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Táimid Damanta, A Dheirféaracha Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill |
Selected Poems: Rogha Dánta Dublin: Raven Arts Press,1986 |
| We are Damned, My Sisters - translation by Michael Hartnett |
Táimid damanta, a dheirféaracha,
sinne a chuaigh ag snámh
ar thránna istoíche is na réalta
ag gáirl in aonacht linn,
an mhéarnáil inár dtimpeall
is sinn ag scréachaíl le haoibhneas
is le fionnuaire na toade,
gan gúnaí orainn ná léinte
ach sinn chomh naíonta le leanaí bliana,
táimid damanta, a dheirféaracha,
Táimid damanta, a dheirféaracha,
sinne a thug dúshlán na sagart
is na ngaolta, a d'ith as mias na cinniúna,
a fuair fios oilc is maitheasa
chun gur chuma linn anois mar gheall air.
Chaithheamair oícheanta ar bhántaibh Párthais
ag ithe úll is spíonán is róiseanna
laistiar dár gcluasa, ag rá amhrán
timpeall tinte cnámh na ngadaithe,
ag ól is ag rangás le mairnéalaigh agus robálaithe
is táimid damanta, a dheirféaracha,
Níor chuireamair cliath ar stoca
níor chíoramair, níor shlámamair,
níor thuigeamair de banlámhaibh
ach an ceann atá ins na Flaithis in airde.
B'fhearr linn ár mbróga a chaitheamh dínn ar bharra taoide
is rince aonair a dhéanamh ar an ngaineamh fliuch
ar ghaotha fiala an Earraigh, ná bheith fanta
istich age baile ag déanamh tae láidir d'fearaibh,
is táimid damanta, a dheirféaracha,
Beidh ár súile ag na péisteanna
is ár mbéala ah na portáin,
is tabharfar fós ár n-aenna
le n-ithe do mhadraí na mbailte fearainn.
Stracfar an ghruaig dár gceannaibh
Is bainfear an fheoil dár gcnámha
Geofar síolta úll is craiceann spíonán
i measc rianta úr gcuid urlacan
nuair a bheimid damanta, a dheirféaracha.
We are damned, my sisters,
we who accepted the priests' challenge
our kindred's challenge: who ate from destiny's dish
who have knowledge of good and evil
who are no longer concerned.
We spent nights in Eden's fields
eating apples, gooseberries; roses
behind our ears, singing songs
around the gipsy bon-fires
drinking and romping with sailors and robbers:
and so we are damned, my sisters.
We didn't darn stockings
we didn't comb or tease
we knew nothing of handmaidens
except the one in high Heaven.
We preferred to be shoeless by the tide
dancing singly on the wet sand
the piper's tune coming to us
on the kind Spring wind, than to be
indoors making strong tea for the men -
and so we're damned, my sisters.
Our eyes will go to the worms
our lips to the clawed crabs
and our livers will be given
as food to the parish dogs.
The hair will be torn from our heads
the flesh flayed from our bones.
They'll find apple seeds and gooseberry skins
in the remains of our vomit
when we are damned, my sisters.
