| Aig Abhainn Chille Mhàrtainn | At Kilmartin River |
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| Aig Abhainn Chille Mhàrtainn | At Kilmartin River |
| Dh’iarrainn-sa gnè na h-aibhne a bhith agam, ruitheas gu soilleir glan fo Chille Mhàrtainn. Chì thu i siubhal luath fon drochaid stàilinn a thèid sràid an taigh-òsda thairis oirre. Theireadh neach a bhiodh gad fhaicinn crom, ’s tus’ a’ geur-amharc air na h-uisgeachan, gur sgàthan e a bha thu sealltainn ann. Ach cha ghlacar leat ìomhaigh sam bith, chan fhaicear leat ach dian-atharrachadh susbaint na h-aibhn’, no fantainn ball-chritheach nan iasg a tha mar chombaistean, a’ toirt fios air aomadh a ruith. Ge mòr an tlachd a ghabhas iad san fhionnarachd do-thraoghadh, ged a bu chaomh leam fhìn a bhith nam iasg, dh’iarrainn, nam b’ urrainn dhòmhs’, a bhith nam abhainn, gun fhios dè bhiodh na fhìor-bhrìgh dom bhith, ioma-chaochlachd shìorraidh m’ uisgeachan no mo dhà bhruaich, a’ toirt dhomh riochd is cruth. |
I would like to have the nature of the river that runs clear and unsullied by Kilmartin. You see it coursing fast under the steel bridge the road to the hotel runs across. Anyone who saw you leaning over, gazing intently at the waters, would say it was a mirror you were looking into. But you will catch no reflection at all, all you can see are crazy permutations of the river’s essence, the shimmering suspension of the fish, indicating like compasses the direction of the flow. Though great the pleasure they take in its inexhaustible freshness, though I myself would love to be a fish, if I could, I would choose to be the river, blithely unaware where my true meaning lay, in the multiple metamorphoses of my waters or my two banks, giving me shape and form. |
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crìsdean whyte/
Christopher Whyte |
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| Ealaíontóir/Artist: Peannaire/Calligrapher: Aistritheoir/Translator: Ainmníodh ag/Nominator: |
Helen MacAlister Donald Addison Michel Byrne The Author |
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