viernes, 25 de enero de 2013

Austin Clarke: St Christopher








ST Christopher


el niño sostenido por su fuerza,
atado como los troncos en la creciente,
se convirtió en un gigante cuyo peso
desgarró el río de la orilla
casi quebrando los huesos del santo.
Fabulista,  ¿puede un estado enfermo
como el nuestro, llevar una iglesia tan grande
en sus espaldas?


Austin Clarke (1896-1974), Poesía Irlandesa Contemporánea, Libros Tierra Firme
Versión: Gerardo Gambolini



ST Christopher

Child that his strength upbore
knotted as tree-trunks in the spate
became a giant, whose weight
unearthed the river from the shore
till saint's bones were acrack
Fabulist, can an ill state
like ours, carry so great
a church upon its back?



Canción tradicional: The Irish Rover







The Irish Rover

                                                Traditional



On the fourth of July eighteen hundred and six
We set sail from the sweet cove of Cork
We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks
For the grand city hall in New York
'Twas a wonderful craft, she was rigged fore-and-aft
And oh, how the wild winds drove her.
She'd got several blasts, she'd twenty-seven masts
And we called her the Irish Rover.

We had one million bales of the best Sligo rags
We had two million barrels of stones
We had three million sides of old blind horses hides,
We had four million barrels of bones.
We had five million hogs, we had six million dogs,
Seven million barrels of porter.
We had eight million bails of old nanny goats' tails,
In the hold of the Irish Rover.

There was awl Mickey Coote who played hard on his flute
When the ladies lined up for his set
He was tootin' with skill for each sparkling quadrille
Though the dancers were fluther'd and bet
With his sparse witty talk he was cock of the walk
As he rolled the dames under and over
They all knew at a glance when he took up his stance
And he sailed in the Irish Rover

There was Barney McGee from the banks of the Lee,
There was Hogan from County Tyrone
There was Jimmy McGurk who was scarred stiff of work
And a man from Westmeath called Malone
There was Slugger O'Toole who was drunk as a rule
And fighting Bill Tracey from Dover
And your man Mick McCann from the banks of the Bann
Was the skipper of the Irish Rover

We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out
And the ship lost it's way in a fog.
And that whale of the crew was reduced down to two,
Just meself and the captain's old dog.
Then the ship struck a rock, oh Lord what a shock
The bulkhead was turned right over
Turned nine times around, and the poor dog was drowned
I'm the last of the Irish Rover 




jueves, 24 de enero de 2013

William Butler Yeats: Balance







Un aviador irlandés prevé su muerte


Sé que encontraré mi destino
en algún lugar arriba, entre las nubes.
No odio a aquel contra quien lucho,
no amo a aquel a quien defiendo;
mi tierra es Kiltartan Cross;
mis paisanos, los pobres de Kiltartan.
Ningún final probable les causaría pérdida
o los haría más felices que antes.
Ninguna ley, ningún deber me ordenó luchar,
ni hombre público ni vítores de la multitud,
un impulso solitario de placer
me condujo a este tumulto en las nubes;
todo fue sopesado, todo traje a la mente:
los años por venir, desperdicio de esfuerzo,
desperdicio de esfuerzo los años pasados.
En equilibrio con esa vida, esta muerte.



W.B. Yeats, (Dublín, 1865 -Roquebrune-Cap-Martin, Francia, 1939),The Wild Swans at Coole, 1919
Versión J. Aulicino


An Irish Airman Foresees His Death
I know that I shall meet my fate /Somewhere among the clouds above;/Those that I fight I do not hate,/Those that I guard I do not love;/My country is Kiltartan Cross,/ My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,/No likely end could bring them loss/ Or leave them happier than before. /Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,/Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,/ A lonely impulse of delight/ Drove to this tumult in the clouds; /I balanced all, brought all to mind,/The years to come seemed waste breath,/A waste of breath the years behind /In balance with this life, this death.



martes, 8 de enero de 2013

Peter McCabe: fotografía




Peter McCabe es uno de los fotógrafos de paisajes más importantes de Irlanda. Es autodidacta y ha sido galardonado con importantes premios, sus fotos forman parte de las colecciones Irish Image Collection, Getty Design Pics & Corbis.
Su web: http://photoimagery.net/


 Baily Lighthouse, Dublin Bay, Irlanda




Upper Lake, Glendalough, Irlanda




Silver Strand, County Mayo, Irlanda