Tuesday, January 25, 2005
Somhairle MacGill-Eain reading at A Compass of Scottish Voices
If you've ever wondered what C•in Is Madaidhean-allaidh translates as Dogs & Wolves & horrendous raging calm that floods between the stones & sunlight as I boulder my life away i, a poem by Sorley Maclean, 1911 - 1996, a great local Skye character. His writing, explains what it is to be part of the wild & potentially fierce Coire, it captures the beautiful violence, the abstractions n search of something that's already found me...Sorley tells us that ''The hunt is, without halt, without respite.'' He's just another fine bugger I miss, one of those people I wanted to spend more nights with in the Slig bar beside the fire, as a black wind slaughtered the dreams of men, dragging them torn across the deadly barb toothed summits of the Cullin...Coin Is Madaidhean-allaidh
Thar na sìorruidheachd, thar a sneachda, chì mi mo dhàin neo-dheachdte: chì mi lorgan an spòg a' breacadh gile shuaim hneach an t-sneachda: calg air bhoile, teanga fala, gadhair chaola 's madaidhean-allaidh, a' leum thar mullaichean nan gàradh a ' ruith fo sgàil nan craobhan fàsail, ag gabhail cumhang nan caol-ghleann, a' sireadh caisead nan gaoth-bheann: an langan gallanch a' sianail thar loman cruaidhe nan àm cianail, an comhartaich bhiothbhuan na mo chluasan an deann-ruith ag gabhail mo bhuadhan; rèis nam madadh 's nan con iargalt luath air tòrachd an fhiadhaich, troimh na coilltean gun fhiaradh, thar mullaichean anm beann gun shiarach; coin chiùine cuthaich mo bhàrdachd, madaidhean air tòir na h-àilleachd, àilleachd an anama 's an aodainn, fiadh geal thar beheann is raointean, fiadh do bhòidhche ciùine gaolaich, fiadhach gun sgur, gun fhaochadh.
Dogs and Wolves [translated]:
Across eternity, across its snow, I see my unwritten poems: I see the spoor of their paws dappling the august whiteness of the snow: bristles raging, bloody-tongued, lean greyhounds and wolves, leaping over the dykes, running under the shade of the trees of the wilderness, taking the narrow defile of 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 hot 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 with sheering; the mild mad dogs of my poetry, wolves in chase of loneliness, loveliness of soul and face, a white deer over hills and plains, the deer of your gentle beloved beauty, a hunt without halt, without respite....
there you go - Ive lit it up again..& done some fancy gold leaf effect thingumy stuff.