Peter MacKay

škotska gelščina

Peter MacKay

angleščina

Nuair a smaoineachas mi air na tha do-thuigsinneach

bidh mi a’ smaoineachadh air The Coffee Pot,
leis a bhùird gheail formica,
glut ’s geir pònaireain, isbeanain ’s chips,
guthan inbhich, cèin nan cainnt,
brot ach ’s Thioraidh ’s maebe,
an dòigh a lionadh tu glainne Choke dham bile
agus dhannsadh nan curracagan
mar shìthichean siùcair os cionn an duibh,

air neo tractor faisg air Anstruther,
a’ spreidheadh achaidhean,
Air Ride sunburst buidhe-uaine,
a’ gualain daoimeanan, boghachan-froise gun fheum,
eadar a’ chlach san sgrath neo air ais a-rithist
a rèir ’s mar a choimheadas tu air

© Pàdraig MacAoidh (Peter MacKay)
Iz: unpublished
Avdio produkcija: Literaturwerkstatt Berlin, 2014

When I think of the incommunicable

I think of The Coffee Pot
with its white formica tables,
the glut & clot of beans & sausage & chips,
the adult voices, alien in their languages,
in a broth of achs and Thioraidhs and maebes,
and the way you’d fill a glass with Coke
to the brim and the fizz would dance
like sugarplum fairies above the black

or of a crop sprayer near Anstruther,
a green and yellow sunburst Air Ride,
carting diamonds, good for nothing rainbows,
from pillar to post, or back again,
depending how you look at it

Translated by the author