AS GAEILGE
( In Irish )
Dún do shúile
(Close your eyes)
Codail go lá...mo ghrá séimh.
(Sleep until day...my gentle love) .
Codail go sámh go sámh.
(Sleep peacefully...peacefully) .
Éirdeoidh an ghealach seo...
...is rachaidh an ghrian seo faoi
(This moon will rise...
...this sun will set)
aire 'gus grá
i gconaí
(care and love always)
gach oíche 's gach lá
gach lá 's gach oíche.
(every night every day
every day ever night) .
Mo phlúirín!
Mo stóirín!
Mo mhuirnín!
(My little flower!
My little treasure!
My little darling!)
Ach anois...
(But now...)
codail go sámh go séimh
(sleep peacefully...gently)
go fáinne an lae
(until the break of day)
le mise
ar do taobh.
(with me
by your side) .
Losing our baby
late into the night
holding this little thing
that only attempted to be human
unable to let go
I clasped the foetus
tightly in my hand
& buried it in the dawn
of our local park
under a recently planted
red rose bush.
In my grief
flower & baby
became one
and night after night I climbed
over high railings & even higher stars
to talk to her in the dark in Irish.
Or sing: My Love is like a Red Red Rose.
Or cry...or...cry.
Almost got arrested one night
by an Irish cop
drawn to the sound
of Irish emerging from darkness.
Guess he let me go because - it wouldn’t look good
on a charge sheet:
“The defendant was talking
& crying to...a flower.”
- in Irish.
Eist...eist
(listen...listen)
duinne eagin ag caoineadh
(someone is crying)
in a dorchasan
(in his darkness) .
Fill...fill...a run o!
Fill a run o is na imigh uaim.
Fill orm a chuisle a stor
agus chifeadh tu an gloire... ma fhillean tu!
This is a very important poem for me and not just any poem
due to the nature of what it deals it. It took me 10 years to get around to writing it and this is about the 4th version that struggles to be even able to grasp it. It is not the easiest of poems to recite but then...
I enclose the poem itself and the bit in the Times article that deals with me.
Most times people don't know what to do with it and are generally embarrassed by what it talks about or how I faced up to it.
For me it is like gathering my baby back from the dark and making her real again and giving her a place in this world.
It is a lament and lullaby at the one and the same time and also of course a statement of love.
People who have lost babies come up to me and it is a relief for them to be able to talk about children who have vanished from this world but not from their world.
THE TIMES - LONDON: SAT 31.04.07
Article on Performance orientated poetry:
'Donall is 51, with wild hair and an infectious laugh, working as a special needs teacher in Tottenham. He started performing to recover from severe paralysis that made talking painful and difficult.
He reads a poem that recalls the death of his unborn child.
'Early in my wife's pregnancy, in the middle of the night, we lost the baby, it happened at home and there was blood everywhere. My wife said: 'Don't flush my baby away! ” I didn't know what to do so I buried the foetus beneath a rose bush in our local park.
You just can't be prepared for something like that, holding something in your hand that you never thought you'd be holding. The poem was my solution to the impossible situation I was in.
There had to be somewhere where I could lay down the pain.
There are people out there grateful to have this grief articulated for them, for helping them to understand, or just be aware. It is healing for them and for me.'
The poem is beautifully lyrical, written in a blend of Irish and English.
