Spring in the West of Ireland

(a translation)

A man wiping clay
Off the side of his spade,
With that mild silence
Of a sultry day:
    Soft the sound
    Of Spring in the West.
 
A man slings a creel
Up on his back,
And the red seaweed
Glistening
With a burst of sunlight
On that stretch of white shingle:
    Dazzling the display
    Of Spring in the West.
 
Women at low tide,
Their feet in sand pools
And tucked up petticoats
Reflected in the brine below them:
    Fanciful the effect
    Of Spring in the West.
 
To the faint beat
Of oars in and out,
A currach full of fish
Approaches the foreshore
On a slow sea of gold
At close of day:
    With Spring in the West.
--------------------------------
AN TEARRACH THIAR

Fear ag glanadh cré
De ghimseán spáide
Sa gciúnas séimh
I mbrothall lae :
    Binn an fhuaim
    San Earrach thiar.

Fear ag caitheamh
Cliabh dá dhroim,
Is an fheamainn dhearg
Ag lonrú
I dtaitneamh gréine
Ar dhuirling bhán:
    Niamhrach an radharc
    San Earrach thiar.
 
Mná i locháin
In íochtar diaidh-thrá 
A gcótaí craptha
Scáilí thíos fúthú:
    Támh radharc sítheach
    San Earrach thiar.
 
Toll-bhuillí fanna
Ag maidí rámha,
Currach lán éisc
Ag teacht chun cladaigh
Ar ór-mhuir mhall
I ndeireadh lae;
    San Earrach thiar.

    Máirtín Ó Direáin (1910-1988)