Déantar Dearmad Díobh go Léir

(Do m’athair)

Le Séamas Ó Neachtain

Déantar dearmad díobh go léir

Nach bhfuil i laoi ná in aer.

Ón ó go dtí an dá fhionnó

Go dtí an dá dhubhó,

Go glúine anallód

Agus an ainfheoil aineoil,

Déantar dearmad díobh go léir

Nach bhfuil i laoi ná in aer.

In am agus in an-am,

Anamacha faoi amarrán,

An-mheabhrach a mbeangáin

Go mbristear an sealbhán,

Déantar dearmad díobh go léir

Nach bhfuil i laoi ná in aer.

An saighdeoir is an séantóir,

An cosantóir is an scriostóir,

An saightheach coscrach,

Coiscéim sa luaithreach.

Déantar dearmad díobh go léir

Nach bhfuil i laoi ná in aer.

Bia ar an mbord,

Miadh ar an mbard,

Muirín agus truillín,

Éitheach agus coscróir,

Déantar dearmad díobh go léir

Nach bhfuil i laoi ná in aer.

Síor-chúrsaí móra an tsaoil,

Saoi is daoi, saoirse is daoirse,

Seo lán na lámh, sin cúl doirn folamh

Amhail focail fánacha gan rím,

Déantar dearmad díobh go léir

Nach bhfuil i laoi ná in aer.

Coradh na habhainn, thall is abhus,

Thuas agus thíos seal,

Íseal is uasal, ag foluain thart,

Míthreoir agus amhantar,

Déantar dearmad díobh go léir

Nach bhfuil i laoi ná in aer.

Ní dhéanfaidh mise dearmad díot, go deo, a stór,

Cannóidh mé do laoi, agus tusa san aer.

Dá ndéanfaí dearmad de d’fhocail is de d’fhonn,

Bheadh mo ghrá fós ann.

They Are All Forgotten
(for my father)

By James Norton

They are all forgotten
Who aren't in a ballad or an air.

From a grandchild to third cousins
Unto fourth cousins,
To long ago generations
And proud unknown flesh,

They are all forgotten
Who aren't in a ballad or an air.

In season and out of season,
Souls in their misfortune,
Very mindful of their heirs,
Until the flock is undone,

They are all forgotten
Who aren't in a ballad or an air.

The soldier and the renegade,
The protector and the destroyer,
The triumphant aggressor,
A footstep in the dust.

They are all forgotten
Who aren't in a ballad or an air.

Food on the table,
Bad luck for the bard,
Family and flock,
A lie and a slaughterer,

They are all forgotten
Who aren't in a ballad or an air.

Ever great events of the world,
Wise man and dunce, freedom and slavery,
This the full hand, that the empty fist,
Like wayward words without rhyme,

They are all forgotten
Who aren't in a ballad or an air.

The winding of the river, here and there,
Up a while and down a while,
Humble and noble, fluttering past,
Confusion and chance,

They are all forgotten
Who aren't in a ballad or an air.

I will never ever forget you, treasure,
I shall sing your lay, while you are in the air.
Should your words and your tune be forgotten,
My love would still be there.