Meg Bateman

gaélico escocés

Meg Bateman

inglés

Ealaghol: Dà Shealladh

Choimhead mi an t-seann cairt-phuist,
na taighean mar fhàs às an talamh,
na h-aonaichean nam baidealan os an cionn,
nan comharra air mòrachd Dhè,
mus d’ rinneadh goireas de bheanntan,
no sgaradh eadar obair is fois,
eadar an naomh is an saoghalta….
is shìn mi chun a’ bhodaich i.

“Eil sin cur cianalas ort, a Lachaidh?”
dh’fhaighnich mi, ’s e na thost ga sgrùdadh.
“Hoi, òinseach, chan eil idir!
’s e cuimhne gun aithne a bh’ agam oirre-se,”
is stiùir e ri bò bha faisg oirnn san deilbh,
“Siud a’ Leadaidh Bhuidhe, an dàrna laogh aig a’ Leadaidh Bhig –  dh’aithnichinn, fhios agad, bò sam bith
a bhuineadh dhan àite sa rim bheò.”

© Meg Bateman

Elgol: Two Views

I looked at the old post-card,
the houses like a growth from the soil,
the peaks towering above them,
a sign of the majesty of God,
before an amenity was made of mountains,
or a divide between work and play,
between the sacred and the secular...
and I passed the picture to the old man.

"Does it make you sad, Lachie?" I asked
as he scrutinised it in silence.
"Sad? Bah! Not at all!
I just couldn't place her for a moment",
and he pointed to a cow in the foreground.
"That's Yellow Lady, Red Lady's second calf -
I'd know any cow, you see,
that belonged here in my life-time."

© Meg Bateman