On the Edge of the Ocean
Is acher ingáith innoch …
The wind it’d cut you tonight …
hail and high seas for hours
car beams pick out the hail
driven horizontal by the wind
like streaks of light in a Van Gogh
later, clear starry night
too cold to stop to see
Li Po once stayed in an inn so cold,
he lifted his head to check the glare
at the foot of the bed, frost he’d taken
for the light of the full moon,
then dropped his head back down,
and thought on those of his far away,
sharing with him the light of the moon
daybreak, a coating of frost
far beyond the back fields, Slieve League,
the tip of Knocknarea lightly dusted,
past Ardbolin, Nephin whiter still, an iceberg,
top to bottom, Ben Bulben
clouds change, light comes and goes,
squalls cross the sea,
waterlogged fields, wind picking up
the land slips in and out of view
la casa és buida quan tu no hi ets*
pacing the floors of the rooms of the house
taking its measures, learning its spaces,
the views from its windows
my place in Ireland, our home
… yf my love were in my Armys
and I yn my bed Agayne
Seán Golden
*the house is empty when you’re not here
On the Edge of the Ocean by Seán Golden quotes from two poems, ‘Westron wynde’ written in Middle English and ‘Acher in Gaíth’ in old Irish, translated by Seán.
Acher in Gaíth
(Anonymous, Old Irish)
Is acher in gaith innocht,
fu fúasna fairggae findfolt:
ni ágor réimm mora minn
dond láechraid lainn úa Lothlind.
The wind it’d cut you tonight
The wind it’d cut you tonight
it’s whipping the wild sea white:
No fear of their cruising the waters
those war hordes out of Norway.
Westron wynde
(Anonymous, middle English)
Westron wynde when wyll thow blow
the smalle rayne down can Rayne
Cryst yf my love were in my Armys
and I yn my bed Agayne