There won't be many of the Holy Joes and Marys
who will shed tears that you've been snatched from us;
but sufficient of their slender, graceful sons
in whose hearts the prohibition of affection has not grown -
they will be sad at your going, that is certain.

O many talented, intrepid Orpheus, wearer of the white hat,
who gaily stepped into the abyss,
tin whistle in hand, a smile on your lips,
to dance a few steps on the hard flags,
to challenge the devil of circumstance;

O hero of the sweet mouth, endowed
with the gift of tongues and weight of understanding,
o tightrope walker who crossed the Niagra of life
on that high wire of ironic contradiction, Shandy-like,
our sorrow is the silence of that mouth and your bright laugh.

Howth, Dún Laoghaire and Bray,
Tallagh, Ranelagh and Rathmines,
Paris, Amsterdam and Barcelona
will shed plentiful tears for you
o bold and gentle voyager of Dublin.

At dusk, on the edge of the North Sea, among the houses,
a blackbird pours out a stream of music, like molten gold, that scalds my heart,
and it occurs to me that I shall never again hear your music
sound bewitchingly in the Daisy Market or along the Quays.
This poem, wrought with affection: another stone on your cairn, dear friend.

*

Siosarnach na mara tuineanta ag cuimilt le trá,
is gramaisc ghiodalach ghrianghortha Bharcelona á dtomadh
roimh peil a imirt cosnochta ar an ngainimh bruite.
Tá na báid ghobacha lena súileoga ar an gcladach i gcónaí
ach ní dhéanfaidh tusa feis arís faoina scáth.

Ní bheidh mórán den phobal béalchráifeach
ag sileadh súl i ndiaidh do sciobhadh uainn;
ach go leor dá maca slim spéiriúla
nár fhás 'na gcroíthe col in aghaidh an ghrá,
beidh cumha orthu siúd id' dhiaidh go cinnte -

A Orfeas ildánaigh chróga, a chaith an hata bán
is a bhuail isteach go haerach in Ifrinn,
feadóg stáin id' ghlaic, aoibh an gháire ar do bhéal,
chun dreas damhsa a dhéanamh ar na leaca cruaidh,
chun dúshlán deabhail na huaire a thabhairt.

A ghaiscígh an bhéil bhinn, ar ar bronnadh
bua na dteangacha is ualach na tuisceana,
a théadchleasaí a shiúil thar Niagra an tsaoil
ar théad thanaí na bhfrithráite íorónta, go Shandy-ach,
'sé ár léan géar tost do bhéil is do gháire ghlé.

Beidh Binn Éadair, Dún Laoghaire is Brí Chualann,
Tamhlacht, Ragnallach is Ráth Maoinis,
Páras, Amsterdam is Barcelona,
beid uile ag sileadh go fras id' dhaidh,
a thaiscéalaí chaoin dhána Átha Cliath.

Sa chontráth, ar bhruach na Mara Thuaidh, i measc na dtithe,
stealann lon dubh sruth ceoil mar ór leáite a scalann mo chroí;
is ritheann sé liom nach gcloisfidh mé do cheolsa arís choíche
go síthiúil i Margadh na Nóiníní nó ar na Céanna.
An dán seo a snoíodh le cion: cloch eile ar do charn, a chara.