Cnámh – Bone

And my second poem for St. Patrick’s Day, again from Nuala Ní Dhohmnaill’s Selected Poems: Rogha Dánta, ably translated by Michael Hartnett but with my poor translation below instead.

Cnámh

Tráth

ba chnámh mé

ar an má

i measc na gcnámharlach eile.

Sa ghaineamhlach iargúlta

i lár na gcloch is na gcarraigeacha

bhíos lom, bán.

Tháinig an ghaoth,

puth d’anála,

shéid sé an t-anam

ionam.

Dhein díom bean,

múnlaithe as ceann

d’easnacha Adhaimh.

Th´inig an gála,

shéid sé go láidir,

chuala do ghuth

ag glaoch orm sa toirneach.

Dhein díom Éabha,

máthair an chine.

Dhíolas m’oidhreachtthar ceann mo chlainne.

Mhalartaíos úll

ar an dúil ba shine.

Fós

is crámh mé.

Bone

Once

I was a bone

on the plain

mixed with other skeletons.

In a lonely desert

among the rocks and stones

I was bare, white.

The wind came,

a puff of breath,

it blew the soul

into me.

I was made woman,

molded from

Adam’s rib.

The storm came,

blew forcefully,

I heard your voice

calling to me through the thunder.

I was made Even,

mother of the race.

I sold my birthright

for the sake of my children.

I traded an apple

for the most basic desire.

Yet still

I am a bone.

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