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Dàna-thuras Lallaidh

Author: Seonaidh Charity
Year: Adventure

Dh'inns ur mac ur sgeulachd dhomh
a bhris an dealbh a bh' agam dhìobh:
am bodach àrd, caol ud le speuclairean cho tiugh,
mar bhuinn nan seann bhotalan Lucozade sin
a bhiodh tu a' caitheamh,
falamh, dhan allt,
aig bonn a' ghàrraidh.


Tha cuimhn' a'm nuair a thabhainn sibh
cnogan Stella orm is mi còig bliadhna deug a dh'aois:
'Siuthad Lofty, cha dèan e cron ort!'
a' priobadh sùil mheudaichte ri m' athair,
ag innse dhuinn mun turas a rinn sibh an latha ud -
a Cheann Loch Biorbhaidh a dh'iarraidh iasg ùr
(cha ghabhadh sibh ach adag)
turas a mhair còrr is sia uairean a thìde,
a' dràibheadh aig trithead mìle san uair.


Ach, sibhse am fear cuideachd, a-rèir aithris,
a bha seòladh raceran air Chluaidh agus air
cuantan meadhan thìreach na Roinn Eorpa is sibh òg,
gleusta, ealanta, ainmeil,
cliùiteach am measg sheòladairean,
grian an t-samhraidh a' dubhadh ghruaidhean bàna
a chaidh àrach air cladaichean garbha
taobh dorch' Loch Bhraoin.


Chuimhnich mi oirbh san t-seann chathair
san t-seòmar-suidhe latha foghair,
is dh'fhairich mi air mo ghruaidh
oiteag bheag gaoithe bhlàth
nan cuantan cèine.


Lallie's Adventure


Your son told me a story today
that shattered the image I had of you:
the tall, slim bodach with thick-lensed glasses
like the bottoms of those old Lucozade bottles
you dumped in the burn
at the foot of the garden.


I remember when you offered me
a can of Stella when I was fifteen years old:
'On yoursel' Lofty, it won’t do you any harm!'
a magnified eye winking at my father,
then recounting the tale of your recent adventure north -
Kinlochbervie in search of fresh fish
(you'd only eat haddock)
a trip that took a full day,
since you drove at thirty miles an hour.


But, you were also the man, apparently,
who raced yachts on the Clyde and on the
Mediterranean when you were a lad,
skilled, expert, sought-after,
famous among sailors,
the summer sun darkening the pale cheeks,
raised on the rocky shores
on the dark side of Lochbroom.


I remembered you in your old armchair
in your living-room on an autumn afternoon,
and felt on my cheek
a warm gentle breeze
from faraway shores.