The Beam of the Dawn | Gath-grèine na Mochthrath
And a sneak peek of May's short story
For this week’s post, I decided to share a poem I submitted to a Gaelic poetry contest back in 2022. This piece placed third in the Duais Bhliadhnail ann am Bàrdachd an Ainm na Peathar, Mairead NicDhòmhnaill (Annual Sister Margaret MacDonnell Prize in Gaelic Poetry), which is held by the Celtic Studies department of St. Francis Xavier University, the institution in Nova Scotia that I attended for their MA program in Celtic Studies. Originally, this poem came from my undergraduate capstone creative component which was a larger epic poetry piece that I had originally written in English.
When I submitted the initial draft to my advisor, Dr. Ranke de Vries, she notified me that the judges noticed my choice of words for this piece had “quite a few Irishisms”. I worked with one of the judges, Dr. Michael Linkletter, to edit the poem in order to better coincide with Scottish Gaelic poetic customs. The differences were subtle but very informative as I made my way through the piece with an expert on the Gaelic language. One thing he noted, and something my readers who have been following since April might recognize, is the similarities between this and “Amorgen’s Song”, which was indeed and inspiration for this piece. You can read the full article on it at the link below:
The Rousing Power of "Amorgen's Song"
Today, I’m sharing this piece to continue to celebrate Gaelic Awareness Month and give it a place where it will be easy to find and share—it was originally shared on Facebook by the Celtic Studies Department at StFX but I figured it might reach more people being reposted on Substack and give it a permanent place among my self-publications where it will be easy to find. Also included with this piece, which the original post on Facebook did not have, is the complete English translation!
Gàidhlig
'S e gath-grèine na mochthrath a th' annam. Bhoillsg mi ann an tìr a' chrà agus an dorchais. 'S mise an ceò itealach bhon fhairge agus chuir mi mi fhèin air na beanntaichean e agus chaidil mi air blàr. 'S mise na teintean a bha losgadh air na cnuic far an do thùraich na rìghrean fineachail na dùin le clachan nam beanntaichean sin. 'S mise a' chrom-leac. Thogadh mi à cnàmhan na beinne; agus theanail draoidhean mum chuairt agus thoir iad moladh dhan t-saoghal. 'S mise an damh sùrdagach. Tha mo chròicean a' lasadh le pògan nam ban. 'S mise na tairmean. Tha bàird ag èisteachd rium anns a' cheò, agus sheinn iad ris na taoisich agus na fineachan aca. 'S mise an lannair air a' bhradan lannach. Bidh mi a' leumadh tro tuinn a' ghineachais. 'S e sleagh na fairge a th’ annam. Bha m' athraichean gam thilg à tùr Bhreògain. 'S e osann catha buadhail a th' annam. 'S e muighin laoich a th’ annam. 'S e èigh cailine aiteasach a th' annam. 'S e bòid a th’ annam. Bhòidicheadh mi ron àrd-rìgh anns an talla aige. 'S mise an t-aon mhac Coin-Chulainn. Mharbh e mi air na cladaichean Ultach, agus bha m' anam a' dannsadh anns na gathan-grèine air an tràigh sin. Cò a' chaidrich iar-dubh-ogha Shreing? Cò a chaidh dha na cladaichean Maigh Meall agus a thill às a' cheò? Cò a chasgair Tethra an t-Àireach le corran dìleib a anamain. Cò an Sgian Tethra? Cò a mheantraig tron rìoghachd dhuibh agus a thill le spealtag na mochthrath? 'S mise a rinn e; 's e gath-grèine na mochthrath a th' annam.
Beurla (English)
I am a beam of dawn in a land of blood and darkness, I am the mist that drifts in from the sea and robes mountains and sleeps on heaths, I am the fires that burn on the hills where tribal kings build their duns from the stones of those mountains, I am the cromlech wrought from the bones of mountains, where druids gather and praise the world, I am the bounding buck whose pointed crown is alight with the kisses of women, I am the echoes thro’ misted hills that the bards heed and sing to their chieftains and tribes, I am the glint on the salmon’s scales as it leaps in the waves that hath rolled since the beginning, I am the spear from the waves of my fathers that roll all the way back to the tower of Bréogan, I am the sigh breathed in the victory of war; the pride of a fighter; the cry of a maiden’s joy, I am the final word of an oath sworn at the thundering heart of the highest king in his hall, I am the only son of the bold Cuchulainn, who struck me down on the shores of his home, and I danced in the beams that would shine on that strand. Who befriended the greatest grandson of Sreng? Who came to the shores of Mag Mell and returned from its mists? Who slew Tethra the Kinemaster with the spearhead of his soul’s inheritance? Who is the Knife of Tethra? Who went thro’ the dim kingdom and emerged with a sliver of the dawn? I did; I am a beam of dawn!
This month’s short story is a folk horror inspired by Nova Scotian Gaelic folklore. A student at St. Francis Xavier University studying folk traditions local to the area comes into closer contact with the ancient world than he ever expected.
Readers are likely going to notice Gaelic words and phrases that I don’t give any translation for or indication how to pronounce. This is because, if you’ve been keeping up with this month’s posts and resources I’ve shared, the
A Sneak Peek of May’s Short Story: “Fire Out of the Ages”
I woke suddenly to a gentle shake on my shoulder. Looking up, I met the brown eyes of the young woman. She smiled slightly down at me and said, in a low voice, “The library’s closing, security just wanted me to let you know.”
“Okay.” I nodded, returning her smile and gathering up my books.
She laughed as I stacked them in two heavy piles. “Somebody has a big project.”
“My thesis.” My grin broadened as I smacked the top of one pile. “This is just the start.”
“What’s your topic?” she asked as I slid my laptop and journal into my satchel, then slung it over my shoulder.
“Currently, Antigonish’s Gaelic folk traditions.” I picked up the books and nodded towards the exit.
As we started walking that way, the woman’s smile sunk. “Uill, gun tèid leat. There aren’t as many tradition-bearers as there used to be.”
“A bheil Gàidhlig agad?” I shot back instinctively.
She nodded. “I grew up speaking it.”
“Around here?”
“Close, Caledonia Mills.”
That name would ring a bell with not just students of folklore, but most people in Antigonish or Pictou county. “Mary-Ellen Spook,” I blurted.
She laughed again, but it sounded more forced. “Yes, I’m not so far from the house where it happened, or what’s left of it, at least.”
“I’ve never actually been there, I feel like I should since I study folklore.” By now, we neared the front desk.
“You’re not afraid of the curse?”
I smiled and shrugged. “Don’t people only get cursed if they take stuff? I wouldn’t want to mess with anything.” I set the books in front of the student librarian on duty and wished him a good day.
“Well,” said the woman as we stepped through the vestibule, “maybe I can show you around there sometime.”
Her offer surprised me a little, but I just nodded and played it cool. “Sure! I wouldn’t say no to that.” I held the doors open for her as we stepped outside into the setting May sunlight.
“Great!” for the first time since I saw her, she smiled with her teeth, a full, glistening white smile. “I’ll show you soon then. Oh, Dè an t-ainmn a th’ ort?”
“′S mise Donnchadh.”
“Duncan,” she repeated in English. “Is your family also Gaelic?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Not really, my dad is just a huge fan of Dune.”
“Dune?”
“Ah, classic sci-fi book, David Lynch made a movie of it. Anyway, doesn’t matter. Dè an t-ainmn a th’ ort fhèin?”
“Flòraidh.”
After we said our goodbyes, Flòraidh turned and headed down the ramp and road behind the campus meal hall. I headed on the long walk towards my apartment on Highland Drive. With most of the students at StFX gone for the summer, walking across campus and through the residential streets felt peaceful, yet eerie in the dimming spring sunset. Everything had this gold aura around it, the sky was perfectly blue, and even the spots in the shade felt warm. When I got home, the weight of the day hung so heavily I me that I just went to bed. The apartment’s A/C, however, wasn’t the best so the heat from outside crept in through the walls of the house. I managed to drift off into a hazy half-sleep; I could feel the warmth sticking to my skin as sweat pooled on it. I had dreams, flashes of fields dried yellow by the sun; people staring up at the cloudless sky, their reddened skin peeling off in flakes; and a fire, the same angry red hue as an infected wound wreathed open land, cities, and seas—everything burned.
I woke up in the wee hours of the morning, the air finally having cooled down, conversely making my sweat-soaked self shiver. Stumbling out of bed with no strong desire to go back to sleep, I paced around the apartment and watched TV until dawn broke.
Thanks for reading this week’s post! Be sure to leave a like and share it to spread the lore!
Refer a friend to Senchas Claideb to receive access to special rewards, including a personalized Gaelic phrase and a free, original short story!
Follow me on other social media platforms!
Could you elaborate on the difference between Irish and Scottish Gaelic as you described it in the following passage? The relationship between both languages has fascinated me since I learned about them.
When I submitted the initial draft to my advisor, Dr. Ranke de Vries, she notified me that the judges noticed my choice of words for this piece had “quite a few Irishisms”. I worked with one of the judges, Dr. Michael Linkletter, to edit the poem in order to better coincide with Scottish Gaelic poetic customs. The differences were subtle but very informative as I made my way through the piece with an expert on the Gaelic language.
Can’t wait to read the rest of May’s end of the month short story. It already has my attention!