Sneachta
D’éalaínn amach le teacht an lae
ar na maidneacha geala geimhridh adaí
is an sneachta ag titim mar chlúmh gé.
Bhíodh an tír chomh coimhthíoch le fásach;
na harda uilig ina ndumhcha is na bóithigh
cuachta go cruiteach, camaill chodlatacha.
Ba mhór an tógáil croí ar maidin go luath
an bhalbh-bháine adaí a bheith i mo thimpeall
is an saol á shamhlú agam ansiúd as an nua.
Tá an leathanach bán seo dálta thír an tsneachta
ag mealladh an pháiste atá istigh amach
lena chuma féin a chur ar lom na cruthaitheachta.
Cathal Ó Searcaigh
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Snow
I escaped the house at day
On bright winter mornings,
Snow falling like feathers of a goose.
The country an alien wasteland;
Each high place a sand-hill, the cowhouses
deformed dromedaries, dreaming.
In early morn, a great lifting of the heart,
Mute white wasteness round about me,
Out there I held new life for the imagining.
This white page betrothed to a land of snow
Beguiles the hidden child to come out
Imprinting his own self on bleak creation
translated from the Irish by Laura Napran
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