Òran a’ Phuinnsein by Dòmhnall Ruadh Chorùna Donald MacDonald

ʼFhearaibh, a bheil cuimhn’ agaibh
An là thàinig am puinnsean oirnn
ʼNar seasamh anns na truinnsichean
ʼS gun nì ann gus ar còmhdach?

O nach beag a shaoileamaid
Gun tigeadh nì as ùr oirnn –
An sruth tha ruith oʼr sùilean
ʼS sinn a’ cùilearachd ‘s a’ crònan.

Cha robh nì gi teanacsadh dhuinn
Ach làmh thoirt air an t-searbhadair
ʼS a cheangal gus nach fhalbhadh e
Gu dearbhte mu ar srònan.

Cha shaoileamaid san àm bha siud
Gun robh am bàs cho teann oirnn –
Ar leamsa gur e meall a bhʼ ann
Nuair theann e nall air còmhnard.

Sabaid ʼs cath cha dèanamaid
Ged nochdadh iad am fianais dhuinn,
Bha na deòir cho deuchainneach
ʼS chan fhaicinn leus ach neònach.

Nam faighinn mar bu mhiannach leam
Dhan Ghearmailt gum bʼe mʼ iarratas
Se teine thighinn on iarmailt oirr’
Ga leaghadh sìos gun tròcair.

Reproduced by permission of Comann Eachdraidh Uibhist a Tuath.

The Song of the Poison

Lads, do you remember
The day the poison came
As we stood in the trenches
With nothing to protect us?

O how little we thought
A new thing would come at us –
Stream running from our eyes
As we crouched and we wheezed.

There was no way to help ourselves
Except to grab a towel
And tie it so that it would stay
Firmly round our noses.

At that point we hadn’t thought
That death was so close to us –
I had taken it for a shower
As it drifted across the ground to us.

Fighting and battle were impossible
Had they even approached us,
So painful were the tears
While a weird glow was all I saw.

If I had things as I wanted
For Germany I’d ask
Fire raining from the sky on it
To melt it without mercy.

translated by Ronald Black

Source: from Beneath Troubled Skies: poems of Scotland at war, 1914-1918 (SPL/Polygon, 2015) Reproduced by permission of Ronald Black.