Posts Tagged ‘Michael D Higgins’

Louis Esterhuizen. Ierland verkies digter tot president

Thursday, November 10th, 2011

 

Luidens ‘n berig in The Guardian heers daar groot opgewondenheid in Ierland oor Michael D Higgins (foto) wat einde verlede maand tot hul president van verkies is. Die 70-jarige Higgins, na wie daar in die volksmond liefdevol as “Michael D” verwys word, is blykbaar een van die meer gewilde kandidate die afgelope jare: “The Irish Labour party candidate, who projected himself as a grandfather figure rising above all the controversies of the presidential campaign, will be an eclectic titular leader of his country. As well as his poetry and his love of Irish arts and the Gaelic language, he is president of Galway United soccer club.”

Digter?! Ja, inderdaad. Van nie minder as drie digbundels nie … En in ‘n land waar digters net ‘n voetsooldikte onder die engele gereken word, was dit seer sekerlik net ‘n kwessie van tyd alvorens hulle ‘n digter plaas in hul presidentstoel. Boonop ‘n digter wat gebore is in die daardie legendariese plek genaamd Limerick.

Afgesien van sy jarelange verbintenis tot die stryd om menseregte, waarvoor hy die internasionale Seán MacBride-vredesprys ontvang het, is van sy ander prestasies die volgende: “Higgins’s achievements include establishing the Irish-language TV station TG4, reinvigorating the Irish film industry, ending the section 31 censorship regime that barred Sinn Féin from the Republic’s airwaves, and overseeing investment in public museums.”

Vir jou leesplesier volg ‘n heel toepaslike vers van hom hieronder.

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When Will My Time Come

 

When will my time come for scenery
And will it be too late?
After all
Decades ago I was never able
To get excited
About filling the lungs with ozone
On Salthill Prom.

And when the strangers
To whom I gave a lift
Spoke to me of the extraordinary
Light in the Western sky;
I often missed its changes.
And, later, when words were required
To intervene at the opening of Art Exhibitions,
It was not the same.

What is this tyranny of head that stifles
The eyes, the senses,
All play on the strings of the heart.

And, if there is a healing,
It is in the depth of a silence,
Whose plumbed depths require
A journey through realms of pain
That must be faced alone.
The hero, setting out,
Will meet an ally at a crucial moment.
But the journey home
Is mostly alone.

When my time comes
I will have made my journey
And through all my senses will explode
The evidence of light
And air and water, fire and earth.

 I live for that moment.

 

© Michael D Higgins