TEA/TE #poetry #trs

All night long
I’ve been listening to his racket,
now Uncle Georgie’s making tea again, 
same craic every night of his week old visit, 
home alone from lonely London.

Toda la noche
lo escuché roncar,
ahora el tío George está haciendo té de nuevo,
cada noche de su visita semanal, la misma diversión
de hombre que vive solo en una Londres solitaria.

First loose slip-ons slapping the lino
then the handle rattling 
on the kitchen door,
rusty scraping of a lock, 
hinges slowly creaking open,

Primero, golpecito de zapatos sin cordón
sobre el piso de linóleo,
luego, ruido de la manija en la puerta de la cocina,
raspado de una cerradura oxidada, 
lento chirrido de goznes al abrir,

Again,
again I hear a switch being flicked,
sugar crunch, tea leaves shaken, 
the kettle spout its whistling hiss, 
teaspoon and cup
ring out like a bell.

de nuevo, 
de nuevo oigo el clic del botón de la luz, 
el azúcar crujiendo, las hojas de té removidas,
el silbido del pico de la pava,
la cucharita y la taza
suenan como una campana.

Dave Lordan – Adam Gai

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This poem commemorates my Uncle Georgie, one of countless Irish who died of alcoholism and other forms of extreme loneliness in London, where poverty and oppression at home had sent so many into exile. His last visit home in June 1985 he was on the wagon, up all night drinking tea. He died in Jan 86.