A’ Fàgail
le Janet M. NicLeòid
Bha agam ri fàgail, a’ faireachdainn glacte gu tur
Agus m’ inntinn air tràighean bàna,
Fuar-bheanntan ‘s frasan mìne,
Agus fearann fàsach, creagach, cruaidh.
Bha cruaidh fheum agam air an uair sin, ‘s air gaoth a chumadh air cois mi.
Corragan an uisge, fuar ’s fada, ro chuan dubh
‘S mi a’ tighinn, a’ cluinntinn an èig gun ghuth.
Ciùin ’s balbh, ach beò fhathast
Chaidh mo ghiùlan suas a’ bheinn
A-steach don cheò gheal, agus do thlachd na fuachd.
[B’ e seanmhair Katie Harris-NicLeòid a bh’ ann an Janet M. NicLeòid, nach maireann. Bha dùthchas gu math cudromach dhi, agus cianalas oirre airson àite do nach b’ urrainn dhi tilleadh; bheir i brosnachadh do h-ogha fhathast.]
Going Away
by Janet M. MacLeod
I had to go away, feeling enclosed
My mind turned to white shores,
Cool mountains in fine rain,
Rocky bare barren lands, hard to live with.
I needed It hard then, a wind that kept me standing,
Long cold fingers of rain before a running black sea,
As I come, hearing death without a sound.
Calm and still yet quietly breathing
They carried me away up the mountain
Into the white mist, wonderfully cold.
[Janet M. MacLeod was Katie Harris-MacLeod’s late grandmother. She had a deep yearning for a sense of place she could not return to; she is a source of inspiration to her granddaughter.]