Heaney In The Library - An Irish Song

Chuaigh mé go dtí an halla lá breá fómhair,
Le lán aisling agus craving le haghaidh súgartha.
Fáiltiú d’fhilí, ach mhothaigh mé as áit,
Díreach ann le haghaidh an caife agus donuts, glacadh te.
Buaiteoir Duais Nobel, luaigh siad a ainm,
Bhí claonadh ag Shamus Heaney, ach ní raibh mé in ann an rud céanna a mhothú.
I saol na litríochta, ní raibh mé ach ag dul tríd,
Buachaill as Dún Dealgan gan tada le cruthú.

Ó, a radharc, le leabhair timpeall,
Líne admirers, filíocht as cuimse.
Ach mise le mo donut, ag iarraidh spréach a chur orm,
Gáire nó cuimhne, ag lasadh suas an dorchadas.

Nuair a thit an ciúnas go héadrom, mar dhrúcht ar an bhféar,
Bhailigh mé mo mhisneach, shíl mé go dtabharfainn seans.
Shiúil suas go dtí an file, rásaíocht chroí chomh tapaidh,
Agus dúirt, "Bhí buachaill ó Dhún Dealgan uair amháin, ach a fhiafraí ..."
Le fleasc ina shúil, chrom sé air,
“Tá an locht ar na Briotanaigh, smaoinigh air,” in amhrán spraíúil.
Nóiméad cosúil le draíocht, ag roinnt smaointe tríd an aer,
Líonadh an leabharlann le scéalta, filíocht curtha faoi lé.

Sa nóiméad gáire sin, mhothaigh mé go raibh an saol ag imbhualadh,
Ó Dhún Dealgan go dtí na seilfeanna ina bhfuil na focail iontacha.
D'athraigh muid scéalta amaideach, d'iompaigh an oíche go hór,
Le gach focal roinnte, inistear cuimhne nua.
Shínigh sé cúpla cóip, aoibh gháire ar a aghaidh,
Agus d'fhág mé an fáiltiú sin, grásta beagán níos mó.

Mar sin seo chugainn go dtí na chuimhneacháin nuair nach bhfuil an scór ar eolas agat,
Léim isteach i gáire, is seanchas liteartha é an saol.
Le caife agus donuts, cé a d'fhéadfadh cur i gcoinne?
Fuair ​​buachaill ó Dhún Dealgan an rud a theip air.

I strolled to the hall on a fine autumn day,
With a pocketful of dreams and a craving for play.
A reception for poets, but I felt out of place,
Just there for the coffee and donuts, a warm embrace.
Nobel Prize winner, they mentioned his name,
Shamus Heaney was trending, but I couldn't feel the same.
In a world of literature, I was just passing through,
A boy from Dundalk with nothing to prove.

Oh, what a scene, with books all around,
A line of admirers, poetry profound.
But me with my donut, just trying to spark,
A laugh or a memory, lighting up the dark.

When silence fell lightly, like dew on the grass,
I gathered my courage, thought I'd take a chance.
Walked up to the poet, heart racing so fast,
And said, “There once was a boy from Dundalk, just to ask…”
With a twinkle in his eye, he nodded along,
“It's the Brits fault, think about it,” in a playful song.
A moment like magic, sharing thoughts through the air,
The library filled with stories, poetry laid bare.

In that moment of laughter, I felt worlds collide,
From Dundalk to the shelves where the great words reside.
We swapped silly stories, the night turned to gold,
With every shared word, a new memory told.
He signed a few copies, a smile on his face,
And I left that reception, a little more grace.

So here’s to the moments when you don't know the score,
Just dive into laughter, life’s a literary lore.
With coffee and donuts, who could ever resist?
A boy from Dundalk found what he missed.