Fo Bhlàth (‘Flourishing’)
CRIATHAR-MEALA
Mar sheillean don fhlùr
a’ sireadh neachtair
gheibh mi san fhaclar
abairt ùr
mar chrònan ciùin
bho bheachaibh meala
bidh mi a’ deachdadh
dàin dom rùn.
Cuirear briathar
tron a’ chriathar
gus an sil
feadh nan sreathan,
comhardaidh ’s aicill
thoraich: mil.
HONEY-COMB
As a bee seeking nectar
turns to a flower, I
for a new word turn
to the dictionary
and softly humming
as the honey bee does
I will croon a poem
to my love.
Through a fine sieve
the words will trickle
until they flow,
a fertile stream of rhyme
in every line, sweet
as honey.
Translated by Deborah Moffatt
FEAR A’ PHIÀNA AIG GLASCHU MHEADHAIN
Nuair a thàinig mi bha e na thàmh.
Bhris mi an samhchar balbh leis a’ cheòl.
Chlisg na bha dol seachad: ‘Cò tha seo,’
ars’ iad, ‘gar bodhradh le ghleadhradh àrd?’
Lean mi orm ge b’ oil leotha ach dh’fhàs
na bha an làthair is rinn an glòr
is an caithream fuaim a bha cho mòr
’s nach cluinnte gnòst na trèan’ air a’ chlàr.
Cò chluicheadh e ach mise?
Ur nàire gum fàgadh e na thost.
Coma leam coire no bualadh bois’.
A’ phiana chaoimh, cha mhiste
thu beantainn mo làmhan ’s iad a’ ruith
thar gach iuchrach gil’, gach iuchrach duibh’.
THE PIANIST AT GLASGOW CENTRAL
When I sat down to give you back your voice
it was to break the silence of your muse.
The first passers-by complained, ‘Who are you
to deafen us with this ungainly noise?’
I ignored these petty jibes behind my back
for others came thirsty as for rain after drought;
a growing crowd whose clapping and shouts
drowned out the daily grunt of trains on tracks.
Who would play on this day if not for me?
A shame on all those who’ve kept you mute.
No strict censure would make me follow suit.
Listen piano to all that you can be,
as with the freeing touch of human hand
every key is released to make its stand.
Translated by Jim Carruth with the author