The Gaelic Poetry Nook will present poetry both in English and Gaelic.
| A'Bhliadhna Ur | The New Year |
| An i Seo a' bhliadhna | Will this be the year |
| a leaghas na bodaich-shneachda | that the snow-men melt |
| ann am pòg mhilis an t-samhraidh, | in the sweet kiss of summer, |
| a ghairmear air na bodaich-starraig | that the oracle of three cries |
| taghairm nan trì gairm, | will be invoked against the crow-men, |
| a thèid na leth-bhodaich | that the mutchkin-men |
| an spealgadh ri na cladaichean? | will be shattered on the shores? |
| O chan i chan i. | O no it is not. |
| Seasaidh na bodaich-shneachd | The snow-men will last, |
| smèididh na bodaich-starraig | the crow-men will wave, |
| seinnidh na leth-bhodaich | the mutchkinmen will sing |
| dìreach mar a chleachd | just as they have before - |
| feumaidh a' bhliadhna dhol 'na cèis | the year must fit its shell |
| is tha na cèisean gun mhùthadh. | and the shells are immutable. |
| Iain Moireach | John Murray |
Source for this Poem is Siud an t-Eilean (There Goes The Island) Edited by Ian Stephen which can be purchased here for
| Comharra Stiùirdh | Landmark |
| Siud an t-eilean às an t-sealladh | There goes the island out of sight |
| mar a shiùbhlas am bàta, | as the boat sails on, |
| mar a chunnaic iomadh bàrd e | as seen by many a bard |
| eadar liunn is iargan, | through sorrow and beer |
| 's fir eile a bha'n teanga fo fiacaill, | and by others, tongue under tooth, |
| 's deòir a' dalladh - | and tears blinding - |
| dubhradh- neo-dhearbht is uinneagan a' fannadh. | and ill-defined shadow and windows fading. |
| Ach chan eil a' cheiste cho sìmplidh | But the matter is not so simple |
| don allmharach an comhair na bliadhna: | to the one who's a yealy pilgrim: |
| a-mach à tilleadh èiridh iargan | out of returning sorrow rises |
| à roinn a chuir an saoghal an dìmeas. | from a region the world has derided. |
| Cuideachd, chan e siud m' eilean-s': | And, that is not my island: |
| chaidh esan fodha o chionn fhada, | it submerged long ago |
| a' chuid mhòr dheth, | the greater part of it . |
| fo dheireas is ainneart; | in neglect and tyranny - |
| 's na chaidh fodha annam fhìn dheth, | and the part that submerged in me of it, |
| 'na ghrianan 'S cnoc eighre, | sun-bower and iceberg, |
| tha e a' seòladh na mara anns am bì mi | sails the ocean I travel, |
| 'na phrìomh chomharr stiùiridh | a primary landmark |
| cunnartach, do-sheachaint, gun fhaochadh. | dangerous, essential, demanding. |
| Domhall MacAmhlaigh |
Donald MaAulay (Transation by the poet) |
Source for this Poem is Siud an t-Eilean (There Goes The Island) Edited by Ian Stephen which can be purchased here for
| Fiosrachadh | Insight |
| Ach an solas glas an latha seo | But in this day's grey light |
| cuid a thuair fhaileis air d' ghnùis | some shadows' hues about your face |
| is dh'fhaillich orm coimeasgadh an lìth | I have failed to blend in pigment |
| air am faicinn sguabte le gaoith, | in the cool skin tones |
| de bheanntan air astaran. | of miles-off hillsides |
| Rìghleachan | Flurries |
| Rìghleachan geal fhaoileann | White flurries of seagulls |
| a' tuiteam air a' chaladh - | falling on the harbour |
| acras geamhraidh an lòineagan. | winter-hungry flakes. |
| Niall Seadha | Neill Shaw |
Source for this Poem is Siud an t-Eilean (There Goes The Island) Edited by Ian Stephen which can be purchased here for
| Fithich | Ravens |
| Ann an imnidh na maidne | In the disquiet of the morning |
| tha iad air iteig gu socair, | they are restfully on the wing, |
| a' cuartachadh 's a' cuaitachadh | circling and circling |
| os cionn na mòintich. | above the moor. |
| Fithich chràbhach | Devout ravens |
| ag ràdh na conaire gairge ud | saying that harsh rosary |
| airson nam marbh ana-creideach. | for the faithless departed. |
| Fithich flrithealach | Officiating ravens |
| nan sagartachd dhubh, | in their black priesthood, |
| a' cuartachadh 's a' cuartachadh | circling and circling |
| anns an adhar throm, | in the heavy sky, |
| a' toirt tròcair is ìobairt gu coma | bringing mercy and sacrifice indifferently |
| don mhòintich. | to the moor. |
| Dòmhnall Rothach | Donald Munro |
Source for this Poem is Siud an t-Eilean (There Goes The Island) Edited by Ian Stephen which can be purchased here for
| Bithidh an Raon air a Tuileachadh | The Field Will Be Flooded |
| Bithidh an raon air a tuiIeachadh le feur ùr | The field will be flooded with fresh grass |
| is an raineach a' luasgadh | and the bracken waving |
| mar fheamainn anns an t-sùmainn. | like seaweed in the surge. |
| Bithidh siùil gheala nan sgìtheach | The white sails of the hawthorns |
| air an togail ris a' ghaoith, | will be hoisted to the wind, |
| agus lusan beaga, buidhe is geala | and little flowers, yellow and white, |
| a' dealrachadh | glittering |
| mar choinnle-Bnanain anns a' ghuirme. | like phosphorescence in the green. |
| Slaodaidh a' ghrian reothart | The sun will drag a springtide |
| thar gàrradh liath na raoin; | over the grey dykes of the field; |
| am measg nan craobh crìon cnàmhach, | amongst the withered bony trees, . |
| bolg reothairt san aimsir mhàithreil; | the swollen belly of springtide in the mothering season; |
| reothart gàirdeach feòir ùir. | a joyful springtide of new grass. |
| Dòmhnall Rothach | Donald Munro |
Source for this Poem is Siud an t-Eilean (There Goes The Island) Edited by Ian Stephen which can be purchased here for
| Uilebheist | Monster |
| A leth-cheud bliadhna na ràithe sa | Fifty years this season |
| sheòl am Metagama, | the Metagama set sail, |
| shnàmh i air falbh bhuainn | it swam away from us, |
| 'na bèist-mhara | a sea-monster |
| a shluig ar gaisge 's ar n-òige. | that had swallowed our valour and youth. |
| Thog I cùrsa air nach ruigeadh fradharc, | It set a course the eye could not follow |
| gu grunnd air nach deargadh caoineadh. | to a ground where weeping would be in vain. |
| On latha sin tha i daonnan | to a ground where weeping would be in vain. |
| Slaodaidh a' ghrian reothart | From that day it is constantly | 'nar bruadair, | in our dream, |
| ag eirigh air uachdar ann le uinneagan dealrach: | it rises to its surface with bright-lit windows: |
| sgeadaicht an òran 's an uirsgeul, | decked out in song and tale, |
| duais na bochdainn | the reward of poverty |
| 'na bun-dhealbh an lìon ar n-eachdraidh. | a base-motif in the web of our history. |
| Tha sinn ga sìr-iarraidh | We pursue it constantly as a key | mar uchair | as a key |
| a bheireadh fuasgladh do ar staid, | that would unravel our condition, |
| a bheireadh buaidh air sileadh ar brìgh, | a remedy for the ebbing away of our worth, |
| ar dìmeas 's ar mealladh oirnn fhìn | for our self-derogation and our self-deceit |
| ar dòchas | our hope |
| air a' bhànaidh a' rannsachadh gach geodh' | obsessively searching every creek between |
| eadar seo is Nineveh, | here and Nineveh |
| a' sìr-cheangal ri cladaichean ciana. | always confined to distant shores. |
| Chunnacas i am bliadhna rithist. | It has been sighted again this year. | Tha na sanasan crochaicht ris na h-uinneagan. | The advertisements are posted on the windows. |
| Tha sgiobaidhean sianta gam fasdadh. | Immune crews are being hired. |
| Is tha Ahab | And Ahab |
| ga bheartachadh fhèin chun an t-seilg. | is girding himself for the hunt. |
| Domhnall MacAmhlaigh | Donald MacAulay |
Source for this Poem is Siud an t-Eilean (There Goes The Island) Edited by Ian Stephen which can be purchased here for
| An Oige | Youth |
| Chuir mi car mun chnoc gu tùrail- | Purposefully I went round the hill- |
| cnoc de chnuic am beanntan Uige | one of the hills of the mountains of Uig |
| san àit' an d' rinn mo chuimhne dùsgadh; | in the place where my memory awoke; |
| feasgar Sàbald shìos mun ghàrradh | on a Sunday evening down by the dyke |
| crìochan saogh'l le òrdugh màthar | the limit of my world on mother's orders |
| 'g èisdeachd fuinn nan salm a' teàrnadh | I listened to the psalm tunes escaping |
| togt' air bilean sluaigh ànirde; | raised on the lips of people; |
| a' call nan cas am measg na luachrach, | losing my feet among the rushes, |
| cha robh daorach 's cha robh buarach | neither fetter nor intoxication |
| a' bacadh adhartas na h-uarach | delayed the progress of the hour, |
| ach bha sìth ann is bha fois ann, | but there was peace and there was calm, |
| is bha ùrachadh 's gach frois ann; | and refreshment in every shower; |
| ceòl is driùchd 's bu lìonmhor spòrsa, | music and dew and fun in abundance, |
| sin cuimhneachan air cuairt na h-òige | that is the memory of the cycle of youth. |
| Domhnall Iain Maclomhair |
Donald John Maciver (translations by the poet) |
Source for this Poem is Siud an t-Eilean (There Goes The Island) Edited by Ian Stephen which can be purchased here for
| A' Chiach | The Stone |
| suath mi, a ghaoitilhean, le, | stroke me, winds, with |
| naidheachd às gach àirde: sìn orm | news from each quarter: rest on me |
| suath mi, a ghrèine, do | stroke me, sun, your |
| shoilise teas mo chridhe: sìn orm | light heats my heart: rest on me |
| suath mi, a ghealaich, mo | stroke me, moon, my |
| leigheas na do ghilead: sìn orm | health in your whiteness: rest on me |
| suath mi, a shiantan, ur | stroke me, elements, your |
| frasan ga mo nighe: sìn orm | showers wash me clean: rest on me |
| tamh annam, | peace in me, |
| sàmhchar | silence |
| Aonghas MacNeacail | Aonghas MacNeacail (Translation by the poet) |
Source for this Poem is Siud an t-Eilean (There Goes The Island) Edited by Ian Stephen which can be purchased here for
| An Teasach | Fever |
| A' crochadh bhon t-slabhraidh | Suspended from the hanging chain, |
| tha 'n coire cur a sheanar às;* | the fiercely boiling kettle |
| agus na coirean a th' unnainn | steams and we, |
| a' goil leis an teasach a th' oirnn | sweating in fevered haste, |
| airson ar sinnsearan | reject our ancestry |
| a spùtadh a-mach nan ceò. | in insubsiantial vapour. |
| An cridhe blàth a chaidh a ghluasadh | The heart that was moved |
| le gaol is cleas is ceòl | to love and play and music, |
| a' falbh air àile aotrom | drifting away now on a fitfuI breeze, |
| gun fiù 's fead. | without a departing whistle. |
| Ach èsdibh ri mo choire-sa | But if the fire |
| gus an cluinn sibh mo sgreuch | should overcome my heritage |
| ma thòisicheas an teine | But if the fire |
| gus an cluinn sibh mo sgreuch | should overcome my heritage |
| ma thòisicheas an teine | my steam shall not |
| ri mo sheanair a thoirt asam. | ascend without a screech. |
| Anna Frater | Anna Frater |
Source for this Poem is Siud an t-Eilean (There Goes The Island) Edited by Ian Stephen which can be purchased here for
| Eilean Phabail | Bayble Island |
| A' crochadh bhon t-slabhraidh | Like you, I am |
| nam dhà leth; | divided. | a' seòladh air cuan | Floating on sea |
| ach ceangailte ri creagan m' àraich; | but made fast |
| uaine agus flùran | to my ground rock; |
| a' sreap gu grian | green and flowers |
| agus nèamh; | climbing to the sun and heaven; |
| creagan donn a' bàthadh | brown rocks drowning under |
| fo mhuir agus feamainn | brine and tangle |
| agus dorchadas | in darkness. |
| Faisg air daoine: | Near people, |
| gan coimhead, | watching them, |
| gan cluinntinn, | hearing them, |
| ach cha ruig iad orm - | but they cannot reach me - |
| tha mi ro fhad' air falbh. | distance is maintained. |
| Chan urrainn dhomh fàgaiI, | I can't leave. |
| chan urra inn dhomh tilleadh, | There's no way back. |
| 's cha tig an dà leth ri chèile. | Halves remain separate. |
| Anna Frater | Anna Frater |
Source for this Poem is Siud an t-Eilean (There Goes The Island) Edited by Ian Stephen which can be purchased here for
| An Taigh-Tasgaidh 's an Leabhar | The Museum and the Book |
| Feumaidh mi dhol chun tiagh-tasgaidh | I must go to the museum | dh' fhaicinn uidheaman m' eachdraidh | to see the tools of my history |
| a shad mo sheanmhair às | my grandmother threw out | a shuath mo sheanair | my grandfather stroked | le bhoisean cnapach sgìth | with his tired knobbly hands |
| air a' chuairt mu dhelreadh | on the last round |
| a ghabh e | he made |
| dhan t-sabhal. | of the barn. |
| Feumaidh ml dhol chun taigh-tasgaidh | I must go to the museum |
| as aonais duslach an fheòir | without the dust of the grass |
| air m' aodach, | on my clothes |
| dh'fhaicinn uidheaman m' eachdraidh | to see the tools of my history . |
| mus tèid an leth-shealladh | before the half-sight |
| den leth-sgeul | of the half-story |
| a th' agam a | I have |
| a dhìth | is swept |
| leis an sguab th' air cùl mo shàil. | away by the brush at my heels. |
| Feumaidh ml leabhar bhith deas air mo shùil | I must have a book for my eyes. |
| de bhriathran nan làithean a dh'fhalbh, | of the words of days gone by, |
| feumaidh mi leughadh fa chomhair an àm | I must read it when facing the time. |
| tha cànan an cunnart dhol balbh. | a language threatens to go dumb. |
| Feumaidh mi leabhar a dh'innseas dhomh sgeul | I must have a book that will tell me a story |
| nach eil idir air bilean an t-sluaigh, | that's not on the lips of the people, |
| a dhol gu fear eile 'son barrachd de dh'fhios | must go to someone else for more information |
| 's de thuigse air adhbhar na truaigh'. | and understanding of the reason for grief. |
| Màir NicGumaraid | Mary Montgomery (Translations by the poet) |
Source for this Poem is Siud an t-Eilean (There Goes The Island) Edited by Ian Stephen which can be purchased here for
| DO BHEITHE BOIDHEACH | TO A BONNY BIRCH TREE |
|
Neul a' snàmh air an speur, duilleach eadar e 's cli mo shùil; ùr bàrr-uaine gruag a' bheithe, eug nan leitir cas mu 'n Lùib. |
A cloud drifting in he sky leafage between I and my eye; fresh arid green-crested are thee tresses of the birch jewel of the steep descents about the Bright |
| Oiteag tighinn bharr an tuim, a toirt fuinn as dhos; cruit na gaoithe do bhàrr teudach, cuisleannan nan geug ri port. |
A gentle breeze from the knowe wins music from your crest; harp of he wind is your stringed top as the tendrils of the boughs make melody. |
| Ailleagan nan glac so shìos, sìodhbhrugh do, na h-eòin do dblùths, thu 'gan tàladh as gach àirde, iad a' teàrnadh ort le sunnd. |
Gem of the hollows down there, a fairy mound for the birds is your close-set fastness; you charming them out of every airt, and they stooping down on you with cheer. |
| Ceileireadh 's e binn binn, seirm is seinn air a' chnoc, nuair a chromas na h-eòin Shamhraidh air do mheanglain 's mil 'nan gob. |
Sweet, sweet the chorusing, carolling and singing on the hillock when the birds of summer alight on your sprays with honey in their beaks. |
| Is fhèarr na 'n ceòl t' fhaicinn fhèin air bhogadan réidh fo 'n chnap, seang bàrr-sniomhain amhlach ùrar, is dealt 'na chùirnein air gach slait. |
Better than their music is to see yourself, gently nodding below the scaur, slim and fresh, with crest enlaced and plaited, and beads of dew on every branch. |
| Deorsa Mac Iain Deorsa | George Campbell Hay |
Source for this Poem is Nua - Bhardachd Ghaidhig (Modern Scottish Gaelic Poems) which can be purchased for $11.00 by going here.
You can find more articles in the archive under Gaelic Poetry Nook.
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