| Màiri Iain Mhurch’ Chaluim | Mairi Iain Mhurch’ Chaluim |
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| Màiri Iain Mhurch’ Chaluim | Mairi Iain Mhurch’ Chaluim |
| Mo sheanmhair, a chaill a h-athair air an Iolaire, oidhche na Bliadhn’ Uir, 1919 | My grandmother, who lost her father on the Iolaire, New Year’s night, 1919 |
| Tha mi nam shuidhe ag èisdeachd ribh agus tha mo chridh’ a’ tuigsinn barrachd na mo chlaisneachd; ’s mo shùilean a’ toirt a-steach barrachd na mo chluasan. Ur guth sèimh, ur cainnt ag èirigh ’s a’ tuiteam mar thonn air aghaidh fhuar a’ chuain ’s an dràst’ ’s a-rithist a’ briseadh air creag bhiorach cuimhne; ’s an sàl a’ tighinn gu bàrr ann an glas-chuan ur sùilean. ‘Bha e air an ròp an uair a bhris e … ’ Agus bhris ur cridhe cuideachd le call an ròpa chalma air an robh grèim gràidheil agaibh fhad’ ’s a bha sibh a’ sreap suas nur leanabh. Agus, aig aois deich bliadhna, cha robh agaibh ach cuimhne air a’ chreig a bhiodh gur cumail còmhnard; ’s gach dòchas a bha nur sùilean air a bhàthadh tron oidhch’ ud, ’s tro gach Bliadhn’ Ur a lean. |
I sit listening to you and my heart understands more than my hearing; and my eyes absorb more than my ears. Your soft voice, your speech rising and falling like waves on the cold surface of the sea, and now and again breaking on the sharp rock of memory; and the brine rises up in the grey seas of your eyes. ‘He was on the rope when it broke … ’ And your heart also broke with the loss of the sturdy rope which you had clung to lovingly while you were growing up as a child. And, at ten years of age, you had only a memory of the rock that used to keep you straight; and every hope that was in your eyes was drowned on that night and through each New Year that followed. |
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Anna c. frater/
Anne C. Frater |
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| Ealaíontóir/Artist: Peannaire/Calligrapher: Aistritheoir/Translator: Ainmníodh ag/Nominator: |
Alastair MacLennan Frances Breen The Author The Author |
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