Selected Poems: Rogha Dánta

by Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill, Michael Hartnett (Translator)

Now regarded as a landmark in contemporary Irish literature.

Genres: Poetry, Irish Literature, Ireland

159 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1986

About the author

Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill (born 1952) is an Irish poet.

Born in Lancashire, England in 1952, of Irish parents, she moved to Ireland at the age of 5, and was brought up in Corca Dhuibhne and in Nenagh, County Tipperary. Her uncle was Monsignor Pádraig Ó Fiannachta of An Daingean, the leading authority alive on Munster Irish. She studied English and Irish at UCC in 1969 and became part of the 'Innti' school of poets. In 1973, she married Turkish geologist Dogan Leflef and lived abroad in Turkey and Holland for seven years. Her mother brought her up to speak English, though she was Irish herself. Her father and his side of the family spoke very fluent Irish and used it every day, but her mother thought it would make life easier for Nuala if she spoke English instead.

One year after her return to County Kerry in 1980, she published her first collection of poetry in Irish, An Dealg Droighin (1981), and became a member of Aosdána. Ní Dhomhnaill has published extensively and her works include poetry collections, children’s plays, screenplays, anthologies, articles, reviews and essays. Her other works include Féar Suaithinseach (1984); Feis (1991), and Cead Aighnis (2000). Ní Dhomhnaill's poems appear in English translation in the dual-language editions Rogha Dánta/Selected Poems (1986, 1988, 1990); The Astrakhan Cloak (1992), Pharaoh's Daughter (1990), The Water Horse (2002), and The Fifty Minute Mermaid (2007). Selected Essays appeared in 2005.

Dedicated to the Irish language she writes poetry exclusively in Irish and is quoted as saying ‘Irish is a language of beauty, historical significance, ancient roots and an immense propensity for poetic expression through its everyday use’. Ní Dhomhnaill also speaks English, Turkish, French, German and Dutch fluently.

An article on- and interview with Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill by Éamonn Ó Dónaill can be read (in Irish only) here: http://beo.ie/alt-nuala-ni-dhomhnaill...

Reviews

[Fionnuala]

For background information about the poet Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill, see my review of her Selected Essays
In the meantime, here's a sample of her poetry:

We Are Damned, My Sisters

We are damned, my sisters,
we who swam at night
on beaches, with the stars
laughing with us
we shreiking with delight
with the coldness of the tide
without shifts or dresses
as innocent as infants.
We are damned my sisters.
...
We didn't darn stockings
we didn't comb or tease
...
We preferred to be shoeless by the tide
dancing singly on the wet sand
the piper's tune coming to us
on the kind Spring wind, than to be
indoors making strong tea for the men--
and so we are damned, my sisters!

Translated from Irish by the poet Michael Hartnett

Labysheedy (The Silken Bed)

I'd make a bed for you
in Labasheedy
in the tall grass
under the wrestling trees
where your skin
would be silk
in the darkness
when the moths are coming down.

Skin which glistens
shining over your limbs
like milk being poured
from jugs at dinnertime;
your hair is a herd of goats
moving over rolling hills,
hills that have high cliffs
over two ravines.

And your damp lips
would be sweet as sugar
at evening and we walking
by the riverside
with honeyed breezes
blowing over the Shannon
and the fuchsias blowing down to you one by one.

The fuchsias bending low
their folemn heads in obeisance to beauty
in front of them
I would pick a pair of flowers
as pendant earrings
to adorn you
like a bride in shining clothes

O I'd make a bed for you
in Labasheedy,
in the twilight hour
with evening falling slow
and what a pleasure it would be
to have our limbs entwine
wrestling
while the moths are coming down.

Translated from Irish by the author

A Journey

I leave behind
in a hazy mist
this wind-swept countryside;
the shadows of mountains
towering in a half-circle
over the white strand
where long ago the heroes
killed each other,
fighting over
whatever it is that heroes
fight over.

In the neighbourhood of Burnham
I meet my first trees,--
palms,
planted by the planters
the De Moleyns.
The tree in the hedge
still lives
but not the hand
meanwhile nuns
glide through the lofty rooms
of their demesne.
Barnacles and mussels
grown on the hulls of boats,
Oysters cluster round the memories.

The day itself
spins past me fast
as wind,--the bus, the train.
We go through a tunnel
and emerge again in a tall city
and on the platform, through the fog
of steam and noise, the loud cries
of a multitude of people
you are coming towards me.
I recognise the slope of your shoulder,
your footstep,
and now at last, your voice.

Translated from Irish by the author

[Christin · Rating 5 out of 5]

A comprehensive survey of Ni Dhomhnaill's early work with the consistency of Michael Hartnett's translations, which lack a little of the glamourous touches of some of her rockstar translators, like Muldoon or Heaney, but for the most part, they are more faithful to the Irish idiom. A great place to start, and there are plenty of poems I want to spend more time with, like her Medb sequence and "Cnamh/Bone."

[Ali · Rating 4 out of 5]

Some really great poems in here - from reflective to silly, sensuous to spiritual. An interesting volume in that it had the original poem in Gaelic beside the translation in English. I wish there had been some commentary on the translation, why the huge variety of translators was necessary, for example, but even still it was the perfect companion to a peaceful holiday in the woods.

[Matt · Rating 4 out of 5]

"But when I recall
your kiss
I shake, and all
that lies
between my hips
liquifies
to milk."

[Donna · Rating 5 out of 5]

Most likely to be the book I most need to send to EK Buckley.