Presented below is the latest in the series of translations by ILS member Brian O’Connor of the great Irish poet of the late 17th and early 18th century, Aodhagán Ó Rathaille (c.1670–1726). O’Connor’s earlier translations for us from Ó Rathaille are also available on the ILS blog.
Found in a 1725 manuscript, Gile na Gile (literally “Brightness of Brightness”) is one of O’Rahilly’s best known poems. The female subject of the poem seems to be Ireland, and her wished-for rescuer to be the Stuart Pretender – James Francis Edward Stuart, son of the ousted King James II. I have tried to echo O’Rahilly’s intricate and elaborate sound-scheme as far as possible. The verse is included in the excellent Dánta Aodhagáin Uí Rathaille published by the Irish Texts Society, an early off-shoot of the ILS.
By BRIAN O’CONNOR
Gile na Gile / Brightness of Brightness
| Gile na gile do chonnaic ar slighe i n-uaigneas Criostal an chriostail a guirm-ruisc rinn-uaine Binneas an bhinnis a friotal nar chrion-ghruamdha Deirge is finne do fionnadh n-a grios-ghruadhnaibh | Fairest of fair I glimpsed on the lonely roadside Crystal of crystal clear eyes, purest blue-green Sweetness of sweetness her speaking, ever youthful Complexion pale, brushed with a hint of roses |
| Caise na caise i ngach ruibe da buidhe-chuachaibh Bhaineas an ruithneadh den chruinne le rinn-scuabaibh Iorradh ba ghlaine ‘na gloine ar a bhruinn bhuacaigh Do geineadh ar gheineamhain di-se ‘san tir uachtraigh | Fairest of hair, ringed in golden beauty That dimmed the full sun’s brilliance with its swooping A glittering gem gleamed on her swelling bosom Conceived, as she was conceived, by heaven’s doing |
| Fios fiosach dham d’innis, is ise go fior-uaigneach Fios filleadh don duine don ionad ba righ-dhualgas Fios milleadh na druinge chuir eisean ar rinn-ruagairt ‘S fios eile na cuirfead im laoidhthibh le fior-uamhan | Bitter wisdom she shared with me, deeply lonely Of the prince revisiting where fealty is owed him Of the grimmest exile to which evil men forced him And of things more fearful still I will leave unspoken |
| Leimhe na leimhe dham druidim n-a cruinn-tuairim Im chime ag an gcime do snaidhmeadh go fior-chruaidh me Ar ghoirm Mhic Mhuire dhom fhurtacht, do bhiodhg uaim-se Is d’imthigh an bhruinneal n-a luisne go bruighin Luachra | An idiot’s idiocy for me to pursue her Imprisoned by a prisoner who snared me fully I was seeking heaven’s assistance, when she flew me And fled in an instant speedily to Luachra |
| Rithim le rith mire im rithibh go croidhe-luaimneach Tre imeallaibh curraigh, tre mhongaibh, tre shlim-ruaidhtigh Don tinne-bhrogh tigim, ni thuigim cia an tslighe fuaras Go hionad na hionad do cumadh le draiodheacht dhruadha | I sprint with frenetic rhythm, my heart booming By fringes of meadows, marshes and bleak moorlands The fort I found, having feared it would elude me The unholy domain devised in the dreams of druids |
| Brisid fa scige go scigeamhail buidhean ghruagach Is fuireann do bhruinnealaibh sioscaithe dlaoi-chuacach I ngeimhealaibh geimheal me cuirid gan puinn suaimhnis ‘S mo bhruinneal ar bruinnibh ag bruinnire bruinn-stuacach | There skittering, flittering wizards shrieked amusement And a gaggle of pigtailed girls, giggling demurely Yet fitting me in fetters, they seized me cruelly While my treasure was pressed to pleasure a fellow most boorish |
| D’inniseas di-se san bhfriotal do b’fhior uaim-se Nar chuibhe dhi snaidhmeadh le slibire slim-bhuaidheartha ‘S an duine ba ghile ar shliocht chinidh Scuit tri huaire Ag feitheamh ar ise bheith aige mar chaoin-nuachar | With sincere conviction then did I plead with the beauty ’Twas unfitting for her to submit to a trickster’s manoeuvres While he, triply-blest of the Celtic race past and future Was faithfully waiting for her to join him in union |
| Ar chloistin mo ghotha dhi goileann go fior-uaibhreach Is sileadh ag an bhfliche go life ar a grios-ghruadhnaibh Cuireann liom giolla dom choimirch on mbruighin uaithi ‘S i gile na gile do chonnaic ar slighe i n-uaigneas. | Hearing my words caused her to weep as if broken Spilling a river of tears on her cheeks once glowing She gave me a guide to escape from that fort so ghostly Fairest of fair I glimpsed on the lonely roadside. |
| Mo threighid! Mo thubaist! Mo thurrainn! Mo bhron! Mo dhith! An soillseach muirneach miochair-gheal beol-tais caoin Ag adharcach fuireann-dubh mioscaiseach coirneach buidhe ‘S gan leigheas n-a goire go bhfillid na leoghain thar tuinn. | My loss, my misfortune, my sorrow, my woe, my grief The fairest of maids so gentle, affectionate, sweet In thrall to a horned clown and his doleful breed Without rescue until our heroes come over the sea. |
Brian O’Connor has been a member of the Irish Literary Society since the time of Professor Raymond Chapman’s Chairmanship. He was born in Cork, graduated from UCC and worked as a journalist and researcher.