Dheòrsa MacIain Dheòrsa / George Campbell Hay (1915-1984) grew up in Kintyre, before attending school in Edinburgh, and university in Oxford. During the war he spent time in North Africa and Italy, before being transferred to Greece, where a violent incident led to the onset of a mental illness that was to dog him for the rest of his life. A prolific linguist and translator, his poems are principally in Gaelic, but he also wrote in Scots, English, Italian, French, Danish and other languages.

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Featured poem

Do Bheithe Bòidheach

Neul a’ snàmh air an speur,
duilleach eadar è 's mo shùil;
ùr bàrr-uaine gruag a’ bheithe,
leug nan leitir cas mun Lùib.

Oiteag 'tighinn bhàrr an tuim,
a’ toirt fuinn às do dhos,
cruit na gaoithe do bhàrr teudach,
cuisleannan nan geug ri port.

Àilleagan nan glac seo shìos,
sìthbhrugh do na h-eòin do dhlùths,
thu gan tàladh às gach àirde,
iad a’ teàrnadh ort sunnd.

Ceileireadh 's e binn binn,
seirm is seinn air a’ chnoc,
nuair a chromas na h- eòin Shamhraidh
air do mheanglain 's mil 'nan gob.

Is fheàrr na 'n ceòl t’ fhaicinn fhèin
air bhogadan rèidh fon chnap,
seang bàrr-snìomhain amlach ùrar,
is dealt 'na chùirnein air gach slait.

Dheòrsa MacIain Dheòrsa / George Campbell Hay, reprinted by permission of the W L Lorimer Trust Fund in Dreuchd an Fhigheadair/ The Weaver's Task: A Gaelic Sampler, edited by Christopher Whyte (Scottish Poetry Library, 2007)

To A Bonny Birch Tree

A cloud is floating on the sky
But my eye is lush with green:
Leafage fresh, a visual symphony,
The bonny birch, the hillock's crown.

A breeze is plucking at the mound,
Sweet sounds rising from your core,
The wind, angelic in each part,
A harp is playing its simple score.

You are the jewel of these hollows.
See swallows light upon the fairy ring.
You have conjured them from air,
From far and near. With joy they sing.

They warble summer melodies,
They merely want to share their joy,
Your branches tremble with their notes.
Their throats are thick with honey.

Lovelier than music is the dance,
Stark elegance of tree and stone.
Your lithe limbs soaked with dew,
The dew like diamonds, tiny suns.

Tracey Herd, from Dreuchd an Fhigheadair/ The Weaver's Task: A Gaelic Sampler, edited by Christopher Whyte (Scottish Poetry Library, 2007)