Friday, January 4, 2013

An Sulán

An Sulán

Oíche amháin agus na gaoithe Santa Ana ag séideadh go láidir os mo chionn tháinig mé ar dhán faoin Sulán agus bhí fonn orm é a aistriú go Gaeilge. D'aithin mé an áit mar bhí mé ag Féile na Laoch http://feilenalaoch.com/ i gCúil Aodha i gCo.Coraigh an samhradh roimhe sin. Bhí ceol, filíocht, rince, is aisteoireacht den scoth ann in aice leis an Sulán, abhainn firinsceanach a bhfuil íobairt ag teastáil uaidh gach seacht mbliain le réir na scéalta a mhaireann.


An Sulán le Seán Ó Céilleachair

Mise an Sulán, fuar, fada, fireann, I am the Sulawn, cold, long, manly strong
Anois an t-am cá bhfuil an duine? Now is the time, where’s the person I’m owed?
Sin é a deirim is mé ag rith le fuinneamh, That’s what I say as I’m driven along
Ar mo bhealach chun farraige síos thar an Muileann. On my way to the sea by the mill below.

Is fada ‘s is casta é mo chúrsa, ‘Tis long and crooked the journey I make
Ó’n tobairín taobh le Barr a’ Chúma. From the little well by mountain’s peak.
Is mall é mo thuras ‘s is uaigneach, ‘Tis slow my trip, ‘tis a lonely way
Trí páirceanna, portacha ‘s díoganna cúnga. As I pass through fields and ditches and peat.

Is minic a ghluaisim thar mo bhruacha, ‘Tis often I spill o’er my banks to the land
Ar mo thuras dom soir trí Baile Mhúirne. As through Ballyvourney on eastward I flow.
Is árd ‘s is freagrach mo ghuth ar uairibh, At times it grows strong, my voice’s demand
Le linn dom síneadh go deireadh mo chúrsa. As I stretch on towards the end of the road.


Is iomaí gearán is cnáimhseáil a chuala, I’ve heard many complaints and many a whine
Ó’n iascaire searúsach is é go buartha. Coming from bitter fishermen’s ranks.
Ba mhinic dó áfach bradán a sciobadh, Even still ’tis from me the salmon they swipe,
Istigh im lár nó gar dom bhruacha. From out of my belly or from close to my banks.

Na h-oícheanta geimhridh is ea bhím-sé brónach, On winter nights I’m sad, without hope
An talamh máguaird is mo bhruacha reoite. All the land nearby ‘n my banks frozen dead.
Creathán im ghuth is an sioc im scórnach, A waver in my voice and frost in my throat
Brat ós mo chionn is é fuar ceomhar. A foggy cold is a cloak o’er my head. 

Le teacht an earraigh is ea’ thagann an mhúscailt, As Spring arrives, the awakening begins
Is caithim-se díom an fhéachaint ghruama. And I throw off my look of dreary black.
Éiríonn lem neart is braithim an fústar, I rise with strength and again feel the whims
‘S tagann arís an fonn is an fuadar. And the hustle and bustle, it all comes back.

An samhradh sámh taithníonn go mór liom, Tranquil summer really pleases me,
Is deas é an gáire is an comhluadar, ‘Tis nice the laughter and the company.
Daoine ag siúl ar mo bhruacha, On my banks the people are walking you see,
Cuid acu aerach is cuid acu buartha. Some happy, others feeling less so free.

Orthu go léir bím-se ag faire, I watch them as I move along,
An buchaillín óg is an gearrchaile, Young lads and young lassies all.
An fear meán aosta is an gaiscíoch láidir, Middle aged men and heroes so strong
‘S bím-se á mealladh chun mo línnte a shnámhadh. ‘Swim in my waters,’ to people I call.

Go hobann ansan is ea thárlaíonn sé, It happens then suddenly all out of nowhere,
Is tosnaíonn an t-olagán is an caoineadh. The weeping starts,  the keening is loud.
An fear mór groí is é fuar sínte, A big strong man now stretched out cold there,
Amuigh ar mo bhruach i measc slua mór daoine. Out on my bank, in the midst of the crowd.

Gluaisim liom ansan ar mire Then in a frenzy I move along
Is fágaim im ‘dhiaidh an gol is an caoineadh. And leave behind me the weeping and woe.
Mar mise an Sulán fuar fada fireann, For I am the Sulawn cold, long, manly strong
Tháinig an t-am is sciobas an duine. The time came and I snatched the one I was owed.

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