The Bobby Sands Trust is saddened to hear of the death of poet, author and translator, Gabriel Rosenstock, at the age of 76. He was an indefatigable writer and one of the most significant figures in Irish-language literature. As President Connolly noted, he had an ‘extraordinary career and made a particularly special contribution to the Irish language, leaving not only a broad body of his own work, but also a remarkably diverse set of translations, through which he brought so many of the great writers of the world to the Irish language.’
Gabriel contributed to the Trust’s book Hunger Strike—Reflections and later translated into Irish Bobby Sands’s epic poem, ‘The Rhythm of Time’, both of which we reproduce below. Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam dílis.
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Rithim an Ama
Le Bobby Sands (Gabriel Rosenstock a chuir i nGaeilge)
Tá guth i gcroí an duine,
An eol duit cad é féin?
Is ann dó ó thús ama,
Beidh sé linn go deireadh ré.
Rugadh é sularbh ann don domhan,
De phréamh na beatha é,
Ghearr sé anuas féithleoga an oilc
Le scian ghéar.
D’adhain sé tine sa dorchadas
A chuir lasair faoinár gcroí,
Dhein cruach de luaidhe na hintinne
Go síoraí.
Chaoin sé cois uiscí na Bablóine
Is nuair a bhí an dóchas gann
Scréach sé as corp réabtha
A bhí céasta ar Chrann.
Chuir an leon is an claíomh chun báis é
Sa tSean-Róimh fadó,
Ach ba chlos an focal Spartacus
Gan aon agó.
Le Wat Tyler sea do mháirseáil sé,
Chuir sceimhle ar thiarna is ar rí
Sceimhle a sheas ina súile
Mar mharbh-lí.
Aoibh air, naofa saonta,
Roimh an Conquistador,
Ceansa is neamheolach
Ar chumhacht an óir.
Réab sé trí shráideanna Pháras
Is d’ionsaigh an sean-Bhastille,
Shatail ar chloigeann na nathrach
gur fhág sé í gan bhrí.
Leagadh é ar Mhá na mBuabhall,
D’fhulaing ocras is plá,
Cuireadh a chroí i nGlúin Leonta –
Ach tiocfaidh a lá.
Ba chlos a liú thar lochanna Chiarraí
Is é ar a dhá ghlúin,
Is maraíodh é, a dhorn san aer,
Le croí fuar.
Is faightear é i lóchrann dóchais,
Níl teorainn lena réim,
I gcroí gach treibh is cine
Faoin ngréin.
Scréach na laochra ar lár
I súile na dtíoránach,
Ag réabadh trí na spéartha
Go dtí na beanna arda.
Soilsíonn an cillín uaigneach seo
Lena dhóchas, lena neart,
An smaoineamh úd, dochloíte
An chóir! An ceart!
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From Hunger Strike–Reflections
