In 1996, while listening to the readings of the Gaelic poet, Sorley McLean, shortly after his death, I wrote a poem inspired by the rhythms of his work, and by the astounding age and silence of the surface of the Moon - its regolith. The poem is called Gealach, the Gaelic word for the Moon. It was translated to the Gaelic language by Roddy MacLean.
Gealach
Rough, ruined tilth,Draped in grey blankets by time's stony rain,
Over frozen circles of rock.
Scarred by its careless spray,
Gardening the plains, so slow.
Air and water do not caress,
The cold of dark chills,
Those deep parched shadows,
Else each pore be raped by Sol,
To sweetly shine.
Beautiful, solemn world,
Ultimate peace in charcoal hue,
Aged serenity,
Trembles, and a ship arrives,
First corruption from a booted foot.
Fragments of life become aware,
Within their white cocoon protected,
Of ageless hurt from punching falls,
On a frontier cast anew,
Revealed by an Irish pledge.
A’ Ghealach
Uachdar garbh, lèir-sgriosta,Frasan glasa cloiche ga suaineadh bho chèin nan cian,
Rùsg creagach breacach
Sprèadhaidhean rù-rà ga creuchdadh
Is gu mall a’ gàraidearachd nam blàr.
Cha bhi àile no uisge a’ suathadh
Crith-fhuachd a dorchadais,
No nan sgàilean domhainn tioram aice.
Cha bhi a’ ghrian ag èigneachadh a h-uile pòr
De dheàrrsadh grinn na gealaich.
Cruinne gasta, sòlaimte
Sàr-shàmhchair le snuadh dubh-ghlas
Soineantachd nan linntean air crith
Le tadhal soithich,
Agus ciad choirbteachd bho chas bòtaineach.
Am broinn chochall ro-gheal,
Bidh mìrean beatha a’ cur eòlas
Air buillean a thuit o shean
Air crìoch ùr,
Taisbeante air sgàth dùbhlan Eireannach.