THE DUNG-BEETLE
To start the year and as a salutation to old friends, we publish a humorous exchange between Donald MacNeill (Donald Garvard) and Hugh Brown of Homefield (Hugh of the Glen). Hugh had purchased a heifer from Uist at the sales, and Donald did not rate it very highly; Hugh took the heifer's part and turned the argument towards the Gun Club competition, which he felt to be firmer ground.
The exchange is in Gaelic verse, and was first published by House of Lochar in "Moch is Anmoch" (1998), edited and with a literal translation by Alastair MacNeill Scouller, illustrated by Andrew McMorrine. Very little modern Colonsay Gaelic has been published.
An Cèardaman
Chaidh Eòghan do dh'Uibhist latha féill;
B'e a dhùil gum faigheadh e aighean ann.
Cho math ri aighean fhuair e gréim
Air daolag-dhubh - an cèardaman.
'San eilean bheag sin bha e tàmh,
'S le fuaim gun d'rinn e itealaich
Feadh thoman riabhach nam beann àrd,
Gus an d'fhuair Eòghan a' Ghlinne e.
Mu'n chèardaman tha mi fo phràmh.
Oh Eòghain! Carson a thog thu e?
B'e a mhiann bhith cleasachd air an làr
An Uibhist far an d'rugadh e.
Seo cagar, Eòghain, a-nis 'nad chluais:
An creutair bochd, nan d'fhàg thu e!
Di-Sathurna cha bhi e slàn
Ma gheibh mi air bàrr a' ghunna e!
The Dung-Beetle
Hugh went to Uist on the day of a sale;
He hoped to buy some heifers there.
As well as heifers he got hold
Of a wee black beastie - the dung beetle.
It was living peacefully in that little island,
And noisily it flew about
Among the dappled hillocks of the high mountains,
Until Hugh Brown went and caught it.
I am really upset about the dung beetle.
Oh Hugh! Why did you pick it up?
It's only desire was to frisk about on the ground
In Uist where it was born.
Here's a whisper now, Hugh, in your ear:
If you had just left the poor creature alone!
On Saturday it will not be well,
If I get it on the end of my gun!
Freagairt a' Chèardamain (le Eòghan a' Ghlinn)
Seo, a Dhòmhnaill a cheist, do charaid,
Cèardaman fèill Uibhist.
Taing mhór airson do rabhaidh.
'S math dh'fhaodadh gu bheil thu de'n bharail
Gur tusa an greatest fhathast.
Ach éisd rium, a charaid:
Tha mise too beautiful to beat!
The Dung-Beetle's Reply (by Hugh Brown)
Dear Donald, this is your friend,
The Dung Beetle from the sale in Uist.
Thank you most kindly for your warning.
It may be that you think
That you are still "the greatest".
But listen to me, my friend:
I am "too beautiful to beat"!
Rabhadh
Eisd rium, Eòghain, is thoir an aire:
Tha mi deas a dhol gu bàillidh,
Gunna dùbailt' ann am m'asgaill,
Deas a losgadh fùdar.
Nuair a théid mi mach air stann,
Bidh tu, Eòghain, a' fás car fann,
Calmain 'nam frois ma d'cheann,
'S gach aon dhiubh 'na smùrach.
Latha fèath no lath fiadhaich,
Calmain on ear no 'n iar,
Le sùil mar iolair air a sgiath,
Gun cuir mi iad 'nan spruileach.
Gun cum mi riut a h-aon 's a dhà.
An trí 's an ceithar thig iad gu làr,
Ach ann an cóig cha bhi iad slàn,
Chionn 's mise, Eòghain, an greatest!
A Warning
Listen to me, Hugh, and pay attention:
I am prepared to go to the factor,
With a double-barrelled shotgun under my arm,
Ready to fire a shot.
When I go out on the stand,
You, Hugh, will feel rather faint,
Pigeons in a shower around your head,
And every one of them in fragments.
Though the day be calm or wild,
Pigeons from the east or west,
With an eye like an eagle on the wing,
I will shoot them to smithereens.
I may keep up with you for one and two,
Three and four will fall to the ground,
But by five they won't be in one piece,
For I, Hugh, am "the greatest".
Freagairt do Rabhadh (le Eòghan a' Ghlinne)
A Dhomhnaill MhicNèill, a chrìosdaidh,
Feumaidh mise innse
Gu bheil thu math air sgrìobhadh is bàrdachd,
Ach ma gheibh "Cèardaman Chill Odhrain"
A ghunna ri a ghualainn,
Chan eil eagal aig' ro bhàrd no ro bhàillidh.
Na biodh tusa, a chreutair, a' bruadar
Mu "chupan mór" 's mu dhuaisean,
Chionn tha mise h-uile cinnteach, mu fàg mi,
Gun tig an cupan do Chill Odhrain am bliadhna mar is àbhaist.
'Sann air dràran Shandaidh Ghreusaiche tha àite-chòmhnaidh.
An Answer to your Warning (by Hugh Brown)
Donald MacNeill, my good fellow,
I have to tell you
That you may be good at writing and versifying,
But if the "Kiloran Dung Beetle"
Puts his gun to his shoulder,
He is not afraid of a poet or a factor.
Don't you be dreaming, poor fellow,
About trophies and about prizes,
Because I am quite sure,
Before I have done,
That the cup will come to Kiloran again this year as usual.
On Sandy the Cobblers' chest of drawers is where it belongs.
