt forever,

   the red will never be white.

   Translated by Peter Sirr

   Lá dorcha gránna, beifeá bailithe;

   Caipín olla de dhíth sa chistin,

   An cat dubh ar chathaoir

   bísithe timpeall air féin.

   Laistiar díom corcán prátaí gréine

   Á mbeiriú dos na cearca.

    

   Fionnachtan a chuala ó chianaibh

   Reoite tamall im’ shamhlaíocht;

   Go mbíonn sneachta á chur ó spéartha Mharsa,

   Go saolaítear é na mílte in airde

   Is go ndéantar gal dó in athuair

   Sara sroicheann riamh tonn talún.

    

   Canainn lóipíní thar fholús fairsing

   Is ardaíonn an cat guth i gcomhcheol;

   Ní h-ann dúinn ár ndán a cheistniú,

   Ní h-ann dúinn ach reo agus leá,

   Reo agus leá go buan

   Ní chuirtear riamh an rua ina gheal.