Strange Genesis
by Christie Williamson
Unkan Genesis Shetlandic Scots
I da beginneen
dey wir a darkness
big eneoch an dark
eneoch ta burst a hol
i da koll bucket
haalin waarmth
in fae da caald.
An da darkness covered
aa da things
at wis, an aa da things
at wisna
i da heevins abön
an da grund
sunken i da sook o hit’s tide.
Dan,
dey wir a spark o licht
at wis bön hoidin
waetin fur da exack
richt time
ta brakk da monotony
o da notheenniss
at wis aathin afore hit.
Da mirk saa da licht
an da mirk
hed not a clue whit ta dö
aboot dis brilliant bairn
laundit apö his shores.
Dat wis day wan, an fae dan
da mirk haesna riggit
ee hail day yit.
Fur aa dat,
he’s gien naewye.
He’s gjaain naewye.
He’s bidin his eternity,
da best,
maest brilliant dark
du ivvir saa.
Christie Williamson
Strange Genesis English Version
In the beginning
there was a darkness
big enough and dark
enough to burst a hole
in the coal bucket
dragging warmth
in from the cold.
And the darkness covered
all the things
that were, and all the things
that weren’t
in the heavens above
and the ground
sunken in the suck of its tide.
Then,
there was a spark of light
that had been hiding,
waiting for the exact
right time
to break the monotony
of the nothingness
that was everything before it.
The darkness saw the light
and the darkness
had not a clue what to do
about this brilliant child
landed on his shores.
That was day one, and since then
the dark hasn’t dressed
one whole day yet.
For all that,
he’s gone nowhere.
He’s going nowhere.
He’s biding his eternity,
the best,
most brilliant dark
you ever saw.
Prosbaig
by Anne Frater
Telescope English Version
It was one thing
at Trafalgar
for Nelson, deliberately
to raise the telescope
to his blind eye
so that he wouldn’t have to read
the message in the flags.
It would have been quite another thing
if he’d taken the same attitude
to steering the ship.
Prosbaig Scottish Gaelic
‘Se aon rud a bh’ ann
latha Trafalgar
Nelson a bhith air aona ghnothach
a’ togail na prosbaig
chun t–sùil dhall
gus nach leughadh e
teachdaireachd nam bratach.
‘Se rud eile a bhiodh ann
nam biodh e ris an aon chleas
‘s e aig an stiùir.
Immersion
by Anne Frater
Immersion English Version
If it had come in a downpour
we would have noticed;
we would have prepared:
oilskin trousers and a big coat
and a bonnet
before setting foot outside.
But instead it was that fine drizzle
that you don’t notice
until you’re soaked through
with a chill in your bones.
Bogadh Scottish Gaelic
Nam b’ ann na dhìle a bhiodh e air tighinn
bhiodh sinn air mothachadh;
bhiodh sinn air ullachadh a dhèanamh roimhe:
briogais oilisgin agus seacaid mhòr
agus bonaid
mus do chuir sinn cas a–mach à doras.
Ach ‘s e a bh’ ann ach an t–uisge mìn sin
do nach mothaich thu
gus am bi thu bog fliuch
agus fuachd nad chnàmhan.
Common Rush
by Anna Crowe
Common Rush
for Swithun
The flowers, by August, brownish withered knots;
but something about the way they sprout —
growing so far, no further, up the stem
as though to exemplify the golden mean,
while the smooth shaft carries on
to its fine conclusion —
brings you to mind: a balance, willingness
to live within your strength, content with less.
Climbing Massanella, under your grandfather’s taunts
you shrank into a stubborn, reed–like patience —
thin adolescent who’d outgrown his strength —
choosing to stay beside the cave’s mouth.
When we came down hours later,
you showed me the spring and chained cup: water
brimmed a rocky basin, before spilling over
into the dark. On the summit, black vultures
had been mere specks. Leaving
the cave, you pointed at what I’d missed: thriving
tucked between a step’s riser and tread,
cyclamen balearicum; rare, sweet–scented.