The Gaelic Poetry Nook will present poetry both in English and Gaelic.

Ban-Ghaidheal	Highland Woman
Am faca Tu i, Iùdhaich mhóir, ri 'n abrar Aon Mhac Dhé? Am fac' Thu a coltas air Do thriall ri stri an fhìon-lios chéin? An cuallach mheasan air a druim, fallus searbh air mala is gruaidh; 's a' mhios chreadha trom air cùl a cinn chrùibte, bhochd, thruaigh. Chan fhaca Tu i, Mhic an t-saoir, ri 'n abrar Rìgh na Glòir, am measg nan cladach carrach siar, fo fhallus cliabh a lòin. An t-earrach so agus so chaidh 's gach fichead earrach bho 'n an t ùs tharruing ise 'n fheamainn fhuar chum biadh a cloinn is duais an tùir. Is gach fichead foghar tha air triall chaill i samhradh buidh nam blàth; is threabh an dubh chosnadh an clais tarsuinn minead ghil a clàir. Agus labhair T' Eaglais chaomh mu staid chaillte a h-anama thruaigh; agus leag an cosnadh dian a corp gu sàmchair dhuibh an uaigh. Is thriall a tim mar shnighe dubh a' drùdhadh tughaidh fàrdaich bochd: mheal ise an dubh chosnadh cruaidh; is glas a cadal suain an nochd.	Has Thou seen her, great Jew, who art called the One Son of God? Hast Thou, on Thy way, seen the like of her labouring in the distant vineyard? The load of fruits on her back, a bitter sweat on brow and cheek; and the clay basin heavy on the back of her bent, poor, wretched head. Thou hast not seen her, Son of the carpenter, who art called the King of Glory, among the rugged western shores in the sweat of her food's creel. This spring and last and every twenty springs from the beginning she has carried the cold seaweed for her children's food and the castle's reward. And every twenty autumns that have gone she has lost the golden summer of her bloom; and the black-labour has ploughed the furrow across the white smoothness of her forehead. And Thy gentle Church has spoken of the lost state of her miserable soul; and the unremitting toil has lowered her body to a black peace in a grave. And her time has gone like a black slush seeping through the thatch of a poor dwelling: the hard black-labour was her inheritance; grey is her sleep tonight.
Somhairle MacGill-Eain	Sorley MacLean

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