As na culchriocha tig tu chugainn ar dhroim na gaoithe;
geagscaoilte, garbhanta, boladh an aiteannai ar ghlasghala
d'anala; usc an chaorain ar fhod glas do theanga;
ealta ean ag ceiliur i nduilliur ciabhach do chuil.
Tig tu ag spreagadh an tsil, ag cur sineadh i rutai,
ag griosadh li na greine i ngnuis liath an Aibreain.
Ta scamaill i bhfostu i do gheaga agus eanacha beaga
na speire ag neadu i bhfraoch do chleibhe, i bhfal do ghabhail.
Sciurann tu an mhaidin le garbhshion na gcuach,
sa cruth go gcuirtear luisne ur i luibh is i lus, i dtom is i sceach.
Nuair a bhaineann tu searradh as do chnamha Earraigh,
cluintear meileach sna cuibhrinn agus cuacha sna crainn.
I minte an tsleibhe, teann solas do shul i bhfod ionainn.
Tig bachloga ar ar ndochas.
Ta conai ar Chathal O Searcaigh i Min an Lea, i gcomharsanacht Ghort an Choirce i dTir Chonaill. Ta cail idirnaisiunta air agus eileamh air lena chuid filiochta a leamh ag feilte ealaine ar fud an domhain. Foilsiodh an bailiuchan is deireanai uaidh Ag Tnuth leis an tSolas (CloIarChonnachta) i 2000 agus ta dluthdhiosca leis an leabhar ar a bhfuil se ag leamh a chuid filiochta. Is gearr go mbeidh dha shaothar eile de chuid an fhile ildanaigh seo a nochtadh da lucht eisteachta agus leitheoireachta, Piano Mhin na bPreachan, scannan le Flying Fox Films i gcomhar le RTE, agus leabhar taistil ina ndeanfaidh se cur sios ar a threimhsi i Neipeal.
The Green Man
You ride in from the outback on the back of the wind,
Loose-limbed, hobnailing a storm. I smell whin, fresh
On the gale of your breath. The ooze of the bog drips the green
Sod of your tongue and flocks of birds sing like leaves in
Your hair's cowl. You come inciting seed, the roots' fingering
And bidding sun's lustre to the grey face of April.
The clouds are tangling in your limbs and birds nest
In your chest's heather, settle in the hedgerow of your loins.
Yet you come scouring, pelting the cuckoo out with rain
That drives a sheen on weed and bush and blackthorn.
And when you stretch the spring of your bones
There is a bleat in the field and a crake in the meadow.
Here in this mountain pasture, the green light of your eye
Dives into our clay and hope is full in bud and feather.
Nigel McLoughlin was born in 1968 in Enniskillen, Co Fermanagh. A graduate of Queen's University, Belfast, he now lives in Falcarragh, Co Donegal, where he teaches Creative Writing at the Poets' House. He has an MA in Creative Writing from Lancaster University and is currently undertaking his Phd. His first collection of poetry, entitled Shaking the Moon is forthcoming from Flambard Press and Black Mountain Press.