There
by Rody Gorman
Pity anybody that bears ill-will,
Would that he hadn’t been born or conceived
Whether it’s a woman that bears it or a man,
The pair of them won’t reach holy heaven.
It’s not often there’s a group of three
Without one of them up to some uisce faoi thalamh,
Blackthorns and prickles are destroying me
So that I’m the conspiring moaning one.
But a madwoman fleeing her man
Is an unfamiliar story,
A man without a blanket or a shoe
Fleeing before the madwoman.
Our wish when the barnacle-geese come
Until Mayday from Halloween,
In every dark abundant wood
Is to be among the ivy.
The pure water of Glenbalkan,
Listening there to all its fowl,
The rapid streams there,
The holms and rivers there.
The shelter of its holly and hazel,
The leaves, the brambles, the thistles and acorns there,
Its berries, lovely and fresh,
Its nuts, its sloes so cool.
So many packs of hounds under the trees there,
The water so pure and free,
The bellowing of the wild stags there,
Whoever bore it ill-will, it wasn’t me.
| Extract from forthcoming Sweeney: an intertonguing by Rody Gorman | |
|---|---|
Rody Gorman’s Sweeney, An Intertonguing is published this spring by Francis Boutle Publishers. The work is multilingual version of Buile Shuibhne, in English, Irish, Scottish and Manx Gaelic with lingua gadelica, phonemic pieces and round-trip translations. Pre-publication reactions to the work have been full of praise, with words such as ‘extraordinary’, ‘masterpiece’ and ‘magnificent’ used by more than one eminent commentator. Ed. | |
| Bás Gan Sagart | Poem by Rody Gorman |
| Cuckoo! | Poem by Rody Gorman |
| Curse | Poem by Rody Gorman |
| Dear to me | Poem by Rody Gorman |
| Fatal Shot | Poem by Rody Gorman |
| Hag of the Mill | Poem by Rody Gorman |
| In Battle | Poem by Rody Gorman |
| Madman of the Glen | Poem by Rody Gorman |
| Moylinney | Poem by Rody Gorman |
| My Night In Kildervila | Poem by Rody Gorman |
| Myself and Yourself | Poem by Rody Gorman |
| There | Poem by Rody Gorman |
| Young Men | Poem by Rody Gorman |