Cor na Gàidhlig
Ged’s cruaidh ri ràitinn le mac mo mhàthar
Tha clann nan Gàidheal a’ ruith a-mach,
A’ toirt an cùlaibh ri gnàth an dùthcha
Is fasain ùra gan toirt a-steach,
A’ call na Gàidhlig a bh’aig am pàrantan -
Sìol nan àrmann - b’ e sgial nan creach
Nach seas i h-àite ann an tìr nan àrd-bheann
’S na culaidh-ghràin ann an iomadh neach.
Tha tìr nam beanntan air fàs cho Gallda
Chan fhaodar seann rud a thoirt à cùil
’S a’ chànan aosda bha ’m bial nan daoine
Ga leigeadh aoig ann le cion an diù:
Nach mòr an tàmailt ma chanas càch e
Gun tug sinn àite do chànain ùr
’S mo chuimhne fhìn ann nach cluinnte Bheurl’ ann
Air latha fèilleadh na chaisgeadh cù!
Ach ciamar a dh’fhaodas mi fuireach sàmhach?
Tha cainnt mo mhàthar gam chur nam dheann,
Nuair a chanas naimhdean - is cuid dhiubh càirdean -
Nach buinnig pàist air a cur na cheann,
Ach dè bhiodh ceàrr ged a chuirte dhà ann?
Cha mhisde gàradh air rud bhith ann,
Bu mhath dhut nàbaidh a’ tarraing màileid,
’S treise càraid na aon an crann.
Translations of this Poem
The State of Gaelic
Translator: Bill Innes
Though hard to admit for my mother’s son
Children of the Gael are dying out,
Turning their backs on native ways
For the newest fashions coming in,
Losing the Gaelic of their parents –
Seed of heroes – what a sorry tale
If it can’t survive in the land of bens,
Even despised by many a one.
Land of bens has grown so Lowland,
Old things must be hidden away,
Ancient tongue of the people
Left to wither through lack of love:
What a shame if others say
That we gave place to a newer tongue
When I can’t recall hearing on feast-day
As much English as would curb a dog!
But how can I remain silent?
My mother tongue spurs me on,
When foes tell me – and so-called ‘friends’ –
That a child gains nought from learning it?
But what is wrong with having both?
A garden is better for being sown,
A neighbour’s help can ease a load,
Ploughs stronger drawn by two than one.
About this poem
The bard mourns the loss of the rich oral culture in the Sout Uist he grew up in.
