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narya_flameTime for some Gaelic this week; this is long-ish, so both the original and the English translation are under cuts.
Coin is Madaidhean-allaidh
Thar na sìorraidheachd, thar a sneachda,
chì mi mo dhàin neo-dheachdte,
chì mi lorgan an spòg a' breacadh
gile shuaimhneach an t-sneachda:
calg air bhoile, teanga fala,
gadhair chaola 's madaidhean-allaidh
a' leum thar mullaichean nan gàrradh,
a' ruith fo sgàil nan craobhan fàsail,
a' gabhail cumhang nan caol-ghleann,
a' sireadh caisead nan gaoth-bheann;
an langan gallanach a' sianail
thar loman cruaidhe nan àm cianail,
an comhartaich bhiothbhuan 'na mo chluasan,
an deann-ruith a' gabhail mo bhuadhan:
rèis nam madadh 's nan con iargalt
luath air tòrachd an fhiadhaich
tro na coilltean gun fhiaradh,
tha muillachean nam beann gun shiaradh;
coin chiùine caothaich na bàrdachd,
madaidhean air tòir na h-àilleachd,
àilleachd an anama 's an aodainn,
fiadh geal thar bheann is raointean,
fiadh di bhòidhche ciùne gaolaich,
fiadhach gun sgur gun fhaochadh.
Dogs and Wolves
Across eternity, across its snows,
I see my unwritten poems,
I see the spoor of their paws dappling
the untroubled whiteness of the snow:
bristles raging, bloody-tongued,
lean greyhounds and wolves
leaping over the tops of the dykes,
running under the shade of the trees of the wilderness,
taking the defile of narrow glens,
making for the steepness of windy mountains;
their baying yell shrieking
across the hard barenesses of the terrible times,
their everlasting barking in my ears,
their onrush seizing my mind:
career of wolves and eerie dogs
swift in pursuit of the quarry,
through the forests without veering,
over the mountain-tops without sheering;
the mild mad dogs of poetry,
wolves in chase of beauty,
beauty of soul and face,
a white deer over hills and plains,
the deer of your gentle beloved beauty,
a hunt without halt, without respite.
Taken from Hallaig and Other Poems, published by Polygon. More about the author here.
Coin is Madaidhean-allaidh
Thar na sìorraidheachd, thar a sneachda,
chì mi mo dhàin neo-dheachdte,
chì mi lorgan an spòg a' breacadh
gile shuaimhneach an t-sneachda:
calg air bhoile, teanga fala,
gadhair chaola 's madaidhean-allaidh
a' leum thar mullaichean nan gàrradh,
a' ruith fo sgàil nan craobhan fàsail,
a' gabhail cumhang nan caol-ghleann,
a' sireadh caisead nan gaoth-bheann;
an langan gallanach a' sianail
thar loman cruaidhe nan àm cianail,
an comhartaich bhiothbhuan 'na mo chluasan,
an deann-ruith a' gabhail mo bhuadhan:
rèis nam madadh 's nan con iargalt
luath air tòrachd an fhiadhaich
tro na coilltean gun fhiaradh,
tha muillachean nam beann gun shiaradh;
coin chiùine caothaich na bàrdachd,
madaidhean air tòir na h-àilleachd,
àilleachd an anama 's an aodainn,
fiadh geal thar bheann is raointean,
fiadh di bhòidhche ciùne gaolaich,
fiadhach gun sgur gun fhaochadh.
Dogs and Wolves
Across eternity, across its snows,
I see my unwritten poems,
I see the spoor of their paws dappling
the untroubled whiteness of the snow:
bristles raging, bloody-tongued,
lean greyhounds and wolves
leaping over the tops of the dykes,
running under the shade of the trees of the wilderness,
taking the defile of narrow glens,
making for the steepness of windy mountains;
their baying yell shrieking
across the hard barenesses of the terrible times,
their everlasting barking in my ears,
their onrush seizing my mind:
career of wolves and eerie dogs
swift in pursuit of the quarry,
through the forests without veering,
over the mountain-tops without sheering;
the mild mad dogs of poetry,
wolves in chase of beauty,
beauty of soul and face,
a white deer over hills and plains,
the deer of your gentle beloved beauty,
a hunt without halt, without respite.
Taken from Hallaig and Other Poems, published by Polygon. More about the author here.
no subject
Date: 2020-11-28 08:52 pm (UTC)