Bratacha / Flags, a new poem by Louis de Paor

Ní fhéadfaí a rá fútsa, an méid
adúirt Rilke, de réir McDiarmaid,
faoin mbean i meán a laethe
a thug isteach áilleacht a gné
mar a bheadh bratacha daite
an mhaidin tréis na féile.

Tréis na mbriatharchath go léir,
tá do bhratacha ag foluain i gcónaí
ar chuaillí crochta sa ghaoth
os cionn na bhfoirgintí dóite.
Níor athraigh siad riamh a ndath;
is lú ná san fós má thréig.

Flags

It could never be said of you
what Rilke said, according to Hugh
McDiarmaid, about the woman
in her middle years who took
in her looks like flags
the morning after the carnival.

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After all our civil wars,
your flags fly at full mast
in the wind, high above
the burning buildings.
They never changed colour,
nor once faded or fled.

Louis de Paor’s latest collections are The Brindled Cat and the Nightingale’s Tongue (Bloodaxe 2014) and Gra Fiar (Coisceim 2016)