قصيدة مهداة لي ... من شاعرة أسكوتلندية
هذه قصيدة للشاعرة الأسكوتلندية Elizabeth M Rimmer وهي مهداة لي
أنا ترجمتها
ولكنها ترجمة على قدّي
وأحب أن أراها مترجمة بشكل جيد ممن يتطوع لذلك
سأضع نبذة عن الشاعرة ، ومناسبة القصيدة لاحقا
Orpheus Plays
For Iyad Hayatleh
Poetry in the Garden starts
when Colin strikes the small Tibetan bowl.
The warmed and singing bronze awakes
A humming clarity, which sounds
through noise of knife and fork, book sales,
poets checking one another out,
and gathers stillness from the rainy night.
Later, Gaelic, Arabic and Greek
will take the song from tongue to tongue,
Goltraighe, geantraighe, suantraighe. It seems
presumptuous to claim
that poetry has power to move
much in the grinding moneyed world,
but Iyad, remember Orpheus
playing before the Faerie King,
on bagpipes, lyre or Breton harp,
the notes of sorrow, notes of joy and notes
of peace, while Hell falls silent.
All the cruel and unusual pain
stops for one moment, the lifeless courts
and derelict halls resounding
with the music, with the chance
for respite, wisdom, hope.
The Gaelic terms describe the three traditional modes of music.
Goltraighe- ‘the weeping strain’ lament
Geantraighe - ‘the laughing strain’ dance
Suantraighe - ‘the sleeping strain’ lullaby
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