Today’s challenge was to write a poem that reacts both to photography and to words in a language not your own. I had to begin with a photograph, and then find a poem in a language I didn’t know. My mission was to start translating the poem into English, with the idea that the poem was actually “about” my photograph.

I chose a poem in Irish (Gaelic) and used a photo I took at the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland. First is the poem in its original language, and following is my “translation”.

Faoi Chabáistí is Ríonacha 
By Celia de Fréine 

In ionad bláthanna a bhronnadh ar a bhean
agus é i mbun tochmhairc, 
d’fhrasaigh Risteard 
bronntanais ar a máthair.  I dtosach 
tháinig na málaí plaisteacha, ansin na saic, 
iad lán le glasraí a d'fhás sé féin 
a is a athair. 
Leasaithe go nádúrtha.  Uiscithe faoi scáth 
hoíche i rith an triomaigh. 
Turnapaí ar aon mhéid le do chloigeann. 
 Prátaí Rí Éadbhard as ar deineadh 
na sceallóga ba shúmhaire.  Cabáistí 
sách leathan le ceathrairíní a cheilt. 
Ní raibh bean Risteaird ag súil le ceathrairíní – 
iníon a leanbh sise, í tugtha go mór 
do fhrithbhualadh na glúine, ar nós a máthar.

**************

Fair Chaps Beware

Over eons the base 
of the bastions 
blossomed, ageless 
and immune to time 

like a resilient band 
of brothers. I searched 
those majestic rolling plains
atop the pounding sea,

and under my gaze 
their angel hair 
frolicked in the wind. 
Let no man go adventuring, 

unless he find the path; 
for high and wide 
the tumultuous treachery 
hidden below the churning sea.

Yes, pounding against 
and pounding beneath,
the salacious sea sings 
her song. Come, she sings, 

lay your head on my chest. 
No radiant beams shine 
more resiliently than I, 
she croons; from here, 

I lovingly rise to greet 
the moon. So lest you frivolous
and foolish be, go no more 
near the edge of the sea.

—Carla Jeanne Picklo Jordan

What your favorite place to visit?