Poems by Celia de Fréine

Lune, svelte personne,
qui est celui qui te donne
chaque mois un enfant?
​
    Rainer Maria Rilke
    


Don Ghealach 
​                   
Is maith is eol dom go mbíonn an ghealach 
ag iarraidh teacht i dtír ar chuile bhean

Níl meas aici ar ainnireacha
ná ar mháithreacha óga

Fiú an aois a bhfuil mé braithim a crúb   
dom’ tharraingt as mo leaba –  

na hoícheanta a mbíonn sí lán
is chuile bhriogáid dóiteáin ar dualgas – 

le breathnú ar na scamaill úd 
a sciurdann thar a h-aghaidh stéaróideach     

mar go bhfuil leathbhádóir uaim 
duine lem’ ualach a roinnt leis

duine a thoirceoidh an cruthú seo
lena ghin a bhrú amach sa saol




    To the Moon


I know well the moon is the type
to want to get one up on every woman

She respects neither maidens
nor young mothers

Even at my age I feel her claw 
drag me from my bed –

on nights when she is full 
and every fire brigade on call – 

to watch those clouds
scud across her steroid face

because I need a partner 
someone to share my burden with

someone to fertilise this creation
and force its offspring into the world

Souvent devant les dévots se vide un masque
de l’idole s’excuse soudain
de son trône trompeur...


    Rainer Maria Rilke


Imaistriú na gCumhachtaí                


Tuige a bhfolumhódh masc é féin 
os comhair na gcreidteoirí?

Seans go dtitfeadh sé trí thimpiste
seachas d’aon ghnó

mar go bhfuil an dia i gceist
tar éis éirí ró lán de féin

nó mar go scréachann gasúr óg 
go bhfuil a fhios aige

nach bhfuil taobh thiar 
den éirí in airde

ach prás truaillithe
is róbaí ithe ag leamhain

Ach má choinníonn an gasúr air 
ag screachach

seans go dtarraingeoidh sé súil an duine 
nach bhfuil a mhasc greamaithe 

go daingean de fós 
atá gléasta i róba 

nár thug na leamhain faoi fós – 
duine a dhéanfaidh meangadh gáire

le go dtitfidh aer úr an earraigh
amach as a bhéal 


​

Transmigration of Powers


Why would a mask empty itself 
before believers?

It’s more likely to slip by accident 
rather than design

because the god in question 
has become too full of himself

or perhaps a small child shrieks
that he knows 

what’s behind 
the pretence

is only tainted brass 
and motheaten robes 

But if the child continues to shriek 
he might catch the eye of the person

whose mask is not yet stuck to him
who’s dressed in a robe

not yet eaten by moths – 
one who will smile

so that from his mouth 
will tumble the air of spring

​
​

Celia de Fréine is a poet, playwright, screenwriter and translator who writes in Irish and English. Awards for her poetry include the Patrick Kavanagh Award (1994) and Gradam Litríochta Chló Iar-Chonnachta (2004). She has published eight poetry collections of poetry to date of which cuir amach seo dom : riddle me this (Arlen House, 2014), Blood Debts (Scotus Press, 2014) and A lesson in Can't (Scotus Press, 2014) are her most recent. Her plays have won many Oireachtas awards and are staged regularly.

​Weblinks:
http://www.celiadefreine.com/
http://www.podcasts.ie/featured-writers/featured-poets/celia-de-freine/
http://www.irishtimes.com/culture/books/poetry-with-punch-a-personal-story-about-a-national-disgrace-1.2102