I do phóca , ag stánadh amach,
feadóg stáin. Ollóinneach súgach
fiosrach amháin. Ansin go h-obann
chuir tú preab sa gceol
The Boys of Blue Hill agus Planxty Drury
cuireadh deireadh leis an juke-box
is bhí an teach go léir ag damhsa linn,
bhí lucht an óil seolta agat
fé lán cheol agat:
níor bhlaiseadar riamh, ina dTír-fó-Thuinn,
a leithéid de ghrá.
Amsterdamhsa go deo, a chroí,
dit orgel heeft in Kaapstad gespeeld.
Sa Regent i Leeds má bhí Sasanach uaigneach
amháin ann, b'in an méid. Ní riach deoch ba throime
ná liomonáid bhuí ag Cathal ach bhí Planxty
Johnson go deo aige, bhí Liam Óg ann
agus Sligomen in town agus bunadh cheoil nach iad
agus lucht óil nach iad, an ceol á slogadh siar againn:
arsa mise le Francie i dteach an asail
"Here we are" agus thóg se na focail as mo bhéal
"in the heart of England" -
"in the heart of Ireland" arsa mise dhá cheartú
Dhá mhí-cheartú, mo léan géar -
"It looks as if" arsa Vladimir Ilyitch, tráth,
"we'll have to go underground again". Agus tá
an chuma sin air anois, a chroí:
ach nach muidne atá cleachtaithe
ar an gcleas úd, ar an gceol úd?
Seans nach mbeidh ceol na mbriathar fagtha againn,
seans nach mbeidh fágtha againn go luath
ach feadóg stáin.
Leeds or Amsterdam
Sticking out from your pocket, a
tin-qhistle. Just one inquisitive
Dutchman. Then suddenly you
set the music jumping: The Boys
of Blue Hill and Planxty Drury:
that put a stop to the juke-box,
the whole pub was dancing with us,
you'd launched the drinkers into
full sail of music: they'd never
in their Lowlands tasted
such love before.
Amsterdancing for ever, friend:
dit orgel heeft in Kaapstad gespeeld.
In the Regent in Leeds there was
just one lonely Englishman; bar us.
Lemonade was the strongest Cathal
would drink but he had Planxty
Johnson for ever, Liam Og was
there and Sligo-men in town and
others making music besides them
and others drinking and all of us
gulping down the music: I said
to Francie in the jax
"Here we are" and he took the
words out of my mouth
"in the heart of England",
"in the heart of Ireland" said I
correcting him -
miscorrecting him:
"It looks as if", said Vladimir Ilyithch once
"we'll have to go underground again".
And that's the way it looks now, dear heart:
but aren't we a people well-trained
to that trick, to that music?
We may come to lose the music of
our words, we may lose everything soon -
except a tin-whistle or two.
"Mo lá breithe a bhí ann, i dteach óil i Leeds a bhí0s. Cé bheadh romam ann ach Cathal McConnell, fear fliúite agus amhránaí as Co. Fhear Manach. Thug sé cuireadh dom mo rogha ceoil a rá leis, is ní raibh fzile lá breith chomh breá agam riamh roimhe.
Tráth eile dom i dtír iasachta ar mhothaig mé blas agus spiorad cheol na nGael, ba in amsterdam é. Tháin ig an dá ócaid le chéile i m'aigne: chuadar i gcuing go dlúth leis an náire, an eagla angus us samhnas a mhothaig cuid againn le linn don Rialtas muintir na "Poblachta" a sheolad mar a bheadh muca thruaige ann chun aonach na hEorpa (nó thar an aill anuas). An mheatacht úd ar aon dul leis an meatacht oifigiúil i leith na Gaeilge (Dún Chaoin!). Cheapas (agus ceapaim) go bhfuil dúnmharú na Gaeilge á bheartú. Má tá an t-ádh leis na Básairí, cad is fiú dúinn an Ceol fágtha? "the Irish language is the greatest music of all" dúirt Willie Clancy, mo bheannacht bhocht leis."
as Rogha an Fhile
á eagairt ag Eoghan O Tuairisc,
foilsithe le Goldsmith
agus gabhtha dúinn mí na Nollag 1974 ag Gabriel & Eithne.
