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Véarsaí na Bliana/A Year In Verse / Rannan na Bliadhna

Mi Eanair / January / Faoilleach

Mí Eanáir
um Chnoc Ùdrathaid
an t-am is gile an sneachta
an t-am is gile m’ aiteas
is mé ag barr m' áthais
ré geimhreadh geal álainn.

In January
about Cnoc Udrathaid
when the snow is whitest
my pleasure is purest
at my summit's joy
in a lovely white winter.

Àm an Fhaoillich
mu Chnoc Ùdrathaid
àm is gile 'n t-sneachd
àm is gile mo thlachd
is mi aig mullach m' aoibhneis
ri geamhradh geal àlainn.

Mí Feabhra / February / Gearran

Loch beag a’ Bhraoin
mar ba mhinic ár dteaghlach faoi fhrasanna séimhe
's m' athair beó ar bhruach an locha
ag ceapadh bhreac ann iomaí tráthnóna
's mé féin ag dreapadh an tsléibhe
ag ceapadh taithneamh an tsaoil.

Wee Loch a' Bhraoin
where often our family were under soft showers
and my father alive at the side of the loch
catching trout there many an evening
while I climbed the hill
catching life's pleasures.

Loch beag a' Bhraoin
far am bu tric ar teaghlach fo bhraontaibh boga
's m' athair beò air bòrd an locha
a' glacadh bhreac ann iomadh feasgar
's mi fhìn a' sreap na beinne
a' glacadh tlachd am beatha.

Mí Márta / March / Màirt

Mí Márta i mBràigh na Glaice
is an baile i nglac an gheimhridh
sneacht a thógann an croí
agus fuacht a nascann daoine
's iad ag tógáil suáilce na ceanúlachta.

March in the Glaik Brae
and the village in the clasp of winter
snow that lifts the heart
and a coldness that binds people
as they raise up the virtue of kindness.

Màirt am Bràigh na Glaice
is am baile 'n glac a' gheamhraidh
sneachd a thogas an cridhe
agus fuachd a cheangaileas daoine
's iad a' togail beus a' chaoimhneis.

Mí Aibreáin / April / Giblean

Ba mhinic lámh le Loch Rainich
mé féin is m' athair 's mo mháthair -
deireadh Dad: "an gcaitheann an diabhal giotár sin
bheith agat achan áite!"
Tá an gléas úd agam go fóill
ach tá sé cineál briste
's a cheol beagáinín ciúin
ón lá a d’ imigh tú, Dad.

Often beside Loch Rannoch were myself, mam and dad -
Dad'd say: "do you have to have that
bloody guitar with you everywhere!"
I still have the instrument
but it's a bit broken and its music quietened
since you left, Dad.

Bu tric ri taobh Loch Rainich
mi fhìn is m' athair 's mo mhàthair -
chanadh Dad: "am feum an diabhal giotàr sin
bhith agad anns gach àite!"
Tha an t-inneal agam fhathast
ach tha e caran briste
's a cheòl caran sàmhach
on là a dh' fhalbh thu, Dad.

Mí Bealtaine / May / Cèitean

Linne Chrombaidh 's an t-eallach go stuama
ag cogain na círe 's mé féin ar rothar
go fíor gan tarraingt anála!
Nach méanar dóibhsan
is iad ina luí go sámh:
ní bhfaighfidh mo leithéid an támh sin
gan lán m’ fhuinnimh a úsáid!

Cromarty Firth with the cattle calmed
chewing the cud while I cycle
my breath in my chest!
It's all right for them
lying quietly:
the likes of me can't gain that rest
without expending full strength!

Linne Chrombaidh 's an cruidh gu ciùin
a' cnàmhadh an cìr 's mi fhìn air rothair
is m' anail gu fìor nam uchd!
Nach buidhe dhaibhsan
is iad nan laighe gu sàmhach:
chan fhaigh mo leithid an tàmh sin
gun làn mo neirt a chleachdadh!

Mí Meithimh / June / Ògmhios

Sgurr a' Mhuilinn is aiteann an t-samhraidh
Donn is buí in éineacht:
an duine a shroicheann an barr ud
is é gan tarraingt anála
beidh a dhuais ór amach roimhe
i measc na ndathanna uilig.

Sgurr a' Mhuilinn and summer broom
Brown and gold together:
the man who reaches the summit, breathless,
will have his golden prize amongst all the colours.

Sgurr a' Mhuilinn is bealaidh an t-samhraidh
Donn is buidhe còmhla:
an duine a ruigeas am mullach
is dearg anail na uchd
bidh a dhuais òr roimhe
a-measg nan dathan uile.

Mí Iúil / July / Iuchair

Chan eil am Magairlín ach beag
san t-suíomh sin sna mórshléibhteanna:
ach lorg mé é
's mé ag siúl de chos
agus chur sé gliondar ar mo chroí
is thug sin barr ar bhláth m' áthais.

The Orchid is but small
in that situation in the great mountains:
but I found it while walking
and it lifted my heart
and my utmost joy blossomed.

Chan eil am Mogairlean ach beag
san t-suidheachadh sin sna beanntan mòra:
ach lorg mi e
's mi dol air chois
is thog e mo chridhe gu làn
is thug sin bàrr air blàth m' aoibhneis.

Mí Lúnasa / August / Lùnastail

Dathanna donna ag teacht anois
ar Oirinn glas mo ghrá:
fillfidh mé an puball
ag filleadh suas smaointí mo chuimhne
ná go dtiocfaidh bliain eile
’s an osclaítear suas iad uilig arís.

Now brown colours come
to my beloved green Orrin:
I'll wrap up the tent
wrapping up my memories
until another year comes
and they're all opened up again.

Dathan donn'  a' tighinn a-nisd
air Oirinn uaine mo ghaoil:
cuiridh mi am bothan-aodach am pasgadh
a' pasgadh suas smuaintean mo chuimhne
gus an tig bliadhna eile
's an tèid am fosgladh uile arìsd.

Meán Fómhair / September / Sultainn

Idir baile is binn -
An t-Òrd, Cnoc Ùdrathaid is eile -
an file a ní treabh i Meán Fómhair
idir páipéir is peann:
meas tú go bhfaighfidh sé toradh?

Between village and hill -
Ord, Udrathaid and the rest -
the bard who makes a September ploughing
between paper and pen:
one wonders if he'll harvest?

Eadar baile is beann -
An t-Òrd, Cnoc Ùdrathaid 's an còrr dhiubh -
am bàrd a nì treabhadh an t-Sultainn
eadar pàipear is peann:
saoil am faigh e toradh?

Deireadh Fómhair / October / Dàmhair

"Mana an Pheintéir" i nDeireadh Fómhair:
deireadh m' athair dá dtiocfadh an spideog
nár n-éireodh le peintéirí saothrú amuigh:
m' obair anois go mbeidh luaite agam
an dá chineál i ndán
go bhfaighfidh mé go brí a gcainte.

"The Painter's Ghost" in October:
my dad would say if the Redbreast came
that painters couldn't work outside:
it's my work now to give poem and place
to both their kinds
that I may understand their words.

"Manadh a' Pheantair" san Dàmhair:
chanadh m' athair nan tigeadh am Brù-dhearg
nach rachadh aig peantairean obair a-muigh:
m' obair-sa nisd gun dèan mi dàn is luaidh
air an dà sheòrs'
ach am faigh mi gu brìgh am briathran.

Samhain / November / Samhain

Arb i soiléireacht gheal gheimhridh
is éascaí bhfeiceann duine
fìrinne focal scríofa ar adhmad:
Baile na Gáidhlig
is Baile an Bháird
baile nua do chuid de dhaoine
ainneoin a aoise?

Is it easier for one to see the truth of the written word in the pure clarity of winter: a Gaelic village, a Gaelic bard, new to some despite antiquity?

An ann an soilleireachd geal geamhraidh
as fhasa chì duine
fìrinn nam facal sgrìobhte air fiodh:
Baile na Gàidhlig
is Baile a' Bhàird
baile tha ùr do chuid
a dh' aindeoin aois?

Mí Nollag / December / Dùbhlachd

Inniu tá ar stáisiúin beo beathach aríst
agus gáire daoine lena chloisteáil ann
agus is geal lem chroí gur beo an baile
le fuaimeanna úra nár gcloiste roimhe
agus daoine cruinnithe faoin ardán
’s traenacha ag rith
idir siúd is seo
suas is síos dúiche mo ghrá.
Cé geal geimhreadh
is gile an croí
a  éisteann leo uilig
le lúchair.

Today our station lives again, people's laughs can be heard there, and my heart rejoices that the village is alive with new sounds not heard before, as folk gather about the platform with trains running between here and there and up and down my beloved country. Though pure is winter, purer is the heart that listens to all of them with joy.

An-diugh tha ar stèisean beò arìsd,
agus gàire dhaoine ri chluinntinn ann
agus is geal lem chridhe gur beò am baile
le fuaimean ùra nach cualas roimhe
agus daoine cruinn mun ùrlar
agus trèanaichean a' ruith
eadar siud is seo
shuas is shìos dùthaich mo ghràidh.
Ge geal geamhradh
is gile an cridhe
a dh' èisdeas riutha uile
le sunndachd.


 


 


 


 

 


 

 




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