Tilleadh bhon a’ bhas
Nuair a thàinig mi air ais bhon a’ bhàs
bha a’ mhadainn ann,
bha an doras-cùil fosgailte,
is bha putan dhe na bha ’na mo lèine air chall.
B’ fheudar dhomh am feur a chùnntadh a-rithist,
is na leacan,
is dh’fhairich mi blas an ìm ùir air a’ bhuntàt’.
Bha ’n càr ag iarraidh peatroil,
’s an gaol ’na shuidhe gu stòlda air seuthar,
is tachais anns an iosgaid agam.
’S ma tha thu creidse mar tha mise
gun tuig fear-leughaidh leth-fhacal,
chì thu nach tug mi iomradh
ach air rud no dhà a dh’ fhairich mi.
Translations of this Poem
Return from death
Translator: Derick Thomson
When I came back from death
it was morning,
the back door was open
and one of the buttons of my shirt had disappeared.
I needed to count the grass-blades again,
and the flagstones,
and I got the taste of fresh butter on the potatoes.
The car needed petrol,
and love sat sedately on a chair,
and there was an itchy feeling at the back of my knee.
And if you believe, as I do,
that one who reads can understand half a word,
you can see that I’ve mentioned
only a couple of things I felt then.
