Mo Ghrá-sa (idir lúibíní)

le Nuala Ní Dhomhaill
Níl mo ghrá-sa
mar bhláth na n-airní
a bhíonn i ngairdín
(nó ar chrann ar bith)

is má tá aon ghaol aige
le nóiníní
is a chluasa a fhásfaidh siad
(nuair a bheidh sé ocht dtroigh síos).

Ní haon ghlaise cheolmhar
iad a shúile
(táid róchóngarach dá chéile
ar an gcéad dul síos)

is más slim é síoda
tá ribí a ghruaige
(mar bhean dhubh Shakespeare)
ina wire deilgní.

Ach is cuma sin.
Tugann sé dom
úlla
(is nuair a bhíonn sé i ndeá-ghiúmar caora fíniúna).

My Love (in brackets) 

By Nuala Ní Dhomhaill

My love is not
Like the blackthorn blossom
That grows in gardens
(Or on any tree at all)

And if he has anything to do
With daisies
They will grow out of his ears
(When he’s eight feet under)

No harmonising green
His eyes (or No Musical stream his eyes)
(They’re too close together
To begin with)

And if silk is smooth
The hairs on his head
(Like Shakespeare’s Dark Lady)
Are thorny wires

But it doesn’t matter
He gives me
Apples
(And grapes when he’s in good humour)

Translation sourced: Gléasnótaí Gaeilge 2014. Dublin: Mentor Books

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Don’t forget to submit your favorite poem as told by Voki! To submit your poem, send the complete embed code along with the poem title and author’s name to feedback@voki.com.

with cress.

Sprinkly seeds in plastic pots

of cotton wool.

Kate’s cress sits up on the sill

she gives it water.

Mine is shut inside the cupboard

dark and dry.

Now her pot has great big clumps

of green

mine hasn’t

Teacher calls it Science

I call it mean!

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