Imagine

(The poem was translated to the Irish by Gabriel Rosenstock and follows below)

Imagine if you will an old woman who lives in a room.
Fearing that death would arrive in a clever disguise.
She locked herself inside as the only place to hide.
Extolling the value of light over darkness for the health of the soul.

Fearing the dark from an early age,
Not knowing the light calls out nothing if not the dark.
Equal to equal, part to part
Nothing unique to one and not the other,
The day retains and the night remains, one.

Her eyes they fall upon her hands,
The thinning skin, the flaking cells
Portend the dark to come.
Rising with each moment, a dark swell upon the sea.
Her fear controls, consumes her
To leave this life so sweet.

And nothing remains the same upon this mortal plane.
Entropy surrounds us, on our right, and on our left.
Within us, without us, the only constant, change.
And aging she wishes to hold tight to the light while keeping the dark at bay.
Wave after wave breaks upon her shore, the door.

Imagine if you will a woman locked in a room
Locked away to hold back the night'
Locked within herself
No legs to run, no voice to cry, no eyes with which to see.
No matter a nightmare or a day mare that carries her away
She will hold on beyond the end.

As she waits for her appointed date of one thing she is sure,
That death can come disguised.
So ever vigilant she remains behind her frozen door
Trapped in the amber of distress, her life is nothing more.
When at last death did its task, in a kind and gentle way,
She drifted euphorically upon the wind
Realizing belatedly that not living is life's only sin.

A new womb, a new way
A decidedly delicious way to start a new day.
Walking through the night, she realized there is no right.

Samhlaigh

Samhlaigh más maith leat seanbhean ina cónaí i seomra,
Eagla uirthi go n-aimseodh an bás í faoi bhréagriocht cliste.
Chuir sí í féin faoi ghlas, an t-aon chró folaigh ann is istigh ab ea é,
Ag moladh an tsolais thar an doircheacht ar mhaithe leis an anam.

B'eagal léi an doircheacht ó thús a hóige,
Gan fhios aici nach nglaonn an solas amach aon ní eile ach an doircheacht.
Cothrom, i bpáirt lena chéile,
Níl aon ní ar le ceann acu nach leis an gceann eile é.
Coinníonn an lá an t-aon, agus sé an oíche é.

Titeann a súile ar a lámha,
An craiceann ag tanú, cealla ina gcáitheadh
Mar réamhinsint ar an doircheacht atá le teacht.
Ag éirí i dtólamh, suaill dhorcha i muir.
Rialaíonn an eagla í, cnaíonn í,
An bheatha mhilis seo a thréigean.

Agus níl aon ní buan ar an saol seo.
Fuinneamh tréigthe inár dtimpeall, soir is siar.
Laistigh dínn, lasmuigh dínn, an t-aon athrú gan athrú.
Ag dul in aois di, greim aici ar an solas, ag cúbadh ón doircheacht.
Tonn i ndiaidh toinne ag briseadh ar an trá úd aici, an doras.

Samhlaigh más maith leat bean faoi ghlas i seomra
Faoi ghlas d'fhonn an oíche a choimeád uaithi
Faoi ghlas inti féin
Cosa gan luaill, guth gan éamh, súile gan radharc.
Is cuma cén tromluí lá nó oíche a bhéarfaidh chun siúil í
Coimeádfaidh sí greim go heireaball siar.

Agus í ag fanacht le huair na cinniúna tá aon ní amháin cinnte,
Tiocfaidh an bás faoi bhréagriocht.
Síorairdeallach fanann sí laistiar den doras reoite
Gafa in ómra na haimléise, ní faic níos mó é a saol.
Nuair a ghníomhaigh an bás sa deireadh, ar bhealach caoin cineálta,
Ghabh sí faoi aoibhneas ar an ngaoth
Agus tuigeadh di, ba mhall ach ba mhithid, nach bhfuil de pheaca ann
Ach gan do shaol a chaitheamh.

Broinn nua, slí nua
Tús deas le lá nua ambaiste.
Ag siúl tríd an doircheacht di, ba léir nach raibh aon cheart ann.

^

Biography

F.E.Faunt has had several poems published. He has had poems published the Irish Newspaper, La and in the Sligo based Flaming Arrows, issue 6. He takes his inspiration from W.B.Yeats and the beautiful land and people of Donegal and Cork. The first poem he had published and the first he wrote was at the age of twelve on the death of John F. Kennedy. He resides in the rural countryside of Southern New Jersey.