Ùrachadh mu Dheireadh 19/01/2017
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Choisinn 'Cuttings' a' chiad duais san earrann airson bàrdachd inbhich ann an Co-fharpais Sgrìobhaidh Nèill Ghunnaich, 2009. B' e Seumas Knox Whittet à Norfolk a sgrìobh e.

Gus comharrachadh Tighinn Dhachaigh a dh'Alba 2009 b' e an cuspair a thaghadh, 'Living with one another', pàirt de bhriathran-labhairt na b' fhaide air a thogail o nobhail Nèill Ghunnaich 'The Serpent'.

B' e Jon Miller, bàrd is prìomh thidsear Beurla aig Àrd-sgoil Ulapuil agus Seumas Robasdan a tha a' sgrìobhadh an dà chuid, bàrdachd agus rosg, a bha nam britheamhan aig earrann bàrdachd nan inbhich.

Tha Co-fharpais Sgrìobhaidh Nèill Ghuinne air a chur air dòigh le luchd-obrach Seirbheis Foghlaim, Cultair & Spòrs Chomhairle na Gàidhealtachd le taic o Urras Nèill Ghuinne. Chaidh a chur air bhonn ann an 1988.

CUTTINGS

A sort of cutting taken from one person and grafted on to the heart of another continues to carry on its existence even when the person from whom it had been detached has died. Marcel Proust

In the visible breath of early spring,
you'd sieve leaf mould
onto the potting shed bench:
sifting darkness and sunbeams

beneath the cracked skylight
where sycamores swayed
broken shadows of their limbs
in risen sea winds.

On the paraffin stove,
a pan of loam would steam
to sterilization: all impurities
transmuted into clouds

to darken the rafters and hang
globes of moisture in the embroidery
of the spider's loom.
Across the stone floor,

you'd leave records of your steps
in the crushed orange
of clay pots, making intricate
markings that would remain.

In the white dust of hormone
rooting powder, you'd dip the angled
cuttings of carnations and ring
each filled pot with grey leafed stems.

lowered into fingered hollows.
In tiny polythene tents, they'd sweat
until translucent tendrils of root took
hold as you took hold of my hand

in that tented ward where all footprints
were swabbed before they settled:
all traces of grief removed:
above you, panelled roof panes sealed.

Days later, I helped lower you
into frosted loam that steamed in
misted sunlight: the dressed cord leaving
angled markings on my soiled fingers.

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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'Cuttings' 1d duais, Co-fharpais Sgrìobhaidh Nèill Ghunnaich, 2009

2000an

Niall Gunnach; pìosan bàrdachd; litreachas; cofharpaisean; farpaisean; co-fharpaisean sgrìobhaidh; co-fharpaisean bhàrdachd; sgeulachd; sgeulachdan; seanchas; sgrìobhadh rosg; bàird; sgrìobhadairean; claistinneach

Leabharlainn na Gàidhealtachd

Neil Gunn Writing Competition (audios)

Choisinn 'Cuttings' a' chiad duais san earrann airson bàrdachd inbhich ann an Co-fharpais Sgrìobhaidh Nèill Ghunnaich, 2009. B' e Seumas Knox Whittet à Norfolk a sgrìobh e.<br /> <br /> Gus comharrachadh Tighinn Dhachaigh a dh'Alba 2009 b' e an cuspair a thaghadh, 'Living with one another', pàirt de bhriathran-labhairt na b' fhaide air a thogail o nobhail Nèill Ghunnaich 'The Serpent'.<br /> <br /> B' e Jon Miller, bàrd is prìomh thidsear Beurla aig Àrd-sgoil Ulapuil agus Seumas Robasdan a tha a' sgrìobhadh an dà chuid, bàrdachd agus rosg, a bha nam britheamhan aig earrann bàrdachd nan inbhich.<br /> <br /> Tha Co-fharpais Sgrìobhaidh Nèill Ghuinne air a chur air dòigh le luchd-obrach Seirbheis Foghlaim, Cultair & Spòrs Chomhairle na Gàidhealtachd le taic o Urras Nèill Ghuinne. Chaidh a chur air bhonn ann an 1988.<br /> <br /> CUTTINGS<br /> <br /> A sort of cutting taken from one person and grafted on to the heart of another continues to carry on its existence even when the person from whom it had been detached has died. Marcel Proust<br /> <br /> In the visible breath of early spring,<br /> you'd sieve leaf mould<br /> onto the potting shed bench:<br /> sifting darkness and sunbeams<br /> <br /> beneath the cracked skylight<br /> where sycamores swayed<br /> broken shadows of their limbs<br /> in risen sea winds.<br /> <br /> On the paraffin stove,<br /> a pan of loam would steam<br /> to sterilization: all impurities<br /> transmuted into clouds<br /> <br /> to darken the rafters and hang<br /> globes of moisture in the embroidery<br /> of the spider's loom.<br /> Across the stone floor,<br /> <br /> you'd leave records of your steps<br /> in the crushed orange<br /> of clay pots, making intricate<br /> markings that would remain.<br /> <br /> In the white dust of hormone<br /> rooting powder, you'd dip the angled<br /> cuttings of carnations and ring<br /> each filled pot with grey leafed stems.<br /> <br /> lowered into fingered hollows.<br /> In tiny polythene tents, they'd sweat<br /> until translucent tendrils of root took<br /> hold as you took hold of my hand<br /> <br /> in that tented ward where all footprints<br /> were swabbed before they settled:<br /> all traces of grief removed:<br /> above you, panelled roof panes sealed.<br /> <br /> Days later, I helped lower you<br /> into frosted loam that steamed in<br /> misted sunlight: the dressed cord leaving<br /> angled markings on my soiled fingers.