Conriocht [Werewolf]

Chonac smólach marbh sa choill
é seargtha ar an screablach.
Bhíos ag déanamh trua de
nuair a tháinig madraí de rúid
is thugadar ruathar fúm
ag snapadh, ag glamadh
agus drant orthu.
Uaimse do tháinig liúbhéic,
gach bagairt is buille coise:
Bhí ina bhúirchath eadrainn.
Chorraigh na ba sna goirt
is chuireadar leis an gcór allta.
Theith lucha is dallóga fraoigh
isteach faoin doire donn,
sheas madra rua ar shiolpa,
a cholainn iomlán righin.
Chuimhníos ar mo choisíocht;
bhí ceithre chrúb fúm.







I saw a thrush-corpse shriveling
on the woodland’s scrabbly floor.
I was busy pitying it
when there came a harrying pack
of strays that set about me;
they bayed and snapped,
growling bare-toothed.
From my throat such roaring;
my every curse and foot-swing
made a bellow-war between us.
Fields of agitated cattle
augmented that wild choir.
Mice and shrewmice shrunk back
into the oakleaf brown interior
as a fox reared upward on a stony ridge,
its stance utterly rigid.
I remembered to run,
felt the four paws under me.

Translated from the Irish by Billy Ramsell

More Poems by Ailbhe Ní Ghearbhuigh