Gaelic Poetry Nook Archives 1997 -1998

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

Òran do Bharbra Mighean
Easbuig Fullarton
Song to Barbara, Daughter
of Bishop Fullerton

Thugas gaol nach fàillinneach
Do rìbhjnn nan cuach fàmannach,
Gur bòidheach dualach àr-bhuidhe
Mar aiteal deàrrsaidh theud.
I have given unfailing love to the maiden
of the waving locks - beautiful,
curled and golden yellow,
like the shining gleam of harp-strings.

A' ghruaidh a chruthaich nàdar dhuit,
Tùs ratha 's rogha dealbha sin,
'S gach aona buaidh mar a b'fheàrr
Bh' air Diàna-sa chaidh eug:
The cheek that nature created for you
is the prime advantage
and the finest of physical beauties;
and all the best qualities of Diana,
who is long gone:

Gu maiseach mìn-gheal tàbhachdach,
Anns gach gnaoi neo-fhàileasach,
Aigne sèimh neo-àrdanach,
Gun fhàillinne fo'n ghréin.
Fair, white and tender,
excellent, in every beauty unshadowed;
mind gentle and never haughty,
without the slightest fault.

Sùgach an àm mànrain thu,
Cù irteil mar a b'àbhaist dhi;
'S math thig faite gàire dhuit
O chlàragaibh do bhéil.
You are merry in time of festivity,
courtly as she always was;
well does a smile,
with your white teeth, become you.

Gur mils' a pòg na mealannan;
'S i 'S cinntich glòr gun aimideachd -
Bheir brigh a beòil 's a h-analach
Neach anacrach o'n eug.
Her kiss is sweeter than honeys,
her speech most assured and free from foolishness: the power of her lips and her breath
can save those in agony from death.

A h-uchd nach crìon ri thaisbeanadh,
Bheil dà chìoch cho tlachdmhora
Bhuin gach cridh' 'na chaptive leò
Fo ghlasaibh aice fhéin.
Her bosom so smooth to see,
with two breasts so delightful,
which have taken all hearts captive,
imprisoned by her.

Is caoin fo gùn a seang-corpan;
'S i 's maoile glùin is calpannan;
Troigh bheag chruinn gun gharbhcalachd
Nach saltair garbh air feur.
Lovely her slender body in her gown;
she has the most perfectly rounded knee and calves;
well-rounded little foot devoid of ugliness,
which treads gently on the grass.

Chaidh cliù na té-s' a h-Albainn uainn
Aig gloinead bheus 's aig leanbanachd:
Cha d' fhan e anns a' Ghearmailte
Gun dol gu dearbh do'n Chréig.
This lady's fame for purity of manners and childlike qualities
has gone from us beyond Scotland:
it has not stopped at Germany,
but indeed gone on to Greece.

B' fhearr gur mise bhuaidhicheadh
Fail le'n cuirteadh cruaidh-shnaim ort:
Cha b'fhear gun agh 'san uair sin mi
Nam buainichinn thu fhéin.
It were best that I should win a ring
which would bind you tightly:
I would then be no luckless man
if I were to win you.

Ach 's cruaidh an càs ma's fuatharachd
Gheihh mi 'n aite truacantachd:
B'fhearr dhomh mura buainichinn thu
Bhith 'san uaigh am péin.
But it is a sorry tale
if I am to receive hate rather than compassion:
better for me,
if I failed to win you,
to be suffering in the grave.

Cò chuala e no chunnaic e
No fhuair an nàdar duine e,
Gach uaisle tha 'm Babaidh Fullarton
A choinnich ann ad chré?
Who ever heard it, or saw it,
or found it within the nature of man,
that all the noble qualities in Babby Fullerton
have met in your body?

Ge b'e do thoil-sa diùltadh rium,
Chan onair dhomh bhith diùghaltach:
Mo shoraidh-sa gu dùrachdach
Dod' bhrollach cùbhraidh fhéin.
Though it be your wish to reject me,
it is dishonorable for me to be vindictive:
farewell sincerely from me
to your fragrant breast.

BHA SNEACHDA NA CHIBHRIG	The Snow Was Like A Coverlet
Thugas gaol nach fàillinneach Bha sneachda na chuibhrig air ìseal is àrd, Am broinn an taigh-òsda na seòmraichean làn; Bha Màiri is Iòsaph air tòir àite tàindi Am Bethlehem fhuadain's an uair ann mu thràth.	The snow was like a coverlet on low ground and on high ground, inside the inn the rooms were filled; Mary and Joseph were seeking a place to stay in foreign Bethlehem, and the hour (of the birth) already arrived.
O càit an robh fasgadh bhon chas-shileadh fuar Dhan òigh a bha qiùlan Fear-saoraidh an t-sluaigh? Ach threòraicheadh dìreach is cinnteach an ceum Dhan fhàdaich a b' àsle san tir ud gu lèir.	O, where was the shelter from the cold drenching rain, for the maiden who was bearinq the Saviour of the people? But their steps were guided directly and definitely, to the lodgings that were the most lowly in the whole country.
O, seall E na shìneadh gun rìomhadh na chòir; O, seall air a Mhàthair ga thàladh le deòin, 'S na h-ainglean a' fàilteachadh pàisde na h-Oigh - Bidh 'n oidhche seo àraid an cànan 's an ceòi.	O, see Him lying with no adornment around Him; O see His mother so willingly nursing Him, and the angels welcoming the Virgin's child - this night will be joyously commemorated in literature and in music.
Bha ceòi air a' ghaoith agus shoillsich an reul Mun cuairt air na clobairean, 's shin jad an ceurn; 'S an unraha nan ainmhidhean thairg iad an gaol Dhan naoidhean aig Màiri, Ràgh-phàisde chlann-daoin'!	There was music on the wind and the stars shone around the shepherds, who set out on foot; and in the cave of the animals they offered their love to the babe of Mary, the child-King of humankind!

Dean Cadalan Samhach, A Chilean Mo Ruin Easbuig Fullarton	Sleep Softly, My Darling Beloved
Dean cadahn sàmhach, a chuilean mo rùin; Dean fuireach mar tha thu, 's tu an dràsd' an àit' ùr. Bidh digearan againn, Iàn beairteis 'us cliu', 'S ma bhios tu 'nad airidh, 's leat fear-eiginn dhiubh.	Sleep softly, my darling beloved. Stay as you are, now that you are in a new land. We'll find suitors abounding in wealth and fame, and, if you are worthy, you shall have one of them.
Gur ann an America tha sinn an dràsd', Fo dhubhar na coille, nach teirig gu bràth. 'N uair dh'fhalbhas an dùlachd 's a thionndaidh's am blàths, Bithidh cnothan, bidh ùbhlan 's bithidh an siùcar a'fàs.	We are now in America, in the shade of the never-ending forest. When winter departs and warmth returns, nuts, apples, and sugar will grow.
'S ro bheag orm féin na daoine seo th'ann, Le 'n còtaichean drògaid, ad mhór air an ceann; Le 'm briogaisean goirid, 's iad sgaoilte gu 'm bonn; Chan fhaicear an to-osan, 's i' bhochdainn a th'ann.	Little do I like the people who are here, with their drugget coats, tall hats on their heads, and their short breeches split to the ends. Hose are never seen, and that is a pity.
Tha sinne 'n ar n-Innseanaich, cinnteach gu leòir; Fo dhubhar nan craobh, cha bhi h-aon againn beò; Madaidh allujdh 'us béistean ag éigheach 'S gach fròig; Gu bheil sinne 'nar n-éiginn bho'n la thréig sinn Righ Deòrs'.	We've become Indians surely enough. Skulking under trees, not one of us will be left alive, with wolves and beasts howling in every lair. We've come to ruin since the day we forsook King George.
Thoir mo shoraidh le fàilte Chinn t-Sàile nam bó, Far 'n d'fhiuair mi greis m' àrach 'S mi'm phàisde beag òg. Bhiodh fleasgaichean donn air bonnaibh ri cedi, Agus nìonagan dualach 'S an gruaidh mar an ròs.	Bear my farewell and greeting to Kintail and its cattle, where I spent my time of upbringing when I was a young child. There dark-haired lads would dance heel and toe to the music, and lassies with flowing tresses and cheeks like the rose.
An toiseach an fhoghair bu chridheil ar sunnd, Am fiadh anns an fhireach, 's am bradan an grunnd; Bhiodh luingeas an sgadain a' tighinn fo shìùil; Bu bhòidheach a' sealladh 's fir dhonn air am bùird.	At the onset of harvest-time our spirits would be joyous; deer on the moors and salmon in the pools; the herring fleet would come in under sail; a fine sight with brown-haired lads on board.

Ceud Bliadhna Sa Sgoil Ruaraidh MacThòmais	A Hundred Years in School Derick Thomas
Ceud bliadhna sa sgoil	A hundred years in school
is sinn nar Gaidheil fhathast!	and we're Gaels still!
Cò shaoileadh gum biodh an fhreumh cho righinn?	Who would have thought the root was so tough?
Dhòdirt iad eallach leabhraichean oirnn,	They poured a load of books on us,
is cànanan, eachdraidh choimheach,	languages, foreign history,
is saidheans, is chuir iad maidse riutha.	science, and put a match to them.
O abair lasair	O what a blaze
de mhinistearan 's de mhaighstirean-sgoile,	of ministers and dominies,
de dhoctairean 's de dh'einnsinidhears,	doctors and engineers,
profeasairean is luchd-reic-chàraichean,	professors and car-salesmen,
ach aig ceann nan ceud blianna,	but after a hundred years,
an dèidh gach greadain 's gach dadhaidh,	after each scorching and singeing,
nuair a sguab iad an luath air falbh,	when they brushed away the ash,
bha a fhreumh ann a sin fhathast,	the root was there still,
fann-bhuidhe an toiseach.	pale-yellow at first.
Is minig a chunna sinn craobh a chaidh a losgadh -	We have often seen a bush that was burnt
A! 'sann le fun tha mi,	I'm just joking,
na biodh eagal oirbh a luchd-stiùiridh an fhoghlaim,	have no fear, directors of education,
a chomhairlichean na siorrachd, is a' Bheurla cho math agaibh -	county councillors, with your fluent English
a' fàs	growing
siud sibh, sguabaibh a' chlann a Steòrnabhagh -	that's right, centralise education in Stornoway -
nas braise.	faster.

UISGEACHAN RUITH le Peadar Morgan	RUNNING WATERS by Peter Morgan
A-nthist tha an dubhar gruamach dubh	Again the black and lowenng darkness
air bùrn glan ùr a bhreith	has born fresh clear water
's allt eile brùchdadh	as another burn bursts
à tobraichean a' chridhe.	from the wells of the heart.

Is luath tha ar n-uisgeachan a' fàs Quick are our waters to swell

luasganach beò 's iad a' ruith. alive and tumbling as they flow

nan cabhag, coma, cho bras hurried carefree impulsive

far bheanntan na h-inntinn. off the mountains of the mind.

Sios le bruathach gorm gaoil Down a lush brae of love,

gu ruige comar air ghoil to a boiling confluence

dà thuil a' suaineadh two floods entwining

sa bheil an t-iasg smaoine leum. in which the thought-fish leaps.

ach am feum iad tighinn gu rnaghair uaine But must they come to a plain of green

's an abhainn a' Iùbadh 's a' lasachadh? where the river weaves and wanes?

Am feum iad tighinn gu h-inbhir dorcha Must they come to a dark estuary

's cladach an dòchais fhàgaiI? and leave the shore of hope?

Air an call 's air an dealachadh Lost and separated out among

am measg shruthan a' chuain the ocean's streams

far nach bi ach ciùineas no stoirm where is only calm or storm

's far an dubhaich na sgòthan a-rithist. and where the clouds darken again.

Source for this poem is a Issue 2 of Northwords Magazine.

LANGANAICH le Peadar Morgan	BELLOWING by Peter Morgan
Seann tursa pro iseil na sheasamh air a' mhachair freiceadan aonranach nach crom ron ghaoith a deas, gaoth a dh'fhàg mm a chànan S a gheàrr an gràbhaIaicbe gu chridhe.	A proud old megalith standing on the lowland lonely sentinel unbending in the south wind a wind that smoothed its language and cut the engraver to his heart.
Aig bun casain duibh tha tobht' air a' chladach air fha' gail nuair a chaidh iad thar mhara stoirmeil, muir a tha rèidh a-rithist ach a' sior-lionadh 'S a' còmhdachadh.	At the foot of a black path a ruin on the shore deserted when they crossed over a stormy sea a sea that is calm once more but ever rising and covering.
Tha na siantan a' cagnadh àirneis am measg nan clach a' ghaoth a' togai phàipearan à drabhairean fosgailte, pàipearan ie sgriobhadh seargte, 's i gan sgapadh chun a h-uile àirde.	The elements gnawing furniture amongst the stones the wind lifting papers out of an open drawer papers with faded writing scattered to all the airts.
Gu sèimh ni na dàimh trotan timcheall air a' phàirce air am mealladh le biadh 's sòghaIachd far na frithe, sòghalachd an taigh-spadaidh, a' fàgail nam beann aig na circ-fhraoich.	Placidly the stags trot around the park tempted by food and luxury off the moor, the luxury of the slaughter house, abandoning the hills to the grouse.

Source for this poem is a Issue 2 of Northwords Magazine.

Ar Cànan 's ar Clò	Our Tongue and Our Tweed
le Anne Frater	by Ann Frater
Bha bodach na mo bhaile	There was an old man in my village
aig an robh beairt,	who had a loom,
agus leis a' bheairt	and with his loom
dhèanadh e clò,	he would make tweed,
agus chaidh aodach	and clothes were made
a dhèanamh den chlò,	from the tweed,
agus bhiodh na daoine	and the people
a' cur orra 'n aodaich -	would wear the clothes
aodach tiugh trom a chumadh blàth iad.	thick, heayy clothes that would keep them warm.
Ach thàinig fear eile,	But another man came,
fear na b' òige,	a younger man,
fear nach buineadh don bhaile,	one who was not a native of the village
agus bha beairt ùr aige	and he had a new loom
agus snàth ùr -	and new yarn -
dathan air an goid bhon bhogha-froise -	colours stolen from the rainbow -
agus aodach tana, lom,	and thin, smooth cloth
agus àlainn, ann am beachd nan daoine.	which the people found beautiful.
Chum am bodach air	The old man carried on
leis an t-seann bheairt	with the old loom
ach bha na daoine òg	but the young folk
a' fanaid air,	laughed at him,
agus cheannaich iad uile	and they all bought
nan beairtean ùra,	the new looms, and
agus thòisich iad a' dèanamh	they began to make
nan clòitean 'ira,	the new cloth,
agus cha robh dragh aca	and they did not care
mu dheidhinn a' chlò	for the tweed
air beairt a' bhodaich.	on the old man's loom.
Ach, an dèidh ùine	But, after a while,
thàinig an geamhradh	winter came
agus cha chumadh an t-aodach lom	and the smooth cloth
le na snàithtean brèagha	with the lovely threads
agus na dathan soilleir	and the bright colours
a-mach am fuachd,	could not keep out the cold,
agus cha robh feum	and the new looms
anns na beairtean ùra.	were useless.
Lorg iad am bodach	They sought the old man
agus chunnaic iad a' bheairt,	and they saw his loom,
agus chunnaic iad an clò,	and they saw the tweed,
ach cha b'urrainn dhaibh	and they were unable
a' bheairt obrachadh,	to work the loom
oir bha i air fàs meirgeach	because it had rusted
agus bha am bodach marbh.	and the old man was dead.

To the Bride	To The Bride
'Mile fàilte dhuit led' bhréid; Fad' do ré gun robh thu slàn. Móran làithean dhut le sith, Led' mhaitheas, is le d' ni bhi fàs.	A thousand welcomes to you in your coif: May health be yours throughtout your life With many days in peace, And, in your goodness, growth in your manes.
A' chulaidh cheutach a chaidh suas 'S tric a tharruing buaidh air mnaoi; Bi-sa subhailceach, ceutach, A thionnsgain thu féin 's an strì.	The splendid headdress you have donned Has often brought prosperity to a wife; Be thou virtuous and pleasing, On entering upon your trial.
An tùs do còmhraidh is tu òg, An tùs gach lò iarr Dia nan Dùl; 'S chan eagal nach dean thu gu ceart Gach dearhh bheachd a bhios 'nad rùn	At the beginning of your talk in your youth, And in the morning of your day, seek thy God; And there will be no fear but you will do the right In each resolve in your regard.
Bi-sa fialaidh, ach bi glic, Bi misneachail, ach bi stòld. Na bi bruidhneach, 's na bi bàilbh, Na bi mear, no marbh, 's tu òg.	Be generous but be wise, Be courageous but be calm., Be not talkative but be not dumb Be not wanton or vapid when young.
Na bi gearanach fo chrois; Falbh socrach le cupan làn. Chaoidh do'n olc na tabhair spéis, 'S le do bhréi'	Complain not of difficulties Move steadily with a full cup. Never show favour to wickedness, And with your coif a thousand welcomes.'
Bi gleidhteach air do dheagh rùn: Ach na bi dùinte, 'S na bi fuar, Na labhair air neach gu h-olc, 'S ged labhrar ort, na taisbein fuath.	Be guarded about your good intentions; But be not silent or cold, Speak no ill of any one, And though you be vilified show no anger.

Source for this poem is History of Skye (1930)

Borgh Leòdhais	Borve, Lewis
1.	1.
Faglais le uinneagan dathte	A church with stained glass
ri taobh an taigh againn. Eaglaisean	beside our house, churches
an àiteachan eile, òrdaighean	in other places, communion services
anns na h-eagIaisean. Ministearan	in the churches. Ministers
ann an aodaichean dubha,	in black clothes,
busaichean a' tighinn o na h-òrdaighean,	buses coming from the communions,
agus sinn a' seinn shalm. Eildearan	and we singing psalms. Elders
ag ùrnaigh 's á gàireachdainn	praying and laughing
agus cailleachan ann am beannagan	and 'cailleachs' in kerchiefs
aig bòrd a' chomanachaidh.	at the communion table.
Taighean geala agus taighean dubha,	White houses and black,
tidsearan le strapaichean,	teachers with belts,
uèirichean an teileafon,	telephone wires,
agus Disathairne à Steòrnabhagh	and on Saturday from Stornoway
drungairean air busaichean,	drunkards on buses,
agus aon wd nach dìochuimhnichinn ---	and one thing I couldn't forget --
briosgaidean Ròigean, tioram, neo-mhilis,	Ròigean's biscuits, dry and unsweet,
cho cruaidh ris na crùbagan.	crab-hard.
2.	2.
Tha a' mhuir a' seinn an àiteigin,	The sea sings somewhere,
tha ml a' cluinntinn a monmhar;	I hear its murmur;
fada shìos air cùl nan gàrraidhean,	far away behind the walls,
cho sòlaimte ri òrgan,	solemn as an organ,
a' còmhradh, a' gàrinch.	conversing, roaring.

Maoilios M Caimbeul Myles Campbell

Source for this Poem is a fantastic book entitle Siud an t-Eilean (There Goes The Island) Edited by Ian Stephen which can be purchased here.

Craobhan	Trees
Nach eil e iongantach	Is it not strange
Gur anns na craobhan	That it is in the trees
A-nis tha bheatha.	There now is life
Craobhan	Trees
Air an dlùth-chur	Planted close
'S air fàs suas	Now grown high
A' mùchadh a' ghlinne	Choking the glen
'S a' dubhadh na grèine.	Darkening the sun.

Chuir iad às The sheep

Dha na caoraich. Are gone

'S tha an ciobair The shepherd

Air fhògradh In exile

Tobhta a shinnsrean The house of his forebears

Fuar falamh Cold-empty

'S an gleann fo na The glen under

Craobhan. Trees.

Màiri NicDhòmhnaill Mairi Macdonald

Source for this Poem is a fantastic book entitle Siud an t-Eilean (There Goes The Island) Edited by Ian Stephen which can be purchased here.

Chan Eil Ann Cho Seòlta ris an Fhoghar	Strings
Chan eil ann cho seòlia ris an fhoghar	Nothing is as cunning as the autumn
's am fonn air abachadh	the land tuned to ripeness
gus teud ihoiri beò anns a' cliolainn	to activate a string in the body
fathann air an t-slighe dhìornhair	a resonance of the hidden journey
infhilos air a' chòel a cheangleas	an inkling of the music that relates
bithh is bithbhuantachd	being and eternity

am haile is òr air the village golden

an coirce anns an adaig the oats stooked

an loch ri taobh na feannaig the loch beside the plot

'na sgàcthan a mirror

dealbh an t-saoghail fhaicsinnich an image of the overt world

an rathad ann 'na shnàithlean the road a thread

a leanar gu iomall na dùthcha on it to be followed to the edge of the land

gun chasg air aiseag. sea-crossing unhindered

fiath air a' chaolas the narrows calm

ach uspag dhorch an t-sìl save the dark gust of the shoal

a' cluich an uisge contraigh sporting in a slack tide

fo shrian ùmhlachd reined in obedience

glagail air gedòidh dhàna bold geese belling

ri dol air eilthireachd going on their pilgrimage

fear a' sìneadh ceum iomganach a man striding out anxiously

dhan choinneimh to the meeting

mus tig an dùbhlachd before dead of winter comes.

Domhnall MacAmhlaigh Donald MacAulay
(Translations by the poet).

Source for this Poem is a fantastic book entitle Siud an t-Eilean (There Goes The Island) Edited by Ian Stephen which can be purchased here.

Dà Rathad	Two Roads
Carson a bu chòir dhomh gabhail	Why should I follow
na slighe ceart, lom, fada?	the long, smooth, straight road?
Ged a tha an rathad air a bheil mi cam	Although the road I take is crooked
agus tha na clachan a' gearradh ma chasan,	and the stones cut my feet,
agus tha dìreadh an leothaid	and climbing the hill
gam fhàgail gun anail,	leaves me breathless,
chan e an aon rud	I am not confronted
a tha misc coimhead romham.	by the same prospect
latha an dèidh latha.	day after day.
Agus shuas air an leathad	And up on the hill
chì mi timcheall orm,	I can see around me,
chì mi gu bheil barrachd ann dhòmhs'	I can see that there is more in store for me
na slighe cheart, fhada, lom.	than a straight, long, smooth road.
Tha thusa cumail do shùilean air an aon rud	You keep your eyes fixed on one point
ceart, dìreach air do bheulaibh	right in front of you
agus chan fhaic thu gu bheil an saoghal	and you cannot see
ag atharrachadh timcheall ort.	that the world is changing around you.

Anna Frater Anna Frater

Source for this Poem is a fantastic book entitle Siud an t-Eilean (There Goes The Island) Edited by Ian Stephen which can be purchased here.

Fo Sheòl	Under Sail
Bha 'm bàt' agam fo sheòl's a' Chlàrach	My boat was under sail and the Clarach
ag gàireachddaich fo sròin,	laughing agains its prow
mo làmh cheàrr air falmadair	my left hand on the tiller
's an téile 'n suaineadh sgòid.	And the other in the winding of the sheet-rope.

Air dara tobhta 'n fhuaraidh On the second thwart to windward,

shuidh thu, luaidh, 'nam chòir darling, you sat near me,

agus do ròp laist' cuailein and your lit rope of hair

mu m' chridh' 'na shuaineadh òir. about my heart, a winding of gold.

A Dhia, nan robh an cùrsa ud God, if that course had been

gu mo cheann-uidhe deòin, to the destination of my desire,

cha bhiodh am Buta Leódhasach the Butt of Lewis would not

air fóghnadh do mo sheòl. have sufficed for my boat under sail.

Somhairlie MacGill-Eain Sorley Maclean

Source for this Poem is a fantastic book entitled Siud an t-Eilean (There Goes The Island) Edited by Ian Stephen which can be purchased here.

Callainn	Hogmanay
thog mi	in evening Gaelic
air ionnairidh Ghàidhlig	I picked up
an snaim a bh'aig Fionn	the knot Fionn used
air na coin	for leashing
air iall a' sireadh	hounds that sought
bithbhuantachd sgeòil.	stories beyond time


is dh'ionnsaich mi	in schoolday English
air latha-sgoile Beurla	I was taught
nach robh ann ach creathall-chat	to call it a cat's-cradle
rud a dh'altaicheadh ar meòir	a looping exercise
is a chuireadh ùine seachad.	to finger time away


o, bha mi nam shìneadh sa chreathaill	yes, I rocked in that cradle
ach a-nis tha an ùine fàs teann	but now that time becomes tight
is mi sreangte	I am strung
ann an lùb-ruith metaphor	in a metaphor's slip-knot
cù gu cat	dog to cat
thar amall na meadhan-oidhche.	across the swivel of midnight.

Iain Moireach John Murray

You can find more articles in the archive under Gaelic Poetry Nook.

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