by SRB

New poem by Aonghas MacNeacail

January 27, 2012 | by SRB

the true whiteness

 

  because snow arrived

  yesterday, with its settling

  like linen over every hill and

  house-gable, and with its

  folding around young eyes,

  for which it is perfect proof

  that paradise was possible,

  let us enjoy the capacity for

  allowing the anticipation of

  joy to be drawn from white

  that doesn’t promise to be

  here when it’s time to slide

 

  and though the measuring

  of grief is not ignored, it’ll

  survive as clear repose for

  the mind that expects to

  return to a true whiteness,

  in spite of a grizzled head, 

  that knows, as it’s lived so 

  long, thaw can bring growth

 

  am fìor ghilead

 

  leis gun tàinig an sneachda

  an dé, ’s gun do shìn e mar

  bhraith-lìn thar gach cnoc is

  ceann-taighe, ’s gun do shìn

  e gu suaineil air sùilean òige,

  dha’n robh e na làthair slàn

  airson pàras a choileanadh, 

  gabhamaid tlachd as an liut

  airson a bhi tarraing fiughair

  airson subhachais a gilead

  nach geall gum bi e làthair

  nuair a tha àm spéile ann

 

  is ged nach téid an tomhas 

  bròin air dhearmad, fanaidh

  e na shuaimhneas glan do

  chuimhne dha bheil dùil air

  tilleadh chun a ghilead fhìor,

  a dh’aindeoin dha’n cheann 

  liath, dha’n aithne, thar leud

  bith, gu’m beir aiteamh fàs

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