From Allt an t-Siùcair
I
I cross into summer. Ripe dawn
grass necklaced with dew
like glass rosary beads.
Richard and Robin redbreast
are a belter as one takes bass,
the cuckoo in blue dress
with a proud head toss
cries from her perch,
cuckoo cuckoo. She rivals
the soloist mavis atop the fencepost,
steaming, song-drunk indeed,
but not the wren, its beak a chanter reed.
Poor chaffinch, a perfectionist
doubled over. Blackcock
and hen under their breath
both pity him, while trout in
close succession riff
staccato off water and the water
like sunny glass shatters
with joyousness. Vivace
they play a tablature of flies,
break nature’s laws. By scales of light:
agility jewelled,
gill-brilliant, blue.
II
Mooers moo out loud round
the cattle fold. Music
to my ears, theirs
a solace, a tall call called back,
the sharp response
of spotty white-headed calves.
The milkmaid with her spancel,
the cowherd helps
and in a harmony of milk
the bleating wee things
are all milked, whole foamy pails:
milk spilt, calves soaked,
their chucks flecked
with cream curds. Stalks
dangle honeycomb like lamps
and from every branch
the sweet smell of sweet fruits,
a firlot: pear, apple.
Dewy leaves along the midrib
drip, droop and
the young dumb from mouthing it:
honeycomb, lips
honeyed to hard light
are sticky, stick shut, but shine.
III
Water tiered as small falls
streaming May, colorful froth-laced banks
thicken to wildflowers, fresh, dense
with new dew. If shade vignettes
the edges, blossoms blossom
and the meadow grass
grows blue, every grass blade,
and on every blade of grass, dew:
diamond that pure sparkles, spray stippling
light on earth as it is in heaven,
carpet par excellence,
so fine Whitehall’s palace gardens
are jack-squat by comparison.
This brae’s changeable leafy green:
explosive life and light. Primroses like
candles in candlesticks
finish off any remaining shade.
A muffled swan warbles its swan song
and long-tailed ducks
at the mouth of Allt an t-Siùcair
surf, swim. Their slick knack for it, for singing
loud and proud with bent windpipes
like a bent note leaves a bagpipe:
music mild, light. Magic.
IV
Place-shaped banks
spick and span. Thriving wild garlic
under the white fuzz above,
the nutgall – hazel bud
swollen to knot. Clover, daisy,
a small red berry each and the folds
all starred with them in pristine detail
sparkle like iceblink.
Tree crowns darken
with rowanberry, corymbs
there, and here auburn nuts
cluster and unhusk overhead.
Fat brambles, blackcurrants
bend the branches. The weight
of ripening. Ache, tang and gush
sustained by a drying sun.
My garden dares Paradise to be
so complete: collection
as coille, as grassland raining grain
the ground up, windfall
in reverse, seed-rich tender grass
run riot but never overrun.
Leaves, lavish, spurt
and from the back burst.
V
Way out, swift ships with white sails
sail squadrons, sails-wide.
To watch them, their tack and turn, brings peace.
The shore’s ear traced as they curve.
From those pine-crafts
canvas sails like flags unfurl
to the wind. One sky-breath exhaled
south, and through
Caol Muile they move, and I move
evicted from spring-fed ecstasy,
Europe’s best-mixed stream
at this latitude. Gone.
It’s wrong. Just a mugful of the stuff
and a dram of brandy
packs a sweet, dizzying punch.
Folk all reeling…
Nurturer to every right,
undaunted by embittered stars.
Protector, wing of the north,
there remains good
to your flock and field.
Sunny country, a second canticle
to the sun, and our fierce pride:
a drover riding high on hot-blood.
bho Allt an t-Siùcair
A’ dol thar Allt an t-Siùcair
air madainn chùbhraidh Chèit,
is paidirean geal, dlùth-chneap
den drùchd ghorm air an fheur;
bha Richard ’s Robin brùdhearg
ri seinn ’s fear dhiubh na bheus,
’s goic mhoit air cuthaig chùl-ghuirm,
’s gug-gùg aic’ air a’ ghèig.
Bha smèorach cur na smùid dhi
air bacan cùil leath’ fhèin;
an dreathan-donn gu sùrdail
’s a rifeid-chiùil na bheul;
am breacean-beithe ’s lùb air,
’s e gleusadh lùth a theud,
an coileach-dubh ri dùrdan
’s a’ chearc ri tùchan rèidh.
Na bric a’ gearradh shùrdag,
ri plubraich dhlùth le chèil’,
taobh leumnaich mear le lùth-chleas,
a bùrn le mùirn ri grèin;
ri ceapadh chuileag siùbhlach,
le’m bristeadh lùthmhor fhèin:
druim lann-ghorm, ’s ball-bhreac giùran,
’s an lannair-chùil mar lèig.
Gur sòlas an ceòl cluaise
àrd-bhàirich bhuar mu ad chrò,
laoigh cheannfhion bhreaca ghunach
ri freagradh, ’s nuallan bhò;
a’ bhanarach le buaraich
’s am buachaill’ dol nan còir,
gu blaoghan a’ chruidh ghuaillfhinn
air cuaich a thogas cròic.
Bidh lòchrain-mheala lùbadh
nan sràbh, ’s brùth air gach gèig
de mheasan milis, cùbhraidh
nan ùbhlan is nam peur;
na duilleagan a’liùgadh,
is fallus-cùil diubh fèin,
is clann a’ gabhail tùchaidh
’gan imlich dlùth le’m beul.
B’e ’n crònan t’easan srùlach
an dùrdail mhùirneach Mhàigh;
’s do bhoirchean daite sgùm-gheal
tiugh flùireanach, dlùth, tlàth;
le d’ mhantal de dhealt ùr-mhìn
mar dhùbhradh cùil mu d’ bhlàth;
’s air calg gach feòrein t’ùr-fheòir
gorm neamhainn dhriùchd a’ fas.
Do bhrat làn shradag daoinein;
do bhraon ni soills’ air làr;
An carpet ’s gasda foidh-neul,
gun cho fine an Whitehall;
mu d’ bhearradh gorm-bhreac, coillteach,
an cinn an loinn le àl;
na sòbhraichean mar choinnlean
’nan coinnlearan a’d sgàth.
Bidh guileag eala tùchan
’s eòin bhùchuinn am bàrr thonn
aig ionmbhar Allt an t-Siùcair
snàmh lùth-chleasach le fonn,
ri seinn gu moiteil, cùirteil,
le muineil-chiùil ’s iad crom,
mar mhàla pìoba ’s lùb air,
ceòl aoifidh ciùin nach trom.
’S grinn an obair ghràbhail
rinn nàdur air do bhruaich;
le d’ lurachain creamhach, fàsmhor,
’s am buicean bàn orra shuas;
gach saimir, neòinean ’s màsag
mìn bhreac air làr do chluain,
mar reultan reòt’ an deàrrsaidh
’na spangan àluinn, nuadh.
Bidh croinn ’s am bàrr mar sgàrlaid,
de chaoraibh àluinn ann;
is cnothan bachlach, àrbhuidh
a’ faoisgneadh àrd mu d’ cheann;
bidh dearcan ’s suibhean sùghmhor
trom-lùbadh an luis fhein,
caoin, seacaidh, blàsda, cùbhraidh,
ag call an drùis ri grèin.
’S co làn mo lios ri Pàrras
de gach cnuas is feàrr an coill’;
’na rèidhlich arbhar fàsaidh
bheir piseach àrd is sgoinn;
pòr reachdmhor, minear, fàsmhor
nach cinn gu fàs ’na laoim,
cho reamhar, luchdmhor càileachd
’s gu’n sgàin a’ ghràn o dhruim.
Do thacar mara ’s tìre,
bu teachd-an-tìr leis fèin;
’nan treudan, fèidh ad fhrìthean,
’s ad chladach ’s mìlteach èisg;
’nad thràigh tha maorach lìonmhor,
’s air t-uisge ’s fìor-bhras leus
aig òganacha rìomhach
le morghath fìor-chruaidh geur.
Is cruaidh a bhàirlinn fhuair mi
bho’n fhuaran ’s blasda glòir;
an caochan is mò buadhan
a tha fo thuath ’san Eòrp;
lìon ach am bòla suas deth,
’s de bhrandaidh fhuair na ’s leòir,
am puinse milis, guanach
a thàirneas sluagh gu ceòl.
Muim-altruim gach pòir uasail
nach meath le fuachd nan speur;
tha sgiath o’n àirde tuath oirre
dh’ fhàg math a buar ’s a feur;
fonn deiseireach, fìor uaibhreach,
’na speuclair buan do’n ghrèin;
le sprèidh thèid duine suas ann
cho luath ri each ’na leum.
Is aol is grunnd d’a dhailean
dh’fhàg Nàdar tarbhach iàd;
air ma meinn gun toir iad arbhar,
s’ tiugh starbhanach ni fàs;
bidh dearrasanaich shearr-fhiaclach
’ga lannadh sìos am boinn
le luinneagan binn nìghneag,
an ceòl is mìlse rainn.