r2vyln3rdioj14u-rld0ska where mountains meet the sea: a farewell symphony

a farewell symphony



Geodha Air Chul Na Greine, which inspired this soulful composition by Scottish born composer Jennifer Margaret Barker, was written by Ruaraidh MacThòmais/Derick Thomson who died yesterday at the age of 90. an eloquent tribute to the remarkable life and work of the man from Lewis,  from one exile to another ...... to all of us who went away "on a tether as far as love goes from hate.”

A Geo in the Sun's Shelter

There is peace in the bay tonight, and the tide swings past the
headland; foam on the hidden rock, wave-lapping at the cliff, the
distant wave cries, and the seas go coursing swiftly, but this sea is at
rest, with no boat at harbour,

where it dug out a quiet pool with the un-ease of days past, a geo in
the sun's shelter, its pebbles unstained, where the white years of the
moon might pass beyond it, lunatic, unresting, desirelessly seeking a
haven.

The salmon left the sea when this quiet bay was made, seeking the
fresh river - if one moved a stone the quicksilver lightning-flash of
wisdom and knowledge would tear the still crystal water of the
ducks and the scarts.

At a rock here on the shore the women awaited the return of the
small fishing-boats in storm; often losing treasure of sea and
treasure of bosom, and feeling the red taste of the salmon salt on
their lips.

Often standing watching the sea where their share was lost, and
sitting in houses where their kin had died, did they make a bay that
longing and hurting could by-pass, where the root of the darling
dulse could keep its hold.

Though desire for dulse might for a time entice one, the shining
salmon lies in dark repose, and if I quickly thrust where he lies
hidden, the water, churned, will leave its rings of peace.



Geodha Air Chul Na Greine

Tha fèath air a' bhàgh a-nochd, 's an sruth dol thar na maoile,
cobhar air a' chreig bhàite, is falpanaich air stalla,
gàig an tonn tha fad às, is siubhal than aig na cuantan,
ach tha 'n cuan tha so 'na thamh gun bhàt' aig cala,

far na chladhaich e linne rèidh le an-shocair nan làithean,
geodha air chùl na grèine, 's a mhol gun ghrùid,
far an rachadh bliadhnachan geal na gealaich seachad siar air,
air chuthach, gun iaradh, a' sireadh ceann-uidhe gun ùidh.

Thrèig am bradan an cuan ann an linn a' bhàigh chiùin so,
a' lorg na h-aibhne òig ud, 's nan gluaiste clach
reubadh beithir airgeadach beò a' ghliocais 's an eòlais
uisgeachan balbha criostail nan sgarbh 's nan lach.

Tha leac an so air an tràigh
far am biodh na mnathan a' feitheamh
nan eathraichean beaga iasgaich nuair thigeadh sian;
is tric a bha ulaidh a' chridhe is ulaidh a' chuain às an aonais,
is a gheibheadh iad blas dearg a' bhradain searbh air am bial.

Gu tric 'nan seasamh a' coimhead na mara
far na chailleadh an cuid,
Is 'nan suidh arms na tighean san d'fhuair an daoine bàs,
an do rinn iad bàgh air an rachadh
an iargain Is an cifùradh seachad,
Is am fuiricheadh friamh an duilisg luraich an sàs.

Ach ged bheireadh miann an duilisg duine a thaobh car ùine,
tha 'm bradan lainnireach sint' fo shàmhchar dorch,
is ma bheir mi an sgobadh sin air an àit sam bi e
bidh maistreadh fairg ann, is cearcaill sith 'na lorg.




Farewell Symphony

The lights go out one by one
and the string music comes and goes,
a bow is lowered,
a horn is raised,
the soft music rises and falls.
ghosts at the back of the stage;
sweet, sweet the twilight music,
twilight delivers its sweet sentence,
and the stage turns its back on life;
the string grows frail,
the darkness grows,
the horn is taken out and put away,
the arrow removed from the bow;
the music goes into the fairy mound;
the night of snuffed-out candles passes.

Derick Thomson,  Bramble of Hope


Siansadh an Dealachaidh

Solas bho sholas a' dol às
is ceòl nan teud a' falbh 's a'  tighinn,
bogha ga phasgadh
is còrn ga thogail
's an ceòl fann a' tighinn 's a' falbh,
taibhsean aig cùl na stèids;
binn, binn ceòl an eadar-sholais,
an t-eadar-sholas a' toirt a-mach a' bhinn,
's an stèids a' cur cùl  ri beatha;
an teud a' fàs fann,
an dorchadas a' fàs,
an còrn ga fhosgladh 's ga phasgadh,
an t-saighead ga toirt às a' bhogha;
an ceòl a' dol anns a' bhrugh;
oidhche smàladh nan coinneal a' dol seachad.

Ruaraidh MacThòmais, Smeur an Dòchais


2 comments:

Cathy said...

Gorgeous music, moving words

er said...

hello cathy, thank you for stopping by. i'm glad you enjoyed this. :)