QUOTE(Noel @ Jun 25 2003, 07:57 PM)
k flicked through all this.....i will read it sometime
but tis nice ta see irish language being used...me trying to learn it in frickin scool n can barely speak it.....tis a disgrace what the brits have done to our heritage
newho will reply soon
...I've read a poem called "1845-1848" some time ago...
This might become a bit long, but I think it's worth it...
Sl�n go f�ill,
...Roidsear
1845-1848Men and women of the Gael, you've been duped for years
By self-serving propaganda that's fallen on your ears
For the conqueror wrote the history books,
which were doctored just to say That the world might understsand it in the proper English way.
A chairde d�lse Gaelacha, nach oraibh dallach dubh!
Tr� bholscaireacht fh�inch�iseach at� curtha go tr�an tiubh,
Scr�obh an clo�teoir cuntais, de r�ir a shainte fh�in,
Go gclaonfa� a cuid ghn�omhara i dt�ortha 'bfad i gc�in.
In 1838 the Irish Poor Law said
That you must stay put in Ireland and pay tax on corn for bread
And you mustn't gather seaweed or fish in streams or lakes
And the "Landlords own the coastline" where the Irish ocean breaks.
Ocht d�ag ocht is tr�ocha, buna�odh an ch�in,
De r�ir Dhl� Bocht na h�ireann, ar arbhar an ar�in,
Gan baili� iasc n� feamainne on bhfarraige mar ba gn�th,
D�irt an riail dhaingean: "Is leis an tiarna 'n th�th!"
Now this wondrous law was authored to break the Irish race
By the same bloodline as Cromwell, who despised an Irish face
Or better still to force them off the land forever more
To wander up and down the roads, throughout all Province four.
Ba � cusp�ir an dl� seo s�or-bhriseadh na nGael,
C�is ghr�nach do Phor Chromail iad, t�'s ag c�ch an sc�al,
B'fearr leo iad dibrithe, gan teach, gan teallach cho�ch',
Ag sireadh T�r na h�ireann, ar f�n sa l�, san o�ch'.
Now we all know what a famine is, at least we think we do
We've seen in Ethiopia, a definition true
With no water, grain or living thing on the parched desert floor
And every blade of scrub picked clean and not a chance for more.
Tuigimid an gorta, n�l amhras againn faoi,
Chonacthas san Aet�ip �, t�r ioml�n ina lu�,
Gan uisce, gr�n, n� cr�at�r beo amuigh san fh�sach lom,
Gach tr�ithn�n tirim imithe, an l�irscrios ann go trom.
What we've been told of Ireland is thus it was the same
But anyone who's been there must cringe at this dread claim
A land so lush in greenery, where fish and fowl abound
With fields of golden corn and wheat the entire country round.
Is deirtear gur in �irinn a bh� an c�s maraon,
Ach an t� a chum an sc�al sin, �n bhf�rinne a chlaon,
Machair� fairsing' fli�irseacha, na h�in 's na h�isc is fearr
Talamh m�ith na t�re, at� torth�il � bhun go barr.
But, 150 years ago, the Landlords taxed them well
Then sent the tax to England to help the coffers swell
Forcing the tenant farmers to subsist an "spuds" alone
And nothing else in their green land were they allowed to own.
Ach c�ad is caoga bliain � shoin, ghearr na tiarna� tal�n,
An ch�in ar chuile bhluir', is sheol an brabach go Lond�n,
Ag f�g�il feirmeoir� tion�nta gan ach fata� fann' le n-ith',
Is � shaibhreas chr� na t�re, n� bhfaighid�s rud ar bith.
Then, in 1845, came the first potato blight
Which began four years which have been called
"Ireland's Darkest Night"
And as the English watched this crop rotting in the fields
They forbade the Gael from living on the other harvest yields.
In ocht c�ad c�ig is daichead a th�inig ar an saol,
D'�chan ar na prata�, c�is l�ano�ch' na nGael,
C� gurab eol i Sasana gur le lobhadh a thit an barr
N�or ligeadh dona hEireannaigh aon toradh eile a ghearr.
And it wasn't just the Irish crop that failed, despite their claim
But the French and Dutch and German spuds
were rotted just the same
But they didn't starve, they just switched their staple by the rood
While English troops denied the Gael all but this one food.
Is n� hamh�in in �irinn na pr�ta� nua a chlis,
San Ghearm�in, s'Fhrainc, san Ollain, an barr c�anna a bhris,
Anuas ar na tuathanaigh, ach n� bhfuair �inne b�s,
Bh� bia eil' infhaighte, ach in �irinn n�orbh � an c�s.
And while the people starved to death because of poisoned spuds
The shipping lanes to England were packed with Irish goods
There were tons of wheat and barley, oats and beets and more
Being unloaded onto English docks from bulging holds galore.
Is le lucht 'f�il bh�is �n ocras, n�or cuireadh isteach ar shruth,
Na soitheach tr�d�la ag gabh�il soir i gcruth,
S�or-fholmh� bia na h�ireann, idir choirce agus eorn',
Chruithneacht agus bhiatais, go Sasana gan teor'nn.
Up above the grains and greens that left the Irish coast
Were pigs and sheep and cattle plundered from the starving host
To say nothing of the hens and eggs and butter by the pound
While the only food they left us was rotting in the ground.
Is ar bharr an ghr�n is glasra� a d'�alaigh as an t�r,
Caoirigh, mairt is muca, n�or f�gadh ar gc�l m�r,
Cearca, im is uibheacha, chuadar go tiubh,
Is n�or f�ghadh ag na h�ireannaigh ach pr�ta� lofa dubh'.
Relief supplies were sent from America in '47
Believing that a famine had plagued our island heaven
They, too, had fallen victim to this greatest English lie
That let the English eat our food and watch the Irish die.
Th�inig c�namh faoisimh � Mheirice�, daichead 's a seacht,
Ag creidbhe�il gur in �irinn a bh� gorta in ndiaidh teacht,
Cuireadh dallach dubh orthu, ba mhillteannach an bhr�ag,
A lig do Shasanaigh bheith buan, is d'�ireannaigh dul in �ag!
And still you call it "famine" tho' we know you're not to blame
For when we say what we've been told, we hide the English shame
Remember all the "coffin ships", then cast the word aside
And call it what you know it is . . . call it GENOCIDE.
Is tugtar 'gorta' air sin f�s, n� oraibhse an locht,
Na Sasanaigh a cheap �, ag d�anamh iarracht' bocht,
An fh�rinne a cheilt, cuirim�s uainn an focal fann,
Us�idig� an t�arma ceart: CINEDH�OTH� 'bh� ann.
� le M�che�l � M�ille 1994
Uait�ar Stock a d'aistrigh.
(Translated by Walter Stock.)
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