“Tha an saoghal fhathast àlainn, ged nach eil thu ann. / The world is still beautiful, though you are not in it.” Bàrdachd: Latha Naomh Anndra / Gaelic poems for Saint Andrew’s Day

ZP_Tha an saoghal fhathast àlainn, ged nach eil thu ann_The world is still beautiful, though you are not in it. Verse from a Gaelic poem, an elegy for his brother, by Sorley Maclean


Nua-bhàrdachd: Gàidhlig / Contemporary Gaelic poetry from Scotland: Meg Bateman

ZP_A nineteenth-century illustration, Spear-plume thistle or Cirsium vulgare, which was the original native Scotch Thistle until the arrival in the middle ages of the tougher, spinier and more impressive Onopordum acanthium.

ZP_A nineteenth-century illustration, Spear-plume thistle or Cirsium vulgare, which was the original native Scotch Thistle until the arrival in the middle ages of the tougher, spinier and more impressive Onopordum acanthium.

 

Meg Bateman (born 1959, Edinburgh, Scotland)

“Mother”

.

We looked at the stars for a while

Before we turned in with the dogs,

And you said it was high time

You learnt their names properly.

.

But soon you will be among them yourself

And I will be the one trying to name you;

You whose nature I have seen

Only as their faint points of light –

.

As you labour behind duty,

Behind house-work, farm-work, books,

And who knows if you have your reward

For your care and effort and exhaustion.

.

I wish I could kindle a joy in you

That would let me see you whole

Or you won’t be further when you go

Than you were tonight at my side.

 

.     .     .

 

“Màthair”

.

Bha sinn a’coimhead nan rionnag

mus do thionndaidh sinn a-steach leis na coin,

is thuirt thu gum bu mhithich dhut

na h-ainmean aca ionnsachadh gu ceart.

.

Ach chan fhada gus am bi thu fhèin nam measg

’s is mise a bhios a’feuchainn ri d’ainmeachadh,

thusa aig nach fhaca mi do nàdar

ach mar phriobadh fann an cuid solais –

.

Is tu riamh an ceann do dhleastanais,

mu chòcaireachd, caoraich, leabhraichean;

a bheil fios an d’fhuair thu do dhìol

airson do dheataim is spàirn is sgìths?

.

O gun lasainn de dh’aighear annad

na leigeadh leam d’fhaicinn gu slàn,

no chan fhaide thu bhuam nuair a shiùbhlas tu

nab ha thu rim thaobh a-nochd.

 

.     .     .

 

“Lightness”

.

It was your lightness that drew me,

The lightness of your talk and your laughter,

The lightness of your cheek in my hands,

Your sweet gentle modest lightness;

And it is the lightness of your kiss

That is starving my mouth,

And the lightness of your embrace

That will let me go adrift.

 

.     .     .

 

“Aotromachd”

.

B’ e d’ aotromachd a rinn mo thaladh,

Aotromachd do chainnte’s do ghaire,

Aotromachd do lethchinn nam lamhan,

D’ aotromachd lurach ur mhalda;

Agus ‘s e aotromachd do phoige

A tha a’ cur trasg air mo bheoil-sa,

Is ‘s e aotromachd do ghlaic mum chuairt-sa

A leigeas seachad leis an t-sruth mi.

 

.     .     .

 

“O Bonnie Man, Lovely Man”

.

O bonnie man, lovely man,

You’ve brought a song to my lips,

.

A spring of clear gushing water

Spilling over the rocks,

.

Soft grasses and bracken

Covering my slopes with green;

.

Your bed is in cotton-grass

With curlews calling in flight,

.

Maytime’s sweet drizzle

is settling about me,

.

Giving mirth and voice

to my soils long barren,

.

O bonnie man, lovely man,

You’ve brought a song to my lips.

 

.     .     .

 

“Fhir luraich ’s fhir àlainn”

.

Fhir luraich ’s fhir àlainn,

thug thu dàn gu mo bhilean,

.

Tobar uisge ghil chraobhaich

a’ taomadh thar nan creagan,

.

Feur caoin agus raineach

a’ glasadh mo shliosan;

.

Tha do leabaidh sa chanach,

gairm ghuilbneach air iteig.

.

Tha ceòban cùbhraidh na Màighe

a’ teàrnadh mu mo thimcheall,

.

’S e a’ toirt suilt agus gutha

dham fhuinn fada dìomhain,

.

Fhir luraich ’s fhir àlainn,

thug thu dàn gu mo bhilean.

 

 

.     .     .     .     .

All poems © Meg Bateman


Latha Naomh Anndra / Scottish Gaelic poems for Saint Andrew’s Day: Sorley Maclean

.

Sorley Maclean (Somhairle MacGill-Eain)

(Raasay, Scotland, 1911-1996)

“Should I even strip off…”

.

Should I even strip off

My deceit-proof clothing

And go naked and eager

As a blaze of supreme reason,

I’d then reach the core-love

Of my reason for living

And I’d add to your pleasure

The blaze of supreme reason.

 

.     .     .

 

“Ged chuirinn dhiom éideadh”

.

Ged chuirinn dhiom éideadh

Faireachaidh na cluaineis

‘S nam falbhainn 10m gleusta

‘Nam chaoir céille buadhmhoir,

Ruiginn an-sin cré-ghaol

Mo chéille luaidhe

‘S liùbhrainn do t’ éibhneas

Caoir na céille buadhmhoir.

 

.     .     .

 

“Calvary”

.

My eye is not on Calvary

nor on Bethlehem the Blessed,

but on a foul-smelling backland in Glasgow,

where life rots as it grows;

and on a room in Edinburgh,

a room of poverty and pain,

where the diseased infant

writhes and wallows till death.

ZP_Glasgow Street, Toronto, Canada

ZP_Glasgow Street, Toronto, Canada

“Calbharaigh”

.

Chan eil mo shùil air Calbharaigh

no air Betlehem an àigh

ach air cùil ghrod an Glaschu

far bheil an lobhadh fàis,

agus air seòmar an Dùn Èideann,

seòmar bochdainn ’s cràidh,

far a bheil an naoidhean creuchdach

ri aonagraich gu bhàs.

 

.     .     .

 

“The Choice”

.

I walked with my reason

out beside the sea.

We were together but it was

keeping a little distance from me.

.

Then it turned saying:

is it true you heard

that your beautiful white love

is getting married early on Monday?

.

I checked the heart that was rising

in my torn swift breast

and I said: most likely;

why should I lie about it?

.

How should I think that I would grab

the radiant golden star,

that I would catch it and put it

prudently in my pocket?

.

I did not take a cross’s death

in the hard extremity of Spain

and how then should I expect

the one new prize of fate?

.

I followed only a way

that was small, mean, low, dry, lukewarm,

and how then should I meet

the thunderbolt of love?

.

But if I had the choice again

and stood on that headland,

I would leap from heaven or hell

with a whole spirit and heart.

 

.     .     .

 

“An Roghainn”

.

Choisich mi cuide ri mo thuigse

a-muigh ri taobh a’ chuain;

bha sinn còmhla ach bha ise

a’ fuireach tiotan bhuam.

.

An sin thionndaidh i ag ràdha:

a bheil e fìor gun cual’

thu gu bheil do ghaol geal àlainn

a’ pòsadh tràth Diluain?

.

Bhac mi ’n cridhe bha ’g èirigh

’nam bhroilleach reubte luath

is thubhairt mi: tha mi cinnteach;

carson bu bhreug e bhuam?

.

Ciamar a smaoinichinn gun glacainn

an rionnag leugach òir,

gum beirinn oirre ’s gun cuirinn i

gu ciallach ’na mo phòc?

.

Cha d’ ghabh mise bàs croinn-ceusaidh

an èiginn chruaidh na Spàinn

is ciamar sin bhiodh dùil agam

ri aon duais ùir an dàin?

.

Cha do lean mi ach an t-slighe chrìon

bheag ìosal thioram thlàth,

is ciamar sin a choinnichinn

ri beithir-theine ghràidh?

.

Ach nan robh ’n roghainn rithist dhomh

’s mi ’m sheasamh air an àird,

leumainn à neamh no iutharna

le spiorad ’s cridhe slàn.

 

.     .     .     .     .


Poemas y Oración para el Día de Acción de Gracias

.

Dos poemas por Alexander Best

.

“Thanksgiving ‘Getaway’ March”

.

Rrrrum pa pum pa pum-key – that turkey’s on the run.

Rrrrum pa pum pa pum-key – he got away too late.

Dinner’s almost rrread-y – an hour and it’s done.

Our house smells good for comp’ny – a drrrumstick on your plate!

.     .     .

“Poema pavo”

.

Señor Ave distinguido,

¿Porqué eriza las plumas?

Totole, totole, manojo de nervios,

¿Te marchas a las lomas?

Macho gordo – está listo

– no buscamos bronca.

Da tu vida por plato de mole,

¡Hoy día – la gran tertulia!

Guajolote, guajolote,

Pajarote indio.

Comida antigua americana

– y ésta tarde, ¡p’ra todo!

.     .     .

“Oración dulce, sincera – y juguetona”

.

Padre nuestro, Madre nuestra –

que estén en el cielo,

Santificado sean sus nombres,

Venga el reino de ustedes,

Háganse la voluntad en la tierra como en el cielo,

Dennos hoy nuestro pan de cada día,

 (– y hoy día guajolote al horno con chilmole y flan de calabaza también, por favor –)

Perdonen nuestras ofensas,

como también nosotros perdonamos a los que nos ofenden,

No nos dejen caer en tentación y líbrennos del mal.

Amén.

.     .     .     .     .


Muharram Mubarak: poem for a blesséd New Year المحرّم

 

New Year’s Resolutions: 

a poem by Wayfarer

.

The first of Muharram has arrived

Alhamdulillah

Another year we have survived

This year we strive to do so much better

Practice our Deen down to the letter

Complete all our Salaat on time

Do many good deeds in our prime

Give Zakat without hesitation

Of the Holy Qu’ran make frequent recitation

Treat all we come across with kindness

Constantly ask for forgiveness

Muharram Mubarak to you, and

May all your Duas come true

Insha’Allah !

 

 

.     .     .

Glossary of Arabic phrases and Muslim terms:

 

Alhamdulillah:  In Arabic – God/Allah be praised

Deen:  In Arabic – the way or code of life

Salaat:  Arabic for proper prayer ritual

Zakat:  the giving of a portion of one’s wealth to the poor or needy – a practice initiated by Muhammad

Muharram Mubarak:  Blesséd Muharram – an equivalent to Happy New Year in English.  Muharram is the first month of the Islamic lunar calendar.  In 2012 New Year’s Day is November 15th and marks the beginning of year 1434.

Dua:  calling out to/summoning God – one’s personal invocation to Allah

Insha’Allah:  In Arabic – God/Allah willing,  If God/Allah wishes it to be so.

 

.

A special Thank You to Wayfarer for this Muharram poem!

.     .     .     .     .


दीप एक जलता रहे / Poems for Diwali !

दीप एक जलता रहे  / Diwali Poems in Hindi / English

.

पर्व है पुरुषार्थ का,

दीप के दिव्यार्थ का,

देहरी पर दीप एक जलता रहे,

अंधकार से युद्ध यह चलता रहे,

हारेगी हर बार अंधियारे की घोर-कालिमा,

जीतेगी जगमग उजियारे की स्वर्ण-लालिमा,

दीप ही ज्योति का प्रथम तीर्थ है,

कायम रहे इसका अर्थ, वरना व्यर्थ है,

आशीषों की मधुर छांव इसे दे दीजिए,

प्रार्थना-शुभकामना हमारी ले लीजिए!!

झिलमिल रोशनी में निवेदित अविरल शुभकामना

आस्था के आलोक में आदरयुक्त मंगल भावना!!!

.    .     .

Ashwani Kumar ‘Jatan’

“Pyari Deepawali Hai Aayi”

.

Bachchon khushiyan khoob manaao

rang birange deep jalaao,

dene fir khush haali aai

pyari deepawali hai aayi.

.

Ghar-ghar deep jalaana hai

khoob mithaai khana hai.

pataakhe nahin bajaana hai.

paryavaran ko bachaana hai.

.

Mat karna bachchon manmaani

pataakhon se nahin chhedkhaani.,

sabhi ke cheharon par hai laali

“Jatan” sabhi ko subh Diwali.

.     .     .

“Praise Laxmi Maa”

.

Goddess of riches,

Granter of health,

Most revered of all gods – Mother Laxmi,

We praise you on this day!

.

Make vanish the darkness,

Spread rays of light,

We are your children, oh Mother –

Bless us all with your boons!

.

Give us strength to conquer what’s evil,

Make us happy and civil,

You on this day killed one mighty devil –

Bestow your grace on us and

Let good prevail!

.

Lord Ram’s wife, Sita, you are,

And Lord Krishna’s great gita,

You – our lighthouse in dark seas,

Only through You will we reach our destination!

.     .     .     .     .


Remembrance Day 2012: “War is like a flower…”: poems of War world-wide

.

Louise Glück

“The Red Poppy”

.

The great thing

is not having

a mind.  Feelings:

oh, I have those;  they

govern me.  I have

a lord in heaven

called the sun, and open

for him, showing him

the fire of my own heart, fire

like his presence.

What could such glory be

if not a heart?  Oh my brothers and sisters,

were you like me once, long ago,

before you were human?  Did you

permit yourselves

to open once, who would never

open again?  Because in truth

I am speaking now

the way you do.  I speak

because I am shattered.

.     .     .