| Nár Mhéanar É | Wouldn’t It Be Lovely |
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| Nár Mhéanar É | Wouldn’t It Be Lovely |
| Mise ’mo shuí taobh thiar díot, mo dhá láimh anall ort go dlúth, an gluais-rothar ag imeacht ar luas, abair céad míle san uair, trí Pháirc an Fhíonuisce, níos mire ná na fianna, níos suaimhní ná an buar, le breacadh lae nó um nóin, gan duine ar bith eile ann ar fud na páirce móire, an bheirt againn geal-nocht, ’s an rothar ag gluaiseacht go mear fé ghrian na gcrann os ár gcionn, gan fothram dá laghad ón inneall – ach fuaim bheag anála na beirte. |
Me on the pillion behind you, my two arms tight around you, the motor-bike going fast, a hundred miles an hour, say, right through the Phoenix Park, swifter than deer, more canty than kine, at break-of-day or at noon, with nobody else there in the whole vast park, the pair of us bright-naked, and the bike moving fast under the light of the sun in the trees over our heads, no noise at all from the engine – only the small sound of you and me breathing. |
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Pearse
Hutchinson |
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| Ealaíontóir/Artist: Peannaire/Calligrapher: Aistritheoir/Translator: Ainmníodh ag/Nominator: |
John Byrne The Artist The Author Tomás Mac Síomóin |
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