POEM FOR PADDY'S DAY

Parade, Ballinasloe

 Beannachtaí na Féile oraibh - have a great Saint Patrick's Day! We will wear green, eat green and maybe even drink green. Well, maybe not the latter. I'm posting a poem as Gaeilge with its translation, from Tattoo ~ Tatú, for the day that's in it. It mentions spuds and poteen so it's properly Oirish :)

The photo is from last year's parade. This year's takes place tomorrow so as not to disrupt the Saturday market and other trade. Just as well, there is television style rain out there this morning. Tomorrow's supposed to be better. Have a good one!

Cleamhnas, 1933

Thug sé dom prátaí:

cnapáin agus póiríní,

iad mór agus beag,

iad crua agus bog.

Thug sé dom poitín

a las tine i mo ghoile,

ach a rinne an luí leis

ábhairín níos éascaí.

Thug sé leis clann:

péire leathfhásta,

iad cúthalach, béasach,

páistí a chéad ghrá.

Thug sé leis báibín,

a d’fhás faoi m’aprún,

sular fhág mé m’athair,

mé soineanta, solúbtha.

Thug sé dom prátaí,

chomh bán leis an ngealach,

chomh buí le tornapa,

iad searbh agus nimhneach.

Níor thug sé dom

ach meas madra.

Engagement, 1933

He gave me spuds:

lumpers and croppers,

big ones and small ones,

hard and soft ones.

He gave me poteen

it burnt my throat,

but made lying with him

that little bit easier

He gave me his children:

a half-reared pair,

they were shy, obedient,

the babes of his first love.

He gave me my own child,

it grew under my apron,

before I left my father’s,

I was innocent, pliable.

He gave me spuds,

as white as the moon,

as yellow as turnip,

they were bitter, poisonous.

All he gave me

was a dog’s life.