Teanga

Mise an teanga
i mála an fhuadaitheora
liopaí fuaite le snáthaid,
cosa ag ciceáil.

Mise an teanga
sínte ar bhord an bhúistéara
in oifigí rialtais, géaga ceangailte,
corp briste brúite
curtha faoi chlocha
ar chúl claí
roimh bhreacadh an lae.

Mise an teanga a philleann san oíche, ceolta sí, Micí Mí-ádh. snámhaim trí na cáblaí aibhléise, ceolaim os íseal i bhfiliméad an bholgáin ar do thábla. Eitlím trí na pasáistí dúdhorcha rúnda faoin chathair bhriste.

Mise an teanga a sheachnaíonn tú ar na bóithre dorcha, i dtábhairní. Croí dubh. Fanaim ort faoi lampa sráide buí ag an choirnéal. Leanaim do lorg mar leannán diúltaithe.

Mise an teanga a thostaigh tú. Ortha mé, i bpóca dubh an fhile choirr i muinín déirce.

Tongue

I am the tongue in the kidnapper’s sack lips stitched, feet flailing.

I am the tongue bound on the butcher’s block in government offices, a battered, broken corpse ditched at dawn.

I am the tongue who comes in the night. I am jinx swimming through flex and electricity cables. I sing softly in the element of the bulb on your table. I am Johnny Dark, Creole. I wing through secret pitch-black passageways beneath the broken city.

I am the tongue you shun on dark roads, in pubs.

I am hoodoo waiting for you on the corner under the yellow street lamp, stalking you like a jilted John.

I am the tongue you silenced. I am patois. I am mumbo-jumbo, juju, a mojo of words in the back pocket of the weirdo poet busking for bursaries.

Aistriúchán/Translation:Séamus Mac Annaidh/Gearóid Mac Lochlainn