Johnny Seoighe

Cumadh an t-amhrán seo le linn an Ghorta Mhóir sna 1840í agus is aoir atá ann ar Johnny Seoighe a bhí ina dháilitheoir ticéad rilífe a raibh smacht aige ar sholáthar mine ag an am. Is beag amhrán faoin nGorta Mór atá i dtraidisiún amhránaíochta na Gaeilge agus bhí drogall ar dhaoine an t-amhrán seo a chasadh go poiblí go dtí le gairid. Amhrán thar a bheith brónach agus truamhéalach é, go háirithe an cur síos a dhéantar ar dhiúltú an fhir agus a chlainne isteach i dteach na mbocht, áit nach mbeadh triall air ach ag an dream ba bhoichte.

Composed during the Great Famine of the 1840s in Ireland, this song is a satire on Johnny Seoighe, the relieving officer who controlled the food suply of meal at the time. There are very few songs about the famine in the Irish song tradition, and there was a reluctance to sing this particular song until quite recently. It is a very sad and dark song in how it describes the refusal of entry for this particular man and his family into the workhouse, a place where only the most desperate would have gone.

Johnny Seoighe

Is a Johnny Seoighe, tuig mo ghlór

Is mé ag tíocht le dóchas faoi do dhéin

Mar gur tú an réalt eolais is deise lóchrann

As mo shúil ag teampall Dé.

Is tú bláth na hóige is deise glórthaí

A dhearc mo shúil ó rugadh mé

Agus as ucht Chríost is tabhair dhom relief

Nó go gcaitear Oíche Nollag fhéin.

Agus lá arna mháireach fuair mé an páipéar

’S nach mé bhí sásta agus chuaigh mé ’un siúil

Is ní bhfuair mé freagra ar bith an lá sin

Ach mo bhean is mo pháistí bheith amuigh faoin drúcht.

Ó, tá mé tuirseach, sciúrtha, feannta

Liobraithe, gearrthaí ó neart a’ tsiúil

Is a Mhister Joyce, tá an workhouse lán

’S ní ghlacfar ann aon fhear níos mó.

Is nach mór an cliú do bhaile Charna

An fhad is tá an lánúin seo ’dhul thríd

Mar gur deise is breáichte scéimh na mná

Ná an Morning Star nuair a shoilsíonn sí.

Tá an bhanríon tinn is í lag ina luí

Is deir dochtúirí go bhfaighidh sí bás

Sé fios a húdair mar deir siad liomsa

Nuair nach bhfuil sí pósta ag Mister Joyce.

Johnny Seoighe

Know my voice, Oh, Mister Joyce

As I come with hope before you

For you’re the brightest light

In God’s sight

You are the flower of youth with voice most mellow

That ever my eye has seen

For the love of Christ give me relief

Until Christmas Night is over.

I got my paper the following morn

I was so happy as I strolled along

I got no answer on that day

But my wife and children driven out in the dew.

I am tired, tormented, impoverished

Tattered and torn from walking

And, Oh, Mister Joyce the workhouse is full

And will let no man in, no more now.

Great is the renown of Carna town

As this couple goes through

For a woman’s beauty is finer

Than the Morning Star at shining.

The queen is ill and weak in her bed

The doctors fear for her life

And it is her misfortune they tell me

That she is not wed to Mister Joyce.

Translation: Dairena Ní Chinnéide