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ritheann gabhar as an bhfraoch dóite
i dtreo droichid, thar sruthán salach
is ionadh go rabhamar
in ann teacht thar na sléibhte
thréigeamar an saibhreas
is ritheamar i dtreo an donais
ár ndóchas millte:
an gheis sáraithe againn.
Out of the burned-off heather
runs a goat in dirty weather
over a stream and towards a bridge.
How we crossed that mountain ridge
I still don’t know, safe no more,
bogged down rightly in the mire,
and despairing of the whole to-do:
we’d broken the taboo.
Trans. by David Wheatley
New Voices is a new poetry segment for 2016, featuring emerging writers under the age of 30. We are open for submissions from young poets who have yet to publish a full collection of poetry. Please send up to 5 poems to [email protected], in a .doc file, audio file or video format. All poems should be original and unpublished.