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BROKEN ANGELS Aingil Bhriste Gabriel Rosenstock © Copyright tanka in Irish and English: Gabriel Rosenstock 2021 Bilingual ekphrastic tanka – poems of love, longing and emptiness – in response to artwork by various hands. In Irish and English The artwork in this book is understood by the author to come under the category of Fair Use, that is to say, a) the images are widely available on the internet, and b) the images are not used in this free e-book for commercial gain. A bouquet of tanka poems in strict syllabic configuration of 5-7-5-7-7. BROKEN ANGELS Aingil Bhriste Gabriel Rosenstock is a bilingual poet, tankaist, novelist, haikuist, short story writer, playwright, essayist and translator. Blog | Books | Website Published in association with: Cross-Cultural Communications 239 Wynsum Avenue Merrick, NY 11566-4725/USA Tel: 516/868-5635 Fax: 516/379-1901 Email: cccpoetry@aol.com 5 Acknowledgements (Artwork: Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons and Fair Use) A few of these tanka first appeared in Feasta (Ireland), Café Dissensus (India) and Modern Literature (India). Gabhann an t-údar buíochas leis an gComhairle Ealaíon a thug Sparánacht dó chun luí isteach ar an tanka Gaeilge. The author gratefully acknowledges receipt of an Arts Council Bursary which has enabled him to continue with his experiments in Irish- language tanka. Artists Cover: Piet Mondrian Otto Eckmann Fernand Combes Otto Müller Giuseppe Arcimboldo Serge Sudeikin Hans Baldung Katsushika Hokusai Artur Bordalo Suzanne Valadon T. Kosztka Csontváry Kit Williams Martin Schongauer J.J.X. Bidauld Anita Malfatti J.Baptiste Vanmour Vincent van Gogh J.R. de Torres Michelangelo Walter Osborne Ludovic Allaume Ludwig Knaus John Singer Sargent H.A. Brendekilde Ferdinand Hodler Henry Scott Tuke C. Sprague Pearce ADW Winslow Homer Hugo Simberg Walter Gramatté Edvard Munch Eugène Burnand Max Liebermann Albin Egger-Lienz Benjamin West C.D. Friedrich Pieter Bruegel Auguste Rodin Sarah Purser Paul Gauguin Richard Friese Karl Lessing 7 Roderic O’Connor Henri Rousseau Hieronymous Bosch Jan Mankes Paul Nash Carl Larrson Vermeer Chaïm Soutine Paritosh Sen Otto Eckmann 9 I bhfuil an chorr oíche in ann í féin a fheiscint mura bhfeicfinn thú conas a chífinn mé féin grág na nduan sa doircheacht can the night heron see itself in the water if i can’t see You how then can i see my Self poems croaking in the darkness Fernand Combes 11 II folamh i d’éagmais gach sráid agus gach bóthar chuile chaochbhealach liath gach sráid is bóthar liath chuile chaochbhealach empty, without You, every street and every road every blind alley grey every street every road every blind alley is grey Otto Mueller 13 III deir an crann gabhlach gabh an tslí seo, an tslí sin fanfad faoina scáth ní thuigeann sé thú, a chuid ní thuigeann d’uileláithreacht the forked tree tells me go this way and go that way i’ll stay in its shade it does not understand You Your very omnipresence Giuseppe Arcimboldo 15 IV Aonghus fáin, ambaist is a cheann bocht trí thine mo dhála féin mhuis’ tuleáil an mhonsúin, a ghrá lasracha chun na díleann wandering Aonghus he had a fire in his head i too am ablaze monsoon rains pour down on me flames rise up to meet the flood Serge Sudeikin 17 V an ré ’na finné agus is leor sin domsa dá n-imeofá uaim d’iompóinnse chuicisin a nochtann a háilleacht dom the moon’s my witness and that is enough for me if You should leave me i ’d turn to her, Belovèd she who unveils her beauty Hans Baldung 19 VI táim faoi dhraíocht dar leo tá tú feicthe acu ar scuab ceisteoidh siad mé dófar ag an stáca mé (bhíos cheana i mo luaithreach) they claim i’m bewitched they have seen You ride a broom i’m to be questioned and later burned at the stake (i’m no stranger to ashes) Katsushika Hokusai 21 VII tá sé feicthe agam is nead seangán é Fuji ná géill d’aon duine níl aon ní mar fhéachann sé is tá leath an domhain faoi cheilt i have seen Fuji Belovèd, a mere anthill believe nobody nothing is quite what it is most of what’s real is unseen Yuwana 23 XIII bíonn an t-ioguána is é ag suirí, a chuid ag bobáil a chinn bhaineas triail as an gcleas sin tá mo cheann ag titim díom when it goes courting it does lots of head bobbing the iguana Belovèd, i have tried it now my head is falling off Suzanne Valadon 25 IX chomh ciúin le cat nó níos ciúine fós, a shearc bhfuil slí eile ann gan m’anáil a tharraingt fiú nó chaillfinn thú is cinnte as still as a cat or quieter still, Belovèd there’s no other way i mustn’t breathe – mustn’t blink or surely i will miss You Tivadar Kosztka Csontvary 27 X ‘cá bhfuil sí,’ ar sé (thugas mo dhánta don saoi) ‘ní fheicimse í!’ ní saoi thusa ar chor ar bith níor leagadh súil riamh uirthi ‘where is She,’ he asked (i’d given a sage my book) ‘i cannot see Her!’ you are not a sage, said i or you’d know She can’t be seen Martin Schongauer 29 XI is neach fiáin mé thugas mo chúl leis an domhan maide is sciath agam ar fán anois leis an ngaoth scairtim d’ainm leis an spéir i am a wild man i’ve forsaken society with club and with shield i wander where the wind blows roar Your name to the heavens Jean-Joseph-Xavier Bidauld 31 XII ealaí thús an lae tá tú feicthe acu d’íomhása á taisceadh acu nach é an trua é, a chuid nach leanann daoine a sampla swans of the morning gliding as though they’ve seen You – holding Your image if only it could be so for mankind too, Belovèd Kit Williams 33 XIII scaoileadh leat ab ea ní bheadh ciall ar bith leis sin scaoileadh liom Féinig? fáinleoga ag bailiú leo ach cá raghainnse, a stóirín ó should i let You go no, that makes no sense at all let go of my Self? swallows fly to Africa ah, but where have i to go Anita Malfatti 35 XIV amhrán cam é seo i dtigh cam a cumadh é gar do chonair cham bíodh an rud díreach ag cách táimse cam, a stóirín ó here’s a crooked song written in a crooked house near a crooked path let the world have its straight songs Belovèd, i am deviant Jean Baptiste Vanmour 37 XV file, deirbhíseach Yunus Emre: lá amháin cad a tharla dhó leáigh sé ann féin, a thaisce mar ór a ndéanfaí leacht de poet and dervish Yunus Emre saw himself as clear as daylight he melted into himself like flowing gold, Belovèd Vincent Van Gogh 39 XVI tar éis mheán oíche níl aon ní eile le rá i m’aonar atáim táthar ag ól apsainte chun rud éigin a dhearúd it ’s after midnight there is nothing more to say i am all alone everyone’s drinking absinthe what are we trying to forget Julio Romero de Torres 41 XVII canann an domhan duit lasmuigh de na dánta seo amhrán glas ón gcrann ón scairdeán amhrán spleodrach an chéad ghiolcadh ón ngearrcach all things chant for You not just these poems, Belovèd trees chant leafy songs fountains their bubbly songs the nestling’s first chirp is You Michelangelo 43 XVIII diabhail deamhain agus jinn deacair a gcumhacht a shéanadh gan éifeacht bíd nuair a luaimse d’ainm teitheann siad go maolchluasach devils demons jinn it’s hard to deny their power but what can they do Belovèd, i say Your name and they scatter sheepishly Mayfield Map Mosaic 45 XIX nach mbeadh fhios agat chuir na mapaí ar strae mé ní mór dom dul siar comhcheilg an domhain i m’aghaidh a chuisle, domhan seo na mbréag wouldn’t you know it the maps have led me astray i’ll retrace my steps the world conspires against me Belovèd, this world of lies Walter Osborne 47 XX Bleá Cliath, a thaisce roimh aimsir na réabhlóide is cuma shéimh air ach tá rud éigin san aer is fós in éamh na bhfaoileán Dublin, Belovèd before the revolution and all seems peaceful but there’s something in the air it pierces the seagull ’s cry Saint-Germain Vitrail 49 XXI feictear thú gach lá nó feictear uair amháin thú nó ní fheictear thú feictear thú i do Mhaighdean nó tagann siad ort i ndán some see You daily others once in a lifetime some never see You some find You in the Virgin others know You in a poem Ludwig Knaus 51 XXII an bandia thú bandia na síochána ní chreideann éinne i mbandéithe ná sa tsíth táimid damnaithe, a chuid are You a goddess the goddess of peace, perhaps who believes in You? no one believes any more we are all damned, Belovèd John Singer Sargent 53 XXIII tá tú feicthe acu do leagan siúil, a thaisce tá tú cloiste acu ní bhfuaireadar ach spléachadh ort nochtann tú is téann as amharc some swear they’ve seen You others swear they have heard You some describe Your walk at most they have had a glimpse You appear and disappear Hans Andersen Brendekilde 55 XXIV sea, tuigeann sé mé an Giúdach Fáin, a thaisce tuigimse eisean táimid ar fad ar deoraíocht is faobhar rásúir é an ród he understands me Belovèd, the Wandering Jew i understand him are we not all in exile this road is a razor’s edge Ferdinand Hodler 57 XXV im’ dheisitheoir lín gafa le hamhráin bhriste cá dtosóm, a chuid deisitheoir amhrán, gan tiúin can dom os íseal, a stór a netmender i enmeshed in these broken songs where does one begin songmender – i ’ve lost the tune Belovèd, hum it softly Henry Scott Tuke 59 XXVI dheineas cur síos ort do sheanmhairnéalach lá lean ort, ar seisean bhí gach aon rud feicthe aige níor theastaigh uaidh go stopfainn i once described You to a wistful old seadog he had seen it all go on, he said, continue he didn’t want me to stop Charles Sprague Pearce 61 XXVII tine a mhúnlaigh agus a d’athchum an tseoid an tine atá beo tine thús an domhain, a stór is tine éag na cruinne fire that shaped the jewel fire of its refashioning fire that is alive fire of the earth’s beginning fire that will consume the world Waterford Walls 63 XXVIII misteach is file i ngan fhios don scuad lámhaigh cad a mhúintear dóibh, saighdiúirí na Breataine an múintear rún-éigse dhóibh he was a mystic did the firing squad know that what do they teach them British soldiers, Belovèd are they taught hermetic poems Winslow Homer 65 XXIX roinnimse an dúil atá ionainn, síol Éabha, i ngairdín an tséin is dílleachtaí sinn, a chuid dílleachtaí dalla gan léas i share the longing of everyone born of Eve for the celestial garden we are orphans, Belovèd blind orphans starved of the light Hugo Simberg 67 XXX lig dom canadh leis do na haingil ‘tá leonta balbh ag dobrón is líonmhar iad, a thaisce ealaí na sciathán gan feidhm and let me sing too for all the wounded angels struck dumb by sorrow Belovèd, they are legion swans whose wings have let them down Street art in Portugal 69 XXXI níl gunnán agam níl ná tarbh-bhrocaire cad tá i ndán dom shíleas go mairfinn ar ghrá mé i m’fhinné creachta air sin i ’ve neither a gun nor a pit bull terrier how will i survive once i thought i ’d live on love i ’ve the scars to remind me Walter Gramatté 71 XXXII bhí fear ann fadó ní raibh aithne ag éinne air bhí croí na bó ann croí mór a bhí róthrom dó is b’éigean dó é ’thabhairt uaidh there once was a man no one knew the half of him a man with a heart it was too heavy for him and so he gave it away Edvard Munch 73 XXXIII imní, a chuisle imní an domhain chéasta seo ag dul in olcas tá do sholas uainn go géar tarrtháil le do niamhracht sinn Belovèd, the angst the ever-increasing angst of our tortured world where is Your light when needed rescue us with Your radiance Eugène Burnand 75 XXXIV gan tú a fheiscint delirium tremens, sea gan do ghuth a chlos gan aithne a chur ort gan grá a thabhairt duit – ifreann not to see You now is delirium tremens not to hear Your voice not to know You – hell itself not to love You – damnation Getsemani Street Art 77 XXXV anocht, a ghrá geal anocht in Cartagena beidh oscailt súl ann seans go gcloisfear mallacht uaidh – Gabriel García Márquez let’s meet, my Treasure tonight in Cartagena our eyes will open we might hear him cursing still – Gabriel García Márquez Max Liebermann 79 XXXVI tá an máinlia réidh d’iarras air mo chroí a bhaint caithfidh mé uaim é ruainne chun na Bóinne glé an fuílleach sa Yamuna the surgeon’s ready remove my heart, i ’ve told him to be cast away a piece for the river Boyne what’s left for the Yamuna Albin Egger-Lienz 81 XXXVII caitheadh amach iad umair uisce choisricthe níl gá leo, a chuid thug Mamón a bheannacht dúinn is cóir dúinn a bheith sásta they’ve been thrown away look for them in flea markets – holy water fonts Belovèd, who needs such things . . . we have been blessed by Mammon Benjamin West 83 XXXVIII éireoidh na baird iad siúd a cuireadh chun báis chun tú a mholadh beadsa fárstu, a chuisle éist lenár n-amhrán aerach they shall rise again all the massacred Welsh bards and sing Your praises Belovèd, i shall join them give ear to our ghostly song Caspar David Friedrich 85 XXXIX ní lorgaím thú a chuisle, i mbrionglóidí diúltaím do bhréaga! ruaigim as m’aislingí thú nocht tú féin go fírinneach i do not seek You Belovèd, in dreams – visions no to the unreal! i cast You out of my dreams make Yourself known as You are Street Art in Malaysia 87 XL is ilchruthach mé i m’fhia-luch inniu amárach cá bhfios im’ dhuine, seans, a thaisce ní chuirfinnse tharam é i ’m a shape shifter today i am a mouse-deer tomorrow who knows a human being, Belovèd anything is possible Pieter Bruegel 89 XLI ní bheidh aon arán ná leite ag an mbainis ná anraith ná beoir ná fliuchadh do bhéil agat ár n-anam a aontófar Belovèd, no bread no porridge for our wedding no, nor soup either beer shall not moisten Your lips ours is a union of souls Auguste Rodin 91 XLII seo chugat arís mé ar oilithreacht gan chloigeann sea, sin é an chaoi nuair nach mbím ag smaoineamh ort is doscartha sinn araon here we go again on a headless pilgrimage it’s the only way when i have no thoughts of You we are inseparable Sarah Purser 93 XLIII fiafraíonn siad díom, hé an bhfuil aingil ann, dar leat creidim ionatsa i ngach rud, an tseanmóir ’thug an tAthair Mac Coinnich . . . Belovèd, they ask do you believe in angels i believe in You i believe in everything! Father McKenzie’s sermon . . . Street art in Chile 95 XLIV iógaí-easaontóir sé an duine nua é gearrann trí bhréaga le hanáil atá fíor-ghéar a stór, is tú m’anáilse the yogi-rebel he is the new human being he cuts through all lies with breath – sharp as a razor Belovèd, You are my breath Paul Gauguin 97 XLV is cuimhin liom iad, sea bainimse le haois eile cocaí féir, a stór! agus a gcumhracht theolaí b’iad pirimidí m’óige iad i remember them i am from another age haystacks, Belovèd! and i recall their warm scent those pyramids of my youth Karl Lessing 99 XLVI an crosáidire tá a mhisneach caillte aige is trom é a chroí ná lig dom bheith in amhras treoraigh chugat féin mé de shíor the last crusader his faith has become shaky and his heart heavy may i never not believe guide me, Belovèd, always Richard Friese 101 XLVII an ceart dom imeacht bailiú liom as an áit seo an domhan meata seo ainm eile a úsáid: Sean-Chraplachán an tSléibhe should i go away take myself from all of this all of the world’s ills be known by another name: the Old Man of the Mountain
