I'M A POET?

I was never one for poetry but when I was in school the teacher caught me doing what I thought was a frivolous translation of a French poem. To my surprise he thought it was very good and told me to keep at it.

Now I know that doesn't make me a poet but I just wanted to set the context.

I have dabbled in Limericks and, in my own view, some of them were of a higher standard than what passes for poetry in some quarters, but I am not going to insist on it.

It has, in any event, now become irrelevant as I have just become a published poet.

Admittedly it is only one line, and the "poem" in which it occurs is not the best, despite some very good individual lines. But my one line has been published by no less a group than Poetry Ireland.

The project is called the Poemathon with Older People, and it is designed to capture the thoughts and imaginings of older people right now in society.

You can read about it on their website where there is a link to the full poem (pdf). My line is the second line on page 19.

The line reads: "Another grey hair shed in the departure lounge"

I suppose if I have any claim on poetry it is as a translator. I have published four of my translations on my website.

The first is the poem Aistear (Journey) by Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill. This came out of a request from my cousin Carmel to translate the poem. She had been given an alternative translation and wanted to compare the two. I was never told where I came in that league.

Next is the poem Fornocht do Chonac Thú by Pádraig Mac Piarais. I came across the original in school and I think it is the nearest thing I'll ever see to a perfect poem. Pearse himself has translated it but more by way of a line by line guide than a poem itself. So I couldn't resist the temptation to have a go at it. It would probably take a Heaney or more to do a proper job on it, as I consider it untranslateable at the end of the day, so I had to take a few liberties with it to try and get the meaning and feel of the poem across.

Then there was Mo Bheirt ar Altram by Aodh Ó Domhnaill, a beautiful tribute by him to his two adopted children. Sinéad Ní Uallacháin gave a beautiful reading of this poem at Aodh's funeral and his French nieces had asked me to translate it for them as their Irish is understandably not up to the task.

And, finally, another of Aodh's poems Nóirín, a charming celebration of the innocence of his then four year old daughter, Nóirín.

I have written some songs, but I'm not sure that they would class as poetry, more likely versification.

The first, written in 1963, has de Gaulle taking a poke at the British, a theme today once more brexiting into topicality. The second is a sort of comic version of an EU Chef de Cabinet written shortly after we joined the EEC. And the third is a day in the life of a conscientious civil servant. All three are in French.

The only one I have "recorded" so far is the Chef de Cabinet. I don't think I'd be wise to apply for a job in Brussels anytime soon!