| NA PÍOPAÍ CRÉAFÓIGE | THE CLAY PIPES |
| Cathal Ó Searcaigh | tr. Seamus Heaney |
|
Ni chasfaidh tusa thart do chloigeann agus an bás ag rolladh chugat mar an t-aigéan. Coinneoidh tú ag stánadh air go seasta agus é ag scuabadh chugat isteach ina spraisteacha geala ó fhíor na síoraíochta. Coinneoidh tú do chiall agus do chéadfaí agus é ag siollfarnaigh thar chladai d'inchinne go dtí go mbeidh sé ar d'aithne go huile agus go hiomlán díreach mar a rinne tú agus tú i do thachrán ar thránna Mhachaire Rabhartaigh agus tonnta mara an Atlantaigh ag sealbhú do cholainne. Ach sula ndeachaigh do shaol ar neamhní shroich tusa ciumhais an chladaigh. Tarlóidh a mhacasamhail anseo. Sroichfidh tú domhan na mbeo tar éis dul i dtaithí an duibheagáin le d'aigne; ach beidh séala an tsáile ort go deo, beidh doimhneacht agat mar dhuine: as baol an bháis tiocfaidh fírinne. Ni thabharfainn de shamhail duit i mo dhán ach iadsan i gcoillte Cholumbia ar léigh mé fá dtaobh daofa sa leabharlann: dream a chaitheann píopaí daite créafóige, píopaí nár úsàideadh riamh lena ndéanamh ach scaobóga créafóige a baineadh i mbaol beatha i ndúichí sean-namhad, gleann scáthach timepallaithe le gaistí, gardaí agus saigheada nimhe. Dar leo siúd a deir an t-alt tuairisce nach bhfuil píopaí ar bith iomlán, seachas na cinn a bhfuil baol ag baint le soláthar a gcuid créafóige. |
You won't be the one to turn away when death rolls in towards you like the ocean. You will hold to your steadfast gaze, as it comes tiding in, all plash and glitter from the rim of eternity. You will keep your head. You will come to your senses again as it foams over the ridged beaches of your brain and you will take it all in and know it completely: you will be a child again, out on the strand of Magheraroarty, your body abandoned altogether to the lift of the Atlantic. But before you went the whole way then away into nothingness, you would touch the bottom. And this will be what happens to you here: You'll go through a black hole of initiation, then reach the land of the living; but the seal of the brine will be on you forever and you'll have depth as a person: You'll walk from danger of death into the truth. Here is the best image I can find: you are like the forest people of Columbia I read about in the library, a tribe who smoke clay pipes, coloured pipes that used to have to be made from this one thing: basketfuls of clay scooped out in fatal danger in enemy country, in a scaresome place full of traps and guards and poisoned arrows. According to this article, they believe that the only fully perfect pipes are ones made out of the clay collected under such extreme conditions. |
Copyright © Cathal Ó Searcaigh 2005; trans. copyright © Seamus Heaney 2005 - publ. Arc Publications
 ...buy this book |