Young Man with hair done up in curls

Poets’ Window- International Poetry Evening
International Poetry Evening at Ashbees Wine Bar in Earls Court. In addition to the
‘Poets’ Window’ poem’s being read, we had poems written by acclaimed Poets from
around the world read by native speakers, followed by the English translation.

A Ógánaigh An Chúil Cheangailte
(Written in Gaeilge and read by Alma)

A óganaigh an chúil cheangailte
le raibh mé seal in éineacht,
chuaigh tú aréir an bealach seo
is ní tháinig tú dom fhéachant.
Shíl mé nach ndéanfaí dochar duit
dá dtiocfá agus mé d’irarridh,
is gurb é do phóigin a thabharfadh sólás dom
dá mbeinn I lár an fhiabhrais
Dá mbeadh maoin agamsa
agus airgead I mo phóca,
dhéanfainn bóithrin aicearrach
go doras tí mo stóirín,
mar shúil le Dia go gcluinfinnse
torann binn a bhróige,
’s is fada an lá nár chodail mé
ach ag suil blas do phóige.
Agus shíl mé, a stóirín,
go mba gealach agus grian tú,
agus shíl mé ina dhiaidl sin
go mba sneachta ar an sliabh tú,
agus shíl mé ina dhiaidh sin
go mba lóchrann ó Dhia tú
nú go mba tú an réalt eolais
ag dul romham is ’mo dhiaidh tú.
Gheall tú síoda is saitin dom
callaí agus bróga arda,
is gheall tú tar a éis sin
go leanfá tríd an snámh mé.
Ní mar sin atá mé
ach ’mo seach í mbéal bearna
gach nóin agus gach maidin
ag féachaint tí mo mháthar.

Young Man with hair done
up in curls
Read by Alma
(Translation by Thomas Kinsella)

Young man, with hair done up in Curls,
my partner for a time,
you passed along this way last night,
and never came to see me.
I thought it wouldn’t do you harm
to come and make inquiry
— O your little kiss would comfort me
though I were deep in fever.
If I had wealth in my own right
and money in my pocket
the shortest road I’d undertake
up to my darling’s door
hoping to God that I might hear
the sweet sound of his shoes
— O it’s long the day since last I slept
in need to taste his kiss
For it seemed to me, my darling one,
you were the sun and moon,
and after that it seemed to me
you were snow upon the hill,
and after that it seemed to me
you were a lamp from God
or that you were the star of knowledge
before me and behind
Silk and satin you promised me,
high shoes and finery,
and after that you promised
you’d follow through the flood.
Now it is otherwise with me
— I’m a bush to stop the gap,
seeing nothing, noon and morn,
only my mother’s house.