Nua-bhàrdachd: Gàidhlig / Contemporary Gaelic poetry from Scotland: Meg Bateman
Posted: November 30, 2012 Filed under: English, Gaelic: Scottish, Meg Bateman Comments Off on 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.
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
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