Leigeil bhruadaran dhìom
Tha am feasgar ciùin,
an t-adhar san uinneig
gun smal…
Ist, m’ eudail,
na bruidhinn an-dràst’,
tha taibhsean a’ dol siar.
Chan e fear àraidh a chaoininn
ach beatha de mhiann,
gach roghainn neo-thaghte gam thrèigsinn
air do shàillibh, fhir bhàin.
Dèan caithris leam
gus an tèid iad à sealladh.
Cha tig iad nar dàil, oir
is euchdaiche na iadsan
do shìol ’nam bhroinn, is dèine
bhios gul ar ciad-ghin
nuair a thogas tu e os àird.
Translations of this Poem
The Crib
Translator: Kathleen Jamie
A calm evening:
the empty sky sways
in the window’s crib…
Hush love
and you will hear all the ghost words
moving westwards.
It is not the fair original
that makes me mawkish
(his subtle specificities)
but a life of desires,
every type of the god
abandoning me
for your sake, blond Gaelic Antony.
Listen with me,
until each bare-headed Celtic syllable
has stepped,
has rustled shingle-like out
through the grave stone walls.
They’ll steer well clear,
mute as your sperm jumps within me
and the tears rent
by our version of the deed
will be as intense as the exquisite music
of that strange procession
when you emblazon it abroad.
About this poem
This poem and the translation or ‘response’ were published in Dreuchd An Fhigheadair / The Weaver’s Task: a Gaelic Sampler, edited by Christopher Whyte, and published by the Scottish Poetry Library in 2007. Seven Scottish poets with no knowledge of Gaelic were offered literal versions of contemporary Gaelic poems. Their responses were published alongside the Gaelic originals in the book, and can also be read on the website collected under the tag: The Weaver’s Task.
