en fy eu mk sl ga

Rody Gorman

2018-06-07 12:30 — Maribor, Slovenia

Blog Maribor Spring 2018

bloighean den t-sneachd’ ùr is na h-uain

air Cnoc Uaine nan laighe sa mhadainn

agus faoileagan air bhàrr a’ chuain

little bits of fresh new snow and the lambs lying on the hill at Knock in the morning and gulls like white wavecrests on the top of the ocean bay

 

Allt Tarsainn bhuam ri torghan

agus fo mo chasan air an Fhaoilinn,

cadalan-tràghad anns a’ mhorghan

the burn at Allt Tarsainn purling away and under my feet on the shore at Faoilinn a sea-urchin in the pebbly shingle

 

a’ fàs aig Taigh Mòr nan Gilean

far an robh ‘m bodach na linn,

leis fhèin, lus nan trì bilean

growing at the empty Big House in Gillen where the old boy was in his day, all alone, a common valerian

 

och nach robh thu agam, a luaidh,

shìos an sin air bruach an Uillt Ruaidh

seach bhuam an Oir Chluaidh

och dear if only I had you down there then on the clump bank of the Red Burn and not wanting away from me in Clydeside

 

air an Fhaoilinn Dihaoine na Ceusta

ri siubhal an lòin mar a h-uile mac latha,

spàg-ri-tòin is tunnag-ghleusta

on the shore at Faoilinn on Good Friday, deathjourneylooking for sustenance like every day, a little grebe and a velvet scoter

 

na fèidh gu h-ìseal a’ falbh nan greigh

sìos bhon ghaoith far Cruachan na Fèithe Seilich

is an talamh fodham fhathast fon deigh

the wild-deer down there going away off as a cleg-herd down wind from the summit of Cruachan na Fèithe Seilich and the ground beneath me still under ice

 

far an rachamaid gus na smeuran a spìonadh

tiotan aig deireadh an t-samhraidh,

chì mi bhuam an Fhaoilinn a’ lìonadh

from where we used to go picking brambles for a while at the end of summer I see over there the tide coming in on the shore at Faoilinn

 

caora na cairbh

ann an Cùl nan Cnoc anns an fhraoch

agus mu mo chasan de chac-tairbh

the carcase of a sheep on the hill at Cùl nan Cnoc in the middle of nowhere in the furyheather and around my feet all those bullpats

 

na fir air an cois tràth ri rùsgadh

ann am Bealach Garbh Didòmhnaich

is a’ chlann-bheag a’ sìneadh ri dùsgadh

the men legup earlyprayermealtime for the shearing in Bealach Garbh on Sunday and the wee ones starting to wake up

 

fear a’ buain ‘s na chois cù a’ rùrach

air a’ chùl-chinn anns an fhionnairidh

‘s ag èirigh far na mòna de smùrach

a man at the peats and footbeside him a dog rumaging on the common grazing in the evening and rising out of the moorpeat all that drizzledross

 

aig an Taigh Bhàn, dìreach crann-leamhain

‘s fodha de luibhean: fiodh is odharan,

am breunan-brothach is cranntachan-an-deamhain

at the old manse in Kilmore, white-empty, just straightup an English elm and under it all those herbweeds: chickweed and  hogweed, mayweed and summer spurge 

 

an dà shealladh aig an àth

thairis air Allt Tarsainn sa chamhanaich –

an t-seileach agus a sgàth

a double vision at the ford across the burn of Allt Tarsainn in the dawndusk – a willow and its dreadshadow

 

an dèidh ‘n uisg’ a thàinig na dheòir,

air bruach Allt Tarsainn san Iuchar,

seileach agus fionnan-feòir

after the rain that came like tears, on the clumpbank of the burn of Allt Tarsainn in July, a willow and a grasshopper

 

sa Choille Bhig, nach iad a tha dàna

‘s iad a’ sealltainn orm gun char asta,

na h-eilidean bàna

in the woods at Coille Bheag, they’re so brazen, showlooking at me without moving, the white hinds 

WOODS BETWEEN MESTMI PARK AND PIRAMIDA 6 APRIL

SCULPTURE IN ZGORNIA KUNGOTA

 

a’ ghaoth ri sèideadh fo m’ ìne

‘s mi nam shìneadh leam fhìn aig Rubha Shlèite

mar a bha mi nam linn le Sìne

the wind blowing under my fingernails as I lie stretched out on my own at the Point of Sleat like I did in my day with Sheena

 

gun charachadh air bàrr na cathrach

a chuir mi a-mach anns a’ ghàrradh là samhraidh,

tarbh-nathrach, dà tharbh-nathrach

not moving at all on top of the chair I put out in the garden on a summer’s day, a dragonfly, two dragonflies 

CHAIR KALVARIJI HILL 22 APRIL

 

thàinig mi air dà shlighe là

sa choille mu choinneimh Chreag na Bà

‘s chaidh mi timcheall ‘s ghabh mi na dhà

I came on two ways once in the woods opposite Creag na Bà and went round and took the two

 

nach i fhìn am bàrd!

fairichidh mi bho Bheinn a’ Bhràghad

an uiseag-thapaidh gu h-àrd

isn’t that the very bard! I feelhear from the hill at Beinn a’ Bhràghad the skylark on loudhigh

 

chì mo bho Phort na Làire

far an do dh’fhalbh i fhìn, mo nàire,

gu tìr-mòr bhuam ri briseadh na fàire

I see from the shore at Port na Làire where herself left for the mainland wanting away from me in the dawn breaking on the horizon 

 

seachad air a’ chuimhneachan-chogaidh

sa Chille Bhig ris a’ chamhanaich,

dìreach corra-ghritheach is cuthag-bhogaidh

past the war memorial in Kilbeg in the dawndusk just straight up a heron and a water-wagtail 

 

ann an Cùl nan Cnoc leam fhìn a’ seinn

‘s nuair a leigeas mi sreothairt asam no srann,

gun Deiseil!aig duine no Dia leinn!

in the middle of nowhere on the hill at Cùl nan Cnoc on my own singing and when I sneeeeze or yawn, nobody saying Bless you!or God bless and save us! 

 

far am biodh Mòrag

a’ buain sheòbhrach anns a’ Choille Bhig,

romham, leatha fhèin, feòrag

where Morag used to pick primroses in the wood at Coille Bheag, in front of me, on its own, a squirrel 

WOODS BETWEEN MESTMI PARK AND PIRAMIDA 6 APRIL

 

ann an Cùl na h-Àirigh sa ghrèin a dhallas

far an robh mi leatha fhèin turas

às mo lèine hì rì ri ò‘s nam fhallas

at the shieling in Cùl na h-Aìrigh in the blinding sun where I was with herself one journeytime stripped and sweating

 

nach e chuir gu trom a-raoir

thall bhuam air Cnoc an Fhùdair

far an do thriall mi le Mac an t-Saoir

it snowed heavily last night over there from me on the hill at Cnoc an Fhùdair where I deathwent with MacIntyre

 

nach iad a tha gasta –

dà chorra-ghritheach air a’ Chlachaig aig meadhan-latha

gun charachadh asta

lovely – two herons on the shore at Clachaig at midday not moving at all

 

ri càil an là, de ghealagan-lòin

shìos air an Lèanaig tacan

agus a-rithist ri tràth-nòin

at hungerdesirelifestrength day-break all those bright reed buntings down on the levelmeadow for a moment and back again at noon earlyprayermealtime

 

agus a-rithist madainn Diluain

anns an t-sneachd’ ùr nach buan

air Cnoc Uaine, de dh’uain

and again on Monday morning in the freshnew snow that doesn’t last on the hill at Knock, all those lambs

 

nam stad –

fàileadh roid

aig Loch Doire nan Gad

I stop – the airsmell of bog-myrtle at Loch Doire nan Gad

 

a’ ghealach a’ fàs abaich

os cionn a’ Mhonaidh Mheadhanaich

is ceilear aig an uiseig-chabaich

the moon waxing above the moor at Monadh Meadhanach and a crested lark hiderwarbling

 

och, a charaid mhiadhaich –

air a’ Chlachaig a’ togail na h-imrich,

dà ghèadh-fhiadhaich

och, my esteemed relationfriend – on the shore at Clachaig taking off, two wild geese 

 

a’ chlann bheag a’ snàmh

anns an Tiùrr madainn Didòmhnaich

is fad’ às, dìosgan ràmh

little clanchildren swimming in the Dornoe on Sunday morning and far off, the creaking of oars 

 

an aire! mu mo spàgan

a’ siubhal air a’ Chruard anns a’ mhadainn,

dà mhàgan

mind! roundabout my clumsy feet deathseekmoving in the morning, two wee frogs 

 

san fheasgar, fhathast a’ dol –

e fhèin leis fhèin thall

ann am Barabhaig air a’ mhol

in the evening, still going – himself on his own with himself over there in Baravaig on the flockshingle

 

ann an Cnoc Uaine là samhraidh,

bròg-na-cuthaige, sòbhrag is creamh

nach bi ann là geamhraidh

on the hill in Knock on a summer’s day, bluebells, primroses and wild garlic that won’t be there on a winter’s day 

 

aig Òb Snaosaig fo mo chois plaosg

is air an taobh thall riasg

is ag èirigh gu h-àrd às naosg

on the shore at Òb Snaosaig under my legfoot a shell and on the other side a bog-cottongrassmossmarshmoor and rising loudhigh out of it a snipe

 

gun fhuaim is gun deò

na mo shìneadh liom fhìn aig Dùn Flò

feasgar ìseal cho làn ceò

not a sound and not a breath of wind, stretched out low on my own at Dùn Flò in the late afternoon so tidefull of milkmist

 

leth mar leth,

dithis eala-bhàn air Linne na Dunaidh

bhuainn là teth 

side by side, two white swans on the pool at Linne na Dunaidh over there from us on a hot day

 

aig Òb Chamas Chros, mo mhilleadh,

gun an tè bhàn a bh’ ann rim thaobh

‘s an làn a’ tilleadh

at Camuscross Bay, without the one who was there beside me and the fulltide turning 

 

is far an do ghabh sinn ceum

san àm a dh’aom aig an Allt Cham

‘s na h-uain ‘s na bric nan leum

and where we took a lamestep in the bentpast at the burn of Allt Cam and the lambs and the poxtrout jumping 

 

mart ri bacan

ann am Barabhaig anns a’ mhadainn

a’ sealltainn a-nall orm tacan

a cow tied to a stake in Baravaig in the morning showlooking over at me for a while

 

a’ bhratag a bh’ ann seal an-dè

air Drochaid Lòn Crè

an-diugh na dealan-dè

the caterpillar that was there yesterday on the bridge at Drochaid Lòn Crè today a butterfly

THE STEPS TO KALVARIJA 17 APRIL

 

aig alltan-tàimh

ri taobh Loch an Doireannaich,

boladh mùin air mo làimh

beside a dried-up wee burn beside Loch an Doireannaich, the smell of piss on my hand

KAMNICA 22 APRIL

 

ann an Gleann Meadhanach, nathair

a’ gluasad air mo chuairt leam fhìn feasgar

seachad air a’ mhac-gun-athair

in Gleann Meadhanach, a snake moving on my trip on my own in the evening asideoverpast the duckweed 

KALVARIJA HILL 22 APRIL

 

aon dà trì ceithir

tairbh-nathrach a’ dol seachad air Lod Mòr

là garbh cho luath ri beithir

one two three four dragon-flies going overpast the pond at Lod Mòr on a wild day as earlyfast as a skatebeastlightningthunder-boltgust

 

sealladh – air Drochaid Lòn Crè, burras,

nach bi ann ach dreis,

thèid mi ‘n urras

a sight – on the bridge at Drochaid Lòn Crè, a butterfly, that won’t be there for long, I’m willing to bet

POHORJE 18 APRIL

 

och, an sneachda geal

air Cnoc an Fhùdair bhuam thall

nach bi ann ach seal

och, the brightwhite snow on the hill at Cnoc an Fhùdair away from me over there that will only be there for a little while

POHORJE 18 APRIL

 

an raineach a’ dol eug

as t-fhoghar ann am Barabhaig

a bha làn o chionn ceala-deug

the bracken dying off in the autumn in Baravaig that was tidefull a fortnight ago 

 

och, carson a bhios mi daonnan a’ caoidh

nan làitheaan ud aig Loch an Iasgaich

le MacAonghais is MacAoidh?

och, why am I forever harping on about those days at Loch an Iasgaich with MacInnes and Mackay? 

 

de chuileagan mun linne-dealta

air Creag na Bà ri càil an latha

‘s na curracagan a’ laighe nan ealta

all those flies around the dewpond on the hill at Creag na Bà at hungerdesirelifestrength day-break and the sheafshockbroombubblelapwings lielanding in a flock

 

cuileag-Chèitein fhathast na h-ainnir

a’ falbh gu siùbhlach feasgar

thar Loch Nighean Fhionnlaigh na lainnir

a mayfly still a nymph fleetflightflitting in the evening across Loch Nighean Fhionnlaigh all glintradiant

 

och, na bruthaichean casa

a’ tighinn dhachaigh dhomh bho Chnoc Buaile ‘n Easa

a bha uair fada na b’ fhasa

och, all those head-longrapidfootsteep hillsides coing back home from the hill at Cnoc Buaile ‘n Easa which once was a lot easier 

POHORJE 19 APRIL 

 

air ais air an Àilean

far an deach mi uair le MacAilein

a chuir sinn bhon uair sin fon fhàilean

back in the meadow in Àilean where I went onehourtime with MacAllan that we’ve buried under the sod since

 

aig Buaile ‘n Easa

far an trialladh iad nan latha,

ceò-teasa

at the waterfall on the hill at Buaile ‘n Easa where they used to deathwayflockgo to the summer shieling in their day, a milky heat-mist

 

a’ slaodadh sa mhòintich ghlumaich

‘s ghruamaich gu fadalach

seachad air Càrnan an Rumaich

slowdragging on the cloudgloomy moor slowlate out of the way alongpast the wee cairn at Càrnan an Rumaich 

 

thall dhomh far an tadhlainn

leis an tè a bh’ ann

‘s nach eil ann anns an Fhadhlainn

over there where I used to go with herself who was there and isn’t on the beach at Fadhlainn

 

san achadh thall, each stodach,

agus e fhèin cho rèidh

leis fhèin air Gnoban nam Bodach

in the field over by a restive horse, and himself at his ease on his own on the hillock at Gnoban nam Bodach

 

agus an dèidh nan uile,

air m’ ais ri beul na h-oidhche

ri taobh Lòn na Cuile

and after everything, back in the evening beside the fly pond of Lòn na Cuile

 

an t-uisg’ a’ fàs nas mìne

an dèidh dhomh bhith sealltainn ùine

air Sgeir Shìne

the tearsrain becoming finer after I’ve been watching for a while from the rock at Sgeir Shìne

 

mas e ur toil e!

tha mi feuchainn ri fois a ghabhail ùine

aig Abhainn an Taigh-sgoile

if you don’t mind! I’m just trying to get a bit of rest for a moment at the Schoolhouse River

 

chì mi Muile ‘s Tiridhe 

‘s Idhe ‘s na h-eileanan uile

bhuam bho Chnoc a’ Chridhe

I can see Mull and Tiree and Iona and all the islands from the hill of Cnoc a’ Chridhe

PHOTO DRESIBNER 21 APRIL

 

cràdh a’ cur air mo loch-bhlèin

a’ tilleadh ann an Linne nan Ceann le grèin

ach fhathast fhèin

a pain in my groin coming back at Linne nan Ceann in the sun but even so 

 

nam stad aig Linne nan Ceann,

aiteal obann

agus greann

stoodstopped at the pool at Linne nan Ceann, a quicksudden lightjunipercolourbreeze and a striking gloomblastripple on the surface of the water making my hair stand on end 

 

shuas air cùl Ghleann a’ Chruidh

far an robh nan latha na bodaich,

na neòil a’ gluasad uidh air uidh

up at the back of Gleann a’ Chruidh where the oldhalf-bottlesealcodboys were in their day the swoonhueclouds moving little by little  

STATUES AT KAMNICA 22 APRIL 

 

lon-dubh air a leòn aig lòn

ann an Leitir Chaillich là ciùin

gun charachadh ann, mo bhròn

an injured blackbird at a provisionsmarshmeadowpool at Leitir Chaillich on a mildcalm day without a movement at all 

 

Loch na Dàlach na suail

‘s Anna Dhubhbhuam a’ tighinn a-nall

‘s a’ cur foidhpe Rubha Guail

Loch na Dàlach in a squall and the Anna Dhubhcoming over and weathering the point at Rubha Guail

 

nach e fhèin a tha cliste -

dealan-dè rìoghail dìreach ùine

bhuam aig an Drochaid Bhriste

isn’t he suppleswift! a monarch butterfly a monarch just a wee whiledistance from me at the broken bridge

 

saoil nach e sin an Soitheach Mòr 

a chì mi bhuam a’ siubhal feasgar

thall ud seachad air an Sgòr?

is that not the Great Imigrant Ship I see over there deathseekgoing in the evening over there past the peaksteepskerry at the Sgòr? 

 

an solas òrach

fad aon tiota dìreach

bhuam air an Eilean Sgòrach

the golden light golden for just one moment over there on the islet of Eilean Sgòrach 

 

aig Drochaid a’ Mhuilinn eadar deireadh is tùs ràithe

ri taobh an uillt ri taobh na Linne

‘s na clachan fodham a’ fàs nas blàithe

at Mill Bridge eitherbothbetween the end and the beginning of a season beside the burn beside the sound and the stones under me wastegetting warmer

 

Didòmhnaich aig Loch an Iasgaich

anns a’ mhìos mhairbh, tàmh

is feadag aig an uiseig-riasgaich

on a Sunday at Loch an Iasgaich in the dead month of February, restsilence and a Februaryploverwhistle from the mountain Februarywhistleplover

 

a’ ghrian a’ dol fodha

bho Inbhir Amhlabhaig aig deireadh an latha –

sgarbh a’ tumadh far bodha

the sun going down from Inveraulavaig at the end of the day – a shag dives off a skerry 

 

balach anns an t-solas thall air quad

a’ tighinn eadar mi ‘s Beinn a’ Bhràghad

is a’ dol a’ sealladh anns a’ bhad

a young bloke in the light over there on a quad coming between me and Beinn a’ Bhràghad and disappearing just like that

POHORJE 25 APRIL

 

gu grad, bìdeag tabhail

a’ nochdadh air cùl mo mhuineil

aig Cnoc an t-Sabhail

quicksuddenly, a scrap-pinch of a cleg nakedappears on the back of my neck on the hill at Cnoc an t-Sabhail

POHORJE 25 APRIL

 

a’ tighinn air ais ann am Morsaig as t-earrach,

a’ nochdadh romham san fhionnairidh

gun fhiosta, pocan-bearrach

coming back in Morsaig in the spring, nakedviewappearing in the lilacevening suddenly, a puffball

MARIBOR 25 APRIL

 

sa ghrèin air creig, nathair is earc

mar gum b’ ann air cuirm-chnuic

os cionn Rubha Chàrn nan Cearc

in the sun on a rock, a snake and a lizzard like on a hill-picnic above the headland of Rubha Chàrn nan Cearc 

 

san Dàmhair, na h-eòin a’ tarraing

is mi air mo chuairt ann am Barabhaig

is cràdh agam nam dhruim is arraing

in October, the birds leaving as I go back around Baravaig and I get a pain and a stitch in my ridgeback

 

nam stad a’ dèanamh mo mhùin

‘s a’ sealltainn a-mach air a’ Chuan Sgìth sa mhadainn –

och, càite ‘n deach thu bhuam, a rùin?

stopped for a piss and showlooking out onto the Minch in the morning, och, my dear, where have you gone to? 

 

fad finn foinneach an fheasgair a’ fàrsan

san Fhaoilinn ‘s a’ tilleadh an uair sin,

a’ cànran agus a’ càrsan

the whole afternoon rambling on the shore and coming back that hourtime then,whinging and wheezing

 

aon uair eile,breacadh-rionnaich

os cionn Loch an Iasgaich

anns an iarmailt ghlionnaich

once again, a mackerel sky above Loch an Iasgaich in the hazy heavens  

 

a’ tilleadh, air mo shiaradh

bho Rubha Shlèite ‘s air mo bheulaibh,

an t-sligh’ a’ fiaradh is a’ fiaradh

reflectreturning, castwestdecayexhausted from the Point of Sleat and the way mouthahead of me varysheartwistbending and varysheartwistbending  

 

am fàrdach agam trumach air thearrach

agus mi fhìn mar a bha riamh

a’ chiad là den earrach

(aprèsIssa)      

my hovelhome all topsy turvy and myself as ever the first day of spring

 

Loch Eiseort cho ciùin ri clàr

is ann am baile Mhorsaig là foghair,

aon duilleag a’ tuiteam ri làr

Loch Eishort so calmquiet and in the village of Morsaig on an autumn day a single leaf falls to the ground

 

clag na Cille Mòire gun bheum

sa mhadainn earraich is gun seirm

ach fhathast – na h-ògain thall nan leum                  

the churchbell at Kilmore silent on a spring morning but still – the young lambs over there frolicking

KOPER 30 APRIL

 

eathar Iain is Choinnich air chruaidh ri port

an dèidh aon cheala-deug fhathast

shìos air Loch Eiseort

Iain and Kenny’s boat stormbound after more than a fortnight still down on Loch Eishort

KOPER 1 MAY

 

eadar an tuil ‘s an tràigh

ann an dà dhiog aig Camas Darach,

uisge ‘s grian an àigh

eitherbothbetween the floodtide and the recedingstrand in two seconds at Camas Darach, rainwater and glorious sea-groundlandsun

 

beithe-gheal a’ crapadh

as t-fhoghar ann an Gleann Meadhanach

is na duilleagan gan sgapadh

the silver birch crushcrickcrinkleshrinking in autumn in Gleann Meadhanach and the leaves squanderscattering

 

ann an Cùl nan Cnoc Diluain

mar a bha ‘s o chionn seachdain,

am bodach air ais a’ buain

in the middle of nowhere on the hill at Cùl nan Cnoc on Monday like last week, the oldhalf-bottlesealcodboy back at the peats

 

an t-uisg’ a’ tilleadh air Beinn Feòir na thaom –

och, the fios, a charaid chòir agam,

cha robh e mar seo san àm a dh’aom?

the pisstearsrainwater reflectreturning on the hill at Beinn Feòir in a bilgefit-torrent – och, surely, my old friend, it wasn’t like this in the old days? 

 

air beulaibh Taigh Cìobair a’ Chnuic, de threalaich

agus air a chùlaibh,

solas ùr na gealaich

in front of the old Keeper’s House on the hill, all those useless old odds and sods and behind it the light of the new moon

 

boillsgeach, sealanach,

gu h-àrd mun Bhealach Bhàn sa chamhanaich,

tàirneanach is dealanach

flashfleeting highloud at the Bealach Bàn in the dawndusk, thunder and lightning 

 

gnè air choreigin de dh’eun-creiche

fad’ às air Sgùrr na h-Iolaire

‘s shìos bhuam closach gun seiche

some sort of raptor or other far off on Sgùrr na h-Iolaire and down there a carcass without a hide

 

san achadh thall ud, an tarbh

a’ glacadh m’ aire seach an smeòrach

a’ dol seachad air a’ Cheann Gharbh

in the field over by, the bull getting my attention and not the song thrush going past Ceann Garbh

 

shìos bhuam aig a’ Chnoc Uaine,

fèath-geal air lom na Linne

‘s fàileadh ùr na cluaine

down there at Knock, a perfect brightwhite calm on the bare surface of the Sound of Sleat and the freshnew airsmell of the green burial-ground-deceitmeadow

MARIBOR GRASS CUT BESIDE DRAVA 7 MAY

 

seileach a’ cromadh

ann an Allt na Bèiste ‘s ri thaobh

fàileadh na cluain’ air a lomadh

a willow bend-drooping into the burn of Allt na Bèiste and beside it the airsmell of the baremown green burial-ground-deceitmeadow

MARIBOR GRASS CUT BESIDE DRAVA 7 MAY

 

san tiùrr aig Òb Snaosaig, sgonn

gun charachadh is a’ togail ceann

is a’ falbh cho luath, madadh-donn

in the seaweed at high water at Òb Snaosaig, a log not moving at all and lifting up its head and disappearing just like that, a brown otter 

DRAVA, 8 MAY

 

an sàs dhomh tiotan taobh ri fèith

taobh ri Cruachan na Fèithe Seilich,

thall bhuam, seilleanan air an sgèith

caught up for a moment beside a channel in the bog at Cruachan na Fèithe Seilich, over there, bees on the wing

 

gun a bhith a’sealltainn air dad,

an crodh gun charachadh thall ud

ri taobh Loch Doire nan Gad

not looking at anything, the cattle not moving over there beside Loch Doire nan Gad 

 

seadh, na rudan bìodach nach eil thu a’ faicinn:

ann am Fèith na Fala, mi a’ tuiteam sna caochain

‘s de chuileagan air feadh mo chraicinn

aye, the tiny things you don’t see: in Fèith na Fala, falling in blindfundamentmolerills and all those flies all over my skin 

 

chì mi shìos bhuam riochd beathaich

nam sheasamh air Beinn Dubh a’ Bhealaich

is m’ ìomhaigh fhèin san t-slaman-cheathaich

I can see down there the spectreshape of  a beast standing on Beinn Dubh a’ Bhealaich and my own ghostimage in the dry stratus cloud mist 

 

a’ gabhail mar lòn mo cheapairean-taobhaidh

nam shuidhe mun rainich aig an Allt Ruadh -

fuich! saobhaidh!

sitting there with my pieces by the bracken at the burn of Allt Ruadh -  yugh! a fox’s den!

 

air bruach Allt na Bèiste, craobh-chritheach

is air an taobh thall gun charachadh,

leatha fhèin, corra-ghritheach

on the banks of the burn of Allt na Bèiste, an aspen and on the far side not moving at all, on its own, a heron 

 

craobh-chritheach air chrith

air bruach Allt na Bèiste sa chamhanaich

is corra-ghritheach gun char sam bith

an aspen trembling on the banks of the burn of Allt na Bèiste in the duskdawn and a heron not moving at all 

 

nam shìneadh, a’ tuiteam ann an neul

agus Allt na Bèiste bhuam thall

an impis cur a-mach air a bheul

lying, falling in a cloud-daze and the burn of Allt na Bèiste over there about to burst its banks 

DRAVA,  15 MAY

 

air mullach Sgùrr nan Caorach

far an deach sinn aon samhradh,

mi fhìn is an Leòdach is an Saorach

on the ssummit of Sgùrr nan caorach where we went one summer, myself and MacLeod and MacIntyre

 

cho sgiobalta – sgoth Niseach

anns a’ chiùranaich

a’ dol seachad air a’ Ghoirtean Dhriseach

so neatfast – a skiff in the drizzle going past Goirtean Driseach 

 

och, a dhuine ghaolaich –

far an robh Taigh Eòghainn uair na sheasamh,

cluarain agus càrn-aolaich

och, man, where Ewen’s house stood, thistles and a dunghill 

 

an sneachd’ a bh’ ann là no dhà

air ais air Creag na Bà

air leaghadh air falbh mar-thà

the snow that was there a day or two ago on the hill at Creag na Bà has gone and melted already

POHORJE 17 MAY

 

air ais ann am Barabhaig an dèidh dà mhìos

is m’ aire air an rainich ùir air fàs

is cha tèid agam air a cumail sìos

back in Baravaig after two months and my mind on the  new bracken that’s grown and Ii can’t keep it down 

POHORJE 17 MAY

 

mo dhruim a’ fàs tais

is mi nam stad is a’ ghrian ris

aig Allt Rèidhe Ghlais

my ridgeback growgetting humidsoft-tendermoist as I stand there in the sun at the burn of Allt Rèidhe Ghlais

POHORJE 17 MAY

 

Barabhaig na h-aon raon

is an sneachd’ a bh’ ann o chionn tacain

air leaghadh braon bho bhraon

Baravaig like a machair and the snow that was there a while ago melted, every drop 

POHORJE 17 MAY

 

seadh, an sneachda geal a bh’ aig cia mheud troigh

air leathad Sgùrr nan Caorach an t-seachdain a chaidh,

seall an-diugh nach eil na bloigh

aye, the brightwhite snow that was there at how many feet on the slope of Sgìrr nan Caorach last week, showsee today not as much as a flake

POHORJE 17 MAY

 

agus mu dheireadh thall ‘s a-bhos

air ais mar a bha ‘s bho thùs

a-rithist ann an Camas Chros

finally back as in the beginning again in Camuscross

 

nam stad air an t-Sìthean Mhòr, cho sàmhach,

fad’ às langanaich

is làmhach

stopping on the hill at Sìthean Mòr, so quiet, far off a stag bellowing and a gunshot

 

anns an Àirigh Fhraoich a’ triall

far an deach mo Dhonnchadh là dhan robh saoghal

is Dòmhnall is Aonghas is Niall

taking a hike to the shieling where Duncan went once and Donald and Angus an Neil 

 

och nach sleamhainn an rathad air a reothadh

feasgar ìseal ann an Camas Darach

is shìos bhuam de dh’fheamainn a’ breothadh

och, the frozen road is so slippy going in late in the afternoon to Camas Darach and down there all that rotting seaweed 

 

fairichidh mi nuallan eallaich

aig Tobht’ Iain Bhodaich

agus cuileag-theallaich

I can feelhear burdencattle lamentlowing at Old John’s ruin and a cricket

 

a’ stad aig an Allt Cham a ghabhail m’ analach

is thall bhuam corra-ghritheach

far an taine ‘n tanalach

stopping at the burn of Allt Cam to catch my breath and over there a heron where the shoals are shallowest