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Pól Ó Lorcáin
Paul Larkin

Chroniclers are privileged to enter where they list, to come and go through keyholes, to ride upon the wind, to overcome in their soarings up and down, all obstacles of distance, time and place.
Charles Dickens - Barnaby Rudge, Chapter The Ninth

PIN SHARP

(English translation is below)

An tseachtain seo chaite, ghlac mo mhac, Eoghan beag John Shéimí, cinneadh giota craic a bheith aige agus camchuairt a dhéanamh thart timpeall na cathrach leis féin agus muid I lár Bhaile Átha Cliath. Tá Eoghan s’againne dhá bhliain go leith d’aois agus ni gá dom a rá go fhuair mise agus a mham scaradh bocht. Is é le buíochas mór le Dia na glóire go bhuair muid ar ais é, nó go raibh se píosa fada ar shúil nuair a fuair muid é. Cibé ar bith, scríobh mé dán fá dtaobh dó a bhfuil le feiceáilt thíos.

Léigh an t-alt uilig - Read Full Article....

Women Prefer Freud – Men Prefer Football

I once went out with a singer from Jamaica. A very beautiful and passionate person who talked all the time. She was the human embodiment of a series of explosions, in minor or major, about to happen. Anyway, we were at a social gathering in London where rice and peas, chicken and goat curry was being served and I was ecstatically happy to be amongst all these Jamaicans who knew so much and were so proud of the anti-colonial struggle that the “little” Irish had prosecuted against the “Empire”. I went quiet for a period, however, because I could just about hear the soccer commentary coming from a neighbouring garden if I stood by the adjoining fence and munched quietly.
Unbeknownst to me, Estelle, that was her name, saw the scene as described above in a totally different light. I had withdrawn into a corner because I was annoyed with her about something she had said the night before. She then tortured herself trying to discover what it was. She decided she knew what it was, approached me just as Man United were about to score a goal and apologised for saying to me that race might be a factor in our possible future relationship. “Ah yer fucker!”, I said, because, my team had just blown a great chance to get a goal. The match ended ten minutes later and my brain resumed normal service with the world outside only to find that Estelle had disappeared and the rice and peas had gone cold on my plate.
Years later, Estelle got married and I met her at a jazz club in Camden Town. I asked her why she had walked out that day and she, diplomatically, told me that she had realised that it was never going to work. I told her about the football match and she said – “well that just proves my point sugarbaby”.

An Óg-Tuathánach

Ag Pósadh Eileen Geraghty
An Luimneach
Mí Lúnasa 2006

An Óg-Tuathánach

Sleamhnaíonn sé saghas
Faiteach compordach
Suas chuig an micreafón
Lámh amháin sa phóca
É ag luascadh anois
Dála crainn óig aird
Ag fanacht le gaoth,
An slua ar bís.
Agus réitíonn sé a ghob
Ar nós cuma leis,
Agus shilfeá gurb é,
Sular osclaíonn sé
A bhéal tanaí cúthail
Go nochtadh domhan eile.

Creathadh na heorna
Comhcheol na naomh
Croílár na féile
Bás tobann
A n-eascraíonn ó áit
Nach bhfuil fhios aige féin

Glór Dé ó dhúchas
Glór an dóchais
Glóir an dualgais
In aghaidh an dorchadais

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