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DOWN THE LINE (poem) - Louis De Paor - Ireland - Poetry International
Sa chiúnas roimh theacht na traenach
seasann sí ar an ardán lom,
a meabhair chomh briosc le poirceallán,
néaróga chomh teann le dorn iata.
oícheanta lán de challán aonaigh,
ag tonnadh manaí grá ar a cluasa,
an t-aer ramhar le toit,
le boladh íle is allais,
nuair a shiúladh sí an tsráid,
mus feamainne ar a craiceann órtha,
chomh seang le horláiste,
Díríonn sí a drom
is critheann an domhan féna sála
nuair a bhrúnn an traein dorn iarainn
isteach i ngabhal an stáisiúin.
I mbaile nua fan na slí, tá fear
a chíorfaidh an liath dá gruaig,
a choimeádfaidh spadántacht na mblian
óna meabhair is óna com,
fear eile fós a chiúineoidh
greadadh glórach a croí.
In the silence before the train,
she stands on the unsheltered platform,
her mind brittle as porcelain,
nerves tight as a fist.
amongst all her scented things,
of nights loud with fairground noise,
its catchcries of love,
the air heavy with cigarette smoke,
the smell of oil and sweat,
when she walked the prom,
a tang of seaweed on her skin,
slim as an hourglass,
bright as a fallen angel.
She straightens her back
and the world moves under her
as the train grinds its teeth
and fists its way
In another town down the line
who’ll comb the grey from her hair,
who’ll keep the heaviness of time
from her mind, and from her waist,
a man she’s never met
who’ll slow her violent heartbeat.
© 2005, Louis De Paor
From: Ag Greadadh Bas sa Reilig
Publisher: Cló Iar-Chonnachta, Indreabhán, 2005
© Translation: 2005, Louis De Paor
From: Clapping in the Cemetery
Publisher: Cló Iar-Chonnachta, Indreabhàn, 2005, 1902420942
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