Meon Gaelach: A Translation of Ó Direáin's Connolly poem for the Easter Rising's 25th anniversary
In the inaugural post for my Meon Gaelach series, I have translated Máirtín Ó Direáin's early poem commemorating James Connolly, written for the 25th year anniversary of the Easter Rising in 1941.
In this inaugural edition of Meon Gaelach, a weekly publication of my own translations of classic Gaelic texts (previously untranslated), I have decided to publish the great Aran islands poet Máirtín Ó Direáin’s early poem about James Connolly, originally written for the 1941 edition of the journal Aiséirghe, which commemorated the Easter Rising’s 25th anniversary.
In the poem, Ó Direáin revives the ghost of James Connolly, revealing to him the great betrayal by the Free State government of the íobairt gach laoich (sacrifice of great heroes) which occurred in Easter 1916. In eerily recognisable terms for the nation’s youth of today, Ó Direáin bemoans a modern Ireland where Fir luatha láidre ag fágáil na tíre (Strong young men are leaving the country) and mná breátha mánla (beautiful graceful women) are following them.
While the poem perhaps lacks the gentle subtlety of Ó Direáin’s later classics like ‘An tEarrach Thiar’, it is an essential insight into the radicalism of the first generation of Gaels in the nascent Irish Free State. Interestingly, the poem has largely been ignored by Ó Direáin translators and researchers, to such an extent that his Wikipedia page lists his “years active” as a poet from 1949 to 1986 — starting eight years after the publication of this poem. Perhaps this owes to the (awkwardly) illiberal paper that first published the poem.
Thankfully, I own the original document, and so I have transcribed the original Gaelic (bottom of the page), as well as my english translation. I hope the reader enjoys the poem, and if anyone would like to correct or alter my translation — feedback is welcome!
James Connolly
I
With the dawn of that pale day in the year of 16
Weak and feeble, tormented by wounds,
Closely tied to the chair of your execution
And your soul cast from you in presence of the Son of God.
II
If anyone could have told you on that morning
That people all throughout your land today
Would be poverty-stricken and laid bare, without hopes or dreams
But hardship and deprivation, living as beggars!
III
You would tell him that for you this was a false vision,
That Gaels would again have wealth aplenty
That all were destined to have joy and wealth,
Because of your sacrifice and the sacrifices of all you heroes.
IV
But, sad to say, the story is not so,
Twenty five years since your stoic fall:
Big, strong men with their backs to the wall
And hunger and cold among women and children.
V
Elites and capital are situated in their fortresses
Drowned in worldly pleasures:
They are snug and protected in their heated houses
Their conscience suppressed, without any use for charity.
VI
Young children to whom God promised life;
He promised to them an inheritance of joy and prosperity;
The penance of tuberculosis before they come of age,
From being stuffed and smothered into slender narrow rooms.
VII
Strong young men leaving the country
With beautiful gracious women walking alongside them
They are severely needed in Ireland
Which is already low in population.
VIII
But the Gaels must from now on,
Batter and break apart this cursed system;
Plunder the foundations which dragged us down here
And a new system will triumph in Ireland.
IX
On the arrival of that day, for the great man of courage,
You and all of you will be given due honour,
Who relentlessly fell and yet never gave up,
With the dawn of this pale day by the Liffey.
Séamas Ó Conghaile
I
Le bánú an lae ghil i mbliain a sé déag,
Tnáite, faonlag, cráite, ag créachtaí,
Ceangailte go dlúth de chathaoir na bpian duit
Is ea teilgeadh t’anam i láthair Mhic Dé uait.
II
Dá n-abraíodh neach leat maidin an lae úd,
Go mbeadh daoine an tráth seo ar fud do thíre
Bheadh bocht is nocht; gan a gcoinne le aon rud
Ach anró is call, is iad beo ar dhéirce.
III
Déarfá féin leis gurbh éitheach a fhís duit,
Go mbeadh fuíoll gach fuíll arís ag Gaelaibh
Is só is sonas i ndán do gach aon díobh,
De thoradh d’íobartha is íobairt gach laoich dhíbh.
IV
Ach is trua le n-aithris an scéal atá amhlaidh.
Fiche bliain is cúig ó thit tú go calma;
Fir mhóra láidre is a ndroim le balla
Is ocras is fuacht ar bhean is ar leanbh.
V
Lucht maoine is rachmais suite go daingean;
Iad súite, báite, i bpléisiúir shaolta;
Iad seascair, caomhnaithe i dtithe teolaí;
A gcoinsias maolaithe is gan carthanacht ag gabháil leo.
VI
Leanbhaí óga ar gheall Dia saol dóibh;
Ar gheall Sé oidhreacht sonas is séan dóibh;
In aithrí ag eitinn roimh theacht i méid dóibh,
Toisc bheith plódaithe plúchtha i seomraí caola cúnga.
VII
Fir luatha láidre ag fágáil na tíre
Is mná breátha mánla ar siúl mar aon leo
Is dianghá deacrach leo in Éirinn
Atá íseal cheana i líon a daoine.
VIII
Ach caithfidh Gaeil feasta choíche,
An córas mallaithe a bhriseadh is a réabadh;
A chreach ó thús is a chuir in ísle bhrí sinn
Is córas nua a chur in uachtar in Éirinn.
IX
Ar theacht an lae sin a fhir mhóir an mhisnigh,
Bhéarfar onóir chóir duit is díbh go huile,
A thit gan staonadh is fós gan cliseadh,
Le bánú an lae ghil anseo cois Life.