For Yaedi

For Yaedi

Looking out the window at the trees
and counting the leaves,
listening to a voice within
that tells me nothing is perfect
so why bother to try, I am thief
of my own time.  When I die
I want it to be said that I wasted
hours in feeling absolutely useless
and enjoyed it, sensing my life
more strongly than when I worked at it.
Now I know myself from a stone
or a sledgehammer.

         ~ David Ignatow ~

(New and Collected Poems, 1970-1985)

Do Yaedi

Ag féachaint an fhuinneog amach ar na crainn
agus na duilleoga agam á gcomhaireamh,
éistim leis an nguth istigh a deir
nach bhfuil aon ní foirfe
mar sin cad is fiú iarracht a dhéanamh, gadaí
mo chuid ama féin mé. Nuair a chaillfear mé
ba mhaith liom go ndéarfaí gur chuireas
laethanta amú, gur bhraitheas go hiomlán gan mhaith
is gur bhaineas sult as, mo shaol á bhrath agam
níos láidre ná nuair a bhíos ag obair air.
D’aithneoinn mé féin anois ón gcloch
nó ón ord.   

 

FIR YAEDI

Leukin oot the winnock it the treen
an coontin the leaves,
hearkenin tae a vice wi'in
thit threeps: naethin's perfit
sae whitwey wid ye rax sae, a'm a pauchler
o ma ain tyme. Whan a dee
a want it kent thit a wastit
oors in feelin daeless
an felt braw wi'it, mensin ma life
mair strangly nor whan a wrocht it it.
Nou a ken masel frae a stane,
or a stob-mell.

John McDonald