Pól Mag Uidhir

Pól Mag Uidhir is a writer of poetry, prose and theatre, in English and Irish, and an artist, creating illustrations and political cartoons. He is also a maker of short films and recently expanded into animations. He has received a number of awards for his work, including the Gradam na hAmharclainne Prize for drama, the Brian Moore Short Story Award and Chicago International Children’s Film Festival Adult Jury Prize for live-action short films.

www.suiladuaidh.com

Pól Mag Uidhir

Events

Meet the Artist »

Hear Ifor ap Glyn, Peter Mackay, Ciara ní É and Pól Mag Uidhir talk about ‘Bàrd- File – Bardd’

Wed 10 March | 12:30 - 13:00 | Free/Ticketed | StAnza Zoom

Bàrd – File – Bardd »

Showcasing the Welsh, Irish and Scots Gaelic filmpoem project

Sat 6 March - Wed 31 March | (All day) | FREE | StAnza Online

Poem

Curtains

This is something I suppose I've longed for
A curtain coming down along the wild Irish Sea
A soft shower curtain, a border probably
of custom sentry posts and shiny barb-ed wire
Checkpoint Cathal, over.
Frictionful trade
a death to salesmen, by clinging wet film
quickly mildewing
there aint no such thing as a tariff-free lunch, there aint
and slick oilskin officers in furry boots search ferry boats
All goods must be good. Tick.
All goods must be good. Tick. Tick.

While Wales stands guard on their own Pont Hafren
against the old toll takers
with thermometer pikes and sharp cotton daggers
It is all a start they say
Up the way, Hadrian's boulders are leased to Picts
a barricade to southern brawls.
West now, between Belcoo and Blacklion,
a black line fades to grey
Another bit of border is gently rubbed away.
Rubbing it away.

This England granite is fracked with megapascal slurry
humming low a thousand bars
to tease apart that solid rock
beneath its green cold pleasant land
Hard crack English toffee
And toughened Tufwell cathedral glass
glint under pressure
Will hold, will hold, will hold
Will fissure
Crack propagation
Try it, its long foretold


WHATS THIS THAT SCIENCE SHOUTS
alphas, betas, exponentials?

In London central faraway
a sweet Thames softly irrigates
where Rhodes himself will bloom perennial
Rains water plastic poppy flowers
A hardy annual, as British as justice
Rules is rules, law is law
Add milk before water for the Earl’s grey tea

Packed hollow halls and sintered palace walls
are stayed with frayed empire ribbons
The Law instructs what teachers teach
and forbids that kids should starve
But a gentle hunger is permitted
That hunger we know, a creased photo in a wallet

All rise
Her Majesty's Murdoch Government
of North Ireland and United Britain
does solemnly make decree:
“All Lives Matter”
Listen.
“All Lives Matter”

Cuirtíní

B’ionúin liom é, b’fhéidir
Cuirtín ag teacht anuas ar Mhuir Éireann fhiáin
Cúirtin bog cithfholctha
Teorainn is dócha.
Lán bocsaí custaim agus sreang ghlan dheilgneach
Seicphointe Shéarlais, over.
Ag trádáil le frithchuimilt trádála
Bás don duine díola, le cling film agus grán dubh.
Lón eile saor, ná baol air
Oifigigh ola-éadaigh ina mbuataisí ag cuardach báid chalaidh
Caighdeán Oifigiúil na nEarraí. Tic
Cosc ar bhreacnú. Tic. Tic.

Agus na Breatnaigh ag coimheád
Ar an duine dola
Óna nDroichead Hafren féin
Le pící teasmhéadaír agus miodóga cadáis.
Tús maith, dar leo. Ó thuaidh,
Tá Bolláin Hadrian ar cíos ag Cruithnigh
Bac steireach ar throdaí deisceartach.
Abhus, an tseanlíne dhubh sin idir an Blaic is Béal Cú
Ina dath deataigh anois, ag cuaifeach. Dath taibhse
Agus leis sin
giota eile teorann séidte ar shiúl.
Séid leat, mo chara.

Eibhear Shasana fraiceáilte le draoib megapascal
Ag dordán le monabhar míle bar
Is dlúthcharraig dheighilte ar crith
Faoi na cluainte glasa fuara.
Taifí Sasanach crua daingean
Criostal treisithe ardeaglasta
Gléigeal, ‘is iad faoi bhrú
Seasfaidh, seasfaidh, seasfaidh.
Deighlfidh.
Forleathfaidh gág
Tabhair faoi, is fada tuartha é


CAD É AN RAIC EOLAÍOCHTA SEO
Alpha, Beta, an tae easpónantúil?

Londain lárnach fada uainn.
Uiscíonn an Tamais leathan uasal
Créafóg mhín an uasail Rhodes,
áit a seasann sé an fód
Steallta fearthainne ar phoipíní plaisteacha,
Bliantóga miotalacha chomh Briotanach leis an Chóir.
Seo na rialacha, seo an dlí
Bainne roimh uisce nuair a thagann an t-iarla chun tae.

Tá ballaí na bpálás i ngreim go docht
ag ribíní na himpireachta, atá stiallta teann.
Deir a nDlí mar a mhúinfeadh múinteoir
Agus deir gan gorta a bhualadh ar pháiste
Ach ceadmhach cinnte an t-ocras séimh
An t-ocras sin is eol dúinn, seanphictiúr inár bpóca

Éirigí in bhur seasamh.
Ó bhéal Rialtas Murdoch na Breataine Aontaithe
Tá forógra sollúnta ann.
“Is Fiú Gach Saol”
Éist.
“Is Fiú Gach Saol”

Pól Mag Uidhi