Ùrachadh mu Dheireadh 08/11/2017
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TIOTAL
O mhuir gu muir (18 de 19)
EXTERNAL ID
HC_STS_FROMSEATOSEA_18
DEIT
2001
LINN
2000an
CRUTHADAIR
Bob Pegg
NEACH-FIOSRACHAIDH
Comhairle na Gàidhealtachd
AITHNEACHADH MAOINE
2422
KEYWORDS
slighean-uisge
slighe-uisge
bàrdachd
claistinneach

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Tha an earrann a leanas a' tighinn o 'From sea to sea', lèirmheas chlaistinneach air eachdraidh, daoine, tìr agus cultar Slighe-uisge a' Ghlinne Mhòir. Chaidh am pròiseact seo a chruthachadh ann an 2001 le Bob Pegg, maoinichte le Comhairle na Gàidhealtachd tron phrògram 'Slighean-uisge beò' aig 'Slighean-uisge Bhreatainn'.

Neach-labhairt: 'S ann gu math tràth a bha e nuair a chunnaic Seumas Hogg, Cìobair Ettrick, luchd-obrach a' piocadh le piocaidean is spaidean aig a' cheann an iar dhen t-slighe-uisge, ach bha e eu-dòchasach. Cha b' urrainn dha ach a bhith coimhead air an oidhirp gu lèir mar obair gun fheum. Ach cha robh an strì aca gun fheum, agus tha na clachan a gheàrr an luchd-obrach ud a' faighinn moladh agus ag adhbrachdainn bàrdachd gus an latha an-diugh.

'Marbhrann dha na nàbhaidhean a thog Slighe-uisge a' Ghlinn Mhòir eadar 1803 agus 1823'

'A' dìreadh Staighre Neptune'[le Iain Blake]

'Eight slabs of water step us from the sea,
'the narrows' and the cleanly-cut canal
confined between high, water-acned walls
of hewn red blocks so skillfully aligned.
Water - held at bay by oak-beamed gates,
sluices raised - boils black beneath our keel,
furious in its impotence.
We scarcely feel
our slow ascent towards that rectangle
of solid blue which roofs our watery cell
until we match the level of the loch;
float free above the sea we left behind,
where once blunt, butty coasters pushed and nudged
salt-bleached ocean-goers, barges big with coal,
lumpish, threading green, pine-pleated skirts
of mountain scree which sweeps down to embrace
bottomless waters, astonishing the gaze
of reticent wild-cat, marten, antlered deer.
Rafted together, fourteen pleasure craft
imperceptibly inch-up past ashlared blocks,
sole legacy of long-dead navvies whose
crowbars shouldered fresh-cut stone in place,
long-handled shovels sliced through cake-damp peat,
pickaxes sparked glaciated rocks.
Their bone and muscle dug for twenty years,
the Navigable Road, built Telford's locks,
for half-pennies an hour; across a sea,
to wives and children planting blighted fields,
it seemed a fortune, such their poverty.
Beside the channel they reamed out, these men -
'the navigators' - ate, slept, year by year,
in sodden benders formed from hazel boughs,
pervious hessian which thin, mean, mizzling rain
invaded as it drenched their sweat-ranked clothes.
Skin tanned dark by wind, sun, peaty fires,
day after day, midge-maddened, never wholly dry,
spit by spit they labour on or die -
malnourishment, exhaustion, struck by years,
consumption, accident or desperate hand -
names unchiselled.
No smooth polished plaque,
mute monument, alerts the visiting eye
to their long-lost interments, work-worn lives;
only this rippling highway, sea to sea,
Beside which those first, ragged navigators lie.'

Airson stiùireadh mu bhith a’ cleachdadh ìomhaighean agus susbaint eile, faicibh duilleag ‘Na Cumhaichean air Fad.’
’S e companaidh cuibhrichte fo bharantas clàraichte ann an Alba Àir. SC407011 agus carthannas clàraichte Albannach Àir. SC042593 a th’ ann an High Life na Gàidhealtachd.
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O mhuir gu muir (18 de 19)

2000an

slighean-uisge; slighe-uisge; bàrdachd; claistinneach

Comhairle na Gàidhealtachd

The Highland Council: From Sea to Sea

Tha an earrann a leanas a' tighinn o 'From sea to sea', lèirmheas chlaistinneach air eachdraidh, daoine, tìr agus cultar Slighe-uisge a' Ghlinne Mhòir. Chaidh am pròiseact seo a chruthachadh ann an 2001 le Bob Pegg, maoinichte le Comhairle na Gàidhealtachd tron phrògram 'Slighean-uisge beò' aig 'Slighean-uisge Bhreatainn'.<br /> <br /> Neach-labhairt: 'S ann gu math tràth a bha e nuair a chunnaic Seumas Hogg, Cìobair Ettrick, luchd-obrach a' piocadh le piocaidean is spaidean aig a' cheann an iar dhen t-slighe-uisge, ach bha e eu-dòchasach. Cha b' urrainn dha ach a bhith coimhead air an oidhirp gu lèir mar obair gun fheum. Ach cha robh an strì aca gun fheum, agus tha na clachan a gheàrr an luchd-obrach ud a' faighinn moladh agus ag adhbrachdainn bàrdachd gus an latha an-diugh.<br /> <br /> 'Marbhrann dha na nàbhaidhean a thog Slighe-uisge a' Ghlinn Mhòir eadar 1803 agus 1823'<br /> <br /> 'A' dìreadh Staighre Neptune'[le Iain Blake]<br /> <br /> 'Eight slabs of water step us from the sea,<br /> 'the narrows' and the cleanly-cut canal <br /> confined between high, water-acned walls <br /> of hewn red blocks so skillfully aligned.<br /> Water - held at bay by oak-beamed gates, <br /> sluices raised - boils black beneath our keel, <br /> furious in its impotence.<br /> We scarcely feel <br /> our slow ascent towards that rectangle <br /> of solid blue which roofs our watery cell<br /> until we match the level of the loch;<br /> float free above the sea we left behind,<br /> where once blunt, butty coasters pushed and nudged<br /> salt-bleached ocean-goers, barges big with coal, <br /> lumpish, threading green, pine-pleated skirts <br /> of mountain scree which sweeps down to embrace <br /> bottomless waters, astonishing the gaze <br /> of reticent wild-cat, marten, antlered deer.<br /> Rafted together, fourteen pleasure craft <br /> imperceptibly inch-up past ashlared blocks,<br /> sole legacy of long-dead navvies whose <br /> crowbars shouldered fresh-cut stone in place,<br /> long-handled shovels sliced through cake-damp peat,<br /> pickaxes sparked glaciated rocks.<br /> Their bone and muscle dug for twenty years,<br /> the Navigable Road, built Telford's locks,<br /> for half-pennies an hour; across a sea,<br /> to wives and children planting blighted fields,<br /> it seemed a fortune, such their poverty.<br /> Beside the channel they reamed out, these men - <br /> 'the navigators' - ate, slept, year by year,<br /> in sodden benders formed from hazel boughs,<br /> pervious hessian which thin, mean, mizzling rain<br /> invaded as it drenched their sweat-ranked clothes.<br /> Skin tanned dark by wind, sun, peaty fires,<br /> day after day, midge-maddened, never wholly dry,<br /> spit by spit they labour on or die - <br /> malnourishment, exhaustion, struck by years,<br /> consumption, accident or desperate hand -<br /> names unchiselled. <br /> No smooth polished plaque,<br /> mute monument, alerts the visiting eye<br /> to their long-lost interments, work-worn lives;<br /> only this rippling highway, sea to sea, <br /> Beside which those first, ragged navigators lie.'