Feuch, trilleach ro gharbh is borbachd cogaidh,
Le marbhteachd gunn’ agus lann;
Cluinn gearain is caoidh is daoin’ a’ plosgail
Le osnaich ghuineach ’s iad fann:
Tha ’n lasair le fuaim a’ ruagadh thairis
Air bruaich is carraig is gleann –
Gur gairisneach, uamhalt’ ’m bruaillean sgreamhail,
’S gur cruaidh mac-talla nam beann.
Tha lèirsgrios an t-slèibh neo-shèimh mar ghailleann
Ghrad-thrèig an talamh a chiall;
Tha ’n cruaidh-chath le reubainn, sèist is creachadh
A’ beucadh thairis, gach ial:
An e seo da-rìribh brìgh na cruinne –
Sgrios, mì-rùn, ainneart is pian?
A bheil mòr-roinn an t-sluaigh air ghluasad uile
Le fuath is fuileachd gun rian?
Ged bha ‘n òg-mhadainn chaoin a’ sgaoileadh thairis
(’S bu chaomh i sgaradh nan tràth),
Bha cneatraich is gaoir, bha aog is casgradh
Air raointean coimheach a’ bhlàir:
Bha ceatharnaich ùr ’s an cùl ri talamh
Fo chuibhreach daingeann an sàs
Bhiodh, mus tuiteadh an duibhr’ ο chùirt nam flaitheas,
An dùsal maireann a’ bhàis.
Air dhomh amharc mun cuairt, bu chruaidh an sealladh:
Gach truaghan lag agus leònt’
Nan sìneadh cho fuar, grad-bhuailt’ ri talamh,
’S iad truaillte, salach gu leòr;
An taice ri craoibh ri m’ thaobh bha balach
Le chiorraman lag agus breòit’ –
Bha athchuing na ghnùis ’s a shùil gam tharraing
’S gam ghairm gu fantainn na chòir.
Bha sgleò air a shùil, ’s a’ taomadh tro mhalaidh
Bha driùchd neo-fhallain a’ bhàis;
Bha acaid a chreuchd a’ reubadh anam,
An t-eug ga tharraing an sàs:
Bha luasgan a chlèibh gu geur a’ casadh –
A mheud chan aithris mo dhàn –
Ach bha bhuadhan gu lèir gun ghèilleadh fhathast,
’S rium fèin gun d’ labhair e, ’g ràdh:
‘A charaid, dèan èisteachd rium car tamaill
Mus tèid mi don chadal bhios sìor;
Tha solas na grèin’ dhomh fèin a’ laighe,
Mo reult a’ cromadh san iar;
’S e ’n gunna dubh caol rinn smùr de m’ aitreabh –
Tha ‘m ball’ air a leagadh na smàl,
’N taigh talmhaidh ag aom’, tha ’n aonta seachad,
’S bidh ’n t-aog a’ togail a’ mhàil.
‘Ach ma tha e an dàn gun tàrr thu fhathast
A làmhan frioghail luchd-fuath,
’S gun tèid thu ri d’ bheò an còir mo dhachaigh,
Thoir an t-soraidh mu dheireadh seo uam:
Dèan inns’ do m’ luchd-gràidh a dh’fhàg mi ’n Uibhist
Gu robh iad gu tairis nam smuain,
’S ged tha mi ’n seo brùit’ is ciùrrte buileach,
Tha rùintean m’anam gan luaidh.
‘’S ma bhios iad fo ghruaim le smuairean aithnicht’
’S na deòir a’ frasadh on sùil,
Dèan aithris gu luath gun d’ fhuair mi cobhair –
Gun d’ bhuannaich m’anam cairt-iùil;
’S nuair dh’fhuasglar an snaidhm tha daingnicht’ fhathast,
Gu tairis gan ceangal san t-saogh’l,
Gun coinnich sinn shuas, gach buaireas thairis,
An comann neo-sgaraicht’ nach sgaoil.’
Le cromadh na grèine thrèig an anail
’S bha chèis ud falamh gun dàil,
’S chaidh a chàradh leis fhèin san rèidhleig thana
Gun bhréid no anart no càil;
’S bidh ’m preasarnach uain’ air uaigh mar phlaide,
Le suain gun airsneal na blàths,
’S cha dèan buaireas an t-sluaigh no fuaim a’ bhatail
A shuaimhneas bhriseadh gu bràth.
1999
See the terrible disruption and barbarity of war,
the savagery of guns and blades;
hear the moans and the groaning and the panting of men,
their gasps of pain as they fade:
the roaring flames sweep all in their way
over slope and glen and cliff,
horrific and chilling their loathsome tumult
and brutal the echo of the hills.
The blasting of the mountain is fierce as a cyclone –
the earth has taken leave of its senses;
every second the roar of war surges forward
with plundering, siege and pillage
Is this the true nature of our universe –
malice, violence, pain and destruction?
Is most of humanity completely possessed
By hate and unbridled bloodshed?
Though the tender young morning drifted across
(and how gently it dispelled the darkness!),
there were cries and groans, there was death and slaughter
on the foreign fields of battle:
fresh young fighters, their backs to the earth,
lay trapped in immovable shackles
who, before night descended from the court of the heavens,
would sleep in death’s permanent shadow.
As I gazed around, it was a cruel sight:
every pitiful wretch weak and wounded
stretched out in the cold, thrown to the ground
in grievous filth and defilement;
propped against a tree nearby was a boy
weak and disfigured with injuries –
his face pleaded, his eyes drew me in
and begged me to remain beside him.
His eyes were clouded, and there seeped through his brow
The noxious sweat of the dying;
The piercing pain of his wounds tore his spirit,
As death drew him into its clutches:
The heaving of his chest grew ever more strained –
My poem cannot paint his labour –
But his senses had not all deserted him yet,
And he made to address me, saying:
‘My friend, listen to me a while
Before I sink into sleep forever;
The light of my sun is fading now,
My star in the west is setting;
the slender black gun has shattered my dwelling –
the wall is reduced to rubble,
My earthly home is collapsing, the lease has expired,
And death now demands its rental.
‘But if you are fated yet to escape
From the furious claws of the hating,
And should you ever again be near my home,
Bear these my farewell greetings:
Tell all the loved ones I left in Uist
That I thought of them with fondness,
And lying here broken and mortally wounded,
For them is my soul’s deepest longing.
‘And should they be cheerless and visibly grieving,
Should the tears stream from their eyes,
Quickly assure them I found my salvation –
My soul has acquired its compass;
And when the knot is loosened which as yet holds firm
And still binds them gently to the world,
We shall meet up above, every torment behind us,
Reunited in indissoluble friendships.’
As the sun sank low his breathing faded,
And that body was soon just a shell,
And he was buried alone in a shallow grave
With no shroud or linen at all;
but the shrubs’ green foliage will drape his tomb,
And he will sleep serene in their warmth,
And neither tumult of people nor turmoil of battle
Will ever disturb his repose.
Editor’s note: Composed ten years after the death of the poet’s step-brother at St Valéry, 1940.