Poet

Bàrd

A’ sgrìobhadh na bàrdachd…

Writing the poems…

There are three dozen poems in Sandy’s first collection, ‘Crotal Ruadh – Red Lichen’, eight of them also songs. They vary greatly in subject matter, mood, style and use of various formal rhyme schemes, or free verse.  Sandy is currently at work on her second collection.  Here are a couple of examples of her writing: ‘Na Fir-Chlis’ – ‘The Northern Lights’; and ‘Cailleach-Oidhche Fhroboist’ – ‘Frobost Owl’.

Roghainn Bàrdachd Poetry Samples

Na Fir-Chlis

Bha mise sa Chnoc-Sìth’ o chunnaic mi thu ’n dè
’S tha aithris neo-àbhaist’ ri cur ann an sgeul
Mu na h-ainglean mallaichte, mur b’ e gràs Dhè;
Na Fir-Chlis, na loisgich, a theab tuiteam on speur.

Chaidh teine ’s an àil’ a’ lasadh gu geur
Le dealanach, sradagan, losgadh is leus.
Dhòrt na Fir-Chlis fuil theth às gach fèith,
’S nochd am manadh air olc: crotal-ruadh air na slèibh.

Chìthear mar mhallachd aig èirigh na grèin’
Fuil nan sàr-mhilidh, is fianais an creuchd:
Ach bheir blàr nan clis-threun ùr-fhadadh is dèin’
Do bhàrdachd nam filidh air sgrìobhadh fo’ n seun.

Ach is mairg do dhream le dà-shealladh mar gheas
Oir cluinnear gu sìorraidh mac-talla is èigh
Nam Fir-Chlis, leth-uilc, a’ milleadh ’s an cleas
’S cha tig a chaoidh iochd orr’, le cuireadh bho’ n eug.

‘The Nimble Ones’

I have been at the fairy-knoll since we met yesterday
And of that I have a strange tale to relate
Of the angels who, had God not had mercy, were damned;
The Nimble Ones, fiery ones, who almost fell from the skies.

There was fire in the air, blazing fiercely,
Lightning bolts, sparks, flaming and flickering.
The Nimble Ones spilled hot blood from every vein,
And their presage of evil appeared; crimson lichen on the hillsides.

At sunrise you may witness this, like a curse,
The blood of the arch-warriors, proof of their wounds:
But the battle of the nimble fighters rekindles and intensifies 
The bards’ poetry, composed under their spell.

Yet woe betide those born with the sorcery of second-sight,
For they will for ever hear the echoes and cries
Of the Nimble Ones, the half-evil ones, playfully despoiling,
Who will never receive clemency, in the form of death’s call.

Cailleach-oidhche Fhroboist

Chaidh mi a-mach air oidhche chiùin bhòidhich Uibhist
a’ sireadh deò agus sealladh
air gealach an abachaidh àlainn.
Gairm gheur
creutair a’ leum bhon t-similear
is a’ dìreadh san adhar dhubh,
sgiathan spracail a’ bualadh an dorchadais.
Cailleach-oidhche air feagal fhaighinn
far an do shir i tearmainn.
eun mòrail gam theicheadh
air sgiathan farsaing,
sgiathan draoidheil airgid le boillsgeadh na gealaich orra
faileas flathail a’ seòladh as fhianais thar achaidhean Fhroboist.
Agus mise ann an uireasbhaidh duilich
mise fo bhròn gun do dh’fhuadaich mi thu.
Gabh m’ aithreachas, eun òirdheirc;
lem uile chridhe cha bhithinn
airson d’ fhois a ghoid.

Frobost Owl

 

I went outside on a calm beautiful Uist night
for fresh air and a view
of a lovely harvest moon.
A shrill cry
a creature starting up from the chimney
and rising in the black air
powerful pinions beating the darkness.
An owl taking fright
where she had sought refuge.
A majestic bird fleeing from me
on wide wings
magical silver wings with the moonshine upon them
a splendid shadow sailing out of sight over the Frobost fields.
And I impoverished by my own action,
mourning that I drove you away.
Please accept my remorse, noble bird:
with all my heart, I would not have meant
to rob you of your peace.