love love, life, the sweet smell
of things, the sky-blue
landscape of January days.
and I laugh through eyes
that have known the buds of tears.
and that poetry, like bread, is for everyone.
but in the unanimous blood
of those who struggle for life,
landscape and bread,
the poetry of everyone.
From Poetry Like Bread: Poets of the Political Imagination
Curbstone Press, 2000
translation: Jack Hirschman
in this little boat
of the language, the way a body might put
its underside proofed
with bitumen and pitch,
and bulrushes by the edge
of a river
not knowing where it might end up;
in the lap, perhaps,
of some Pharaoh’s daughter.
Wake Forest University Press, 1988 translated from Irish by Medbh McGuckian