PROGR artist in residence

2011-01-05T03:14:00.000-08:00

Camhanach
(Clo Duri Bezzola)

Bidh t’ anail
Gam chionacrachadh
Bhon chadal

Mi a’ cur mo chluaise
Ri do chridhe

Fo do chraiceann
Sgeulachdan
A’ sìneadh air èirigh

Sealltainn Air Ais
(Clo Duri Bezzola)

Chuir aodann
Air nach eil mi eòlach
Dìtheanan na mo rathad

Mi a’ tionndadh
Air ais thugad fhèin
‘S a’ sìneadh nan dìtheanan thugad

Spring

2009-08-19T23:59:00.000-07:00

I see mountain-avens, alpine thistle and eyebright in the spring coming out of Interlacken
And I think of a burn in spate in Glencoe, rowan, bog-myrtle, heather, bracken.

Jean-Raymond Tschumi in Gaelic

2009-06-21T02:27:00.000-07:00

Fuaimean na Breatainn Bige
do mo bhràthair
Na sùmainnean a’ bualadh na Breatainn Bige.
An seo bidh ‘n duilleag a’ fàs tais le sgrìoban a tha geàrr.
‘S e tha san t-soirbheas ach oiteag am bagaid nan craobh
Is bidh eagal orra mun mhullach is a' ghaoth ri straighlich.

Na sùmainnean a’ bualadh anns a’ Bhreatainn Bhig, a bhràthair,
Sinn a’ fèilleachadh an seo ‘s ar n-aodann ris an teine
Breith de dh’fhiodh uaine maoth, fosglaidh am fonn,
Ar dèideagan air an cur air falbh gu buan,
Tha sinn air sinn fhèin a thoirt suas an-dràsta.
Bidh tost ar cridhe mun chaladh gar toirt ri chèile.
‘S tha clann ann cuideachd,
Iolaichean an aoibhneis air an carachadh gu saor.
Ach fhathast tha mi cluinntinn
A’ fuasgladh fad’ às fuaim bhodhar nan cogaidhean catharra
A mharbh an aigne gun crìoch a chur air miann.
‘S na sùmainnean, a bhràthair, ag ionnsaigh na Breatainn Bige,
Cop nam bruadar air fad a thionnsgain sinn uair
Air lagh mar bhall-airm bhon ùine ri teachd.

Sealladh dhe na Bàlcain
A leithid a dh’ìomhaigh, spealt a thìr
Far am bi na craobhan fhèin an aghaidh a chèile
‘S e duine ‘s e tarraing a-mach mo shùl
Gu ceithir àirdean
A chrois’ air a cur à àite.

Bidh ‘n ragadair air a chur
An riochd ùr, tha mi ‘n dùil,
Ga phasgadh ann an anart-bàis de mhodh.

Ach eadar fuil is luath
Bho seo a-mach bidh sgàilean
Ìomhaigh spealt
Agus tìr air fad air a murt.

Alain Rochat in Gaelic

2009-06-12T00:16:00.000-07:00

Abhainn a' Chridhe ri Gàirdeachas 1
do Chailean

mo leanabh tiodhlac gun smal 's a liuthad tiodhlac ri teachd
sinn a' coiseachd leum thar nan allt
sinn a' leantainn oirnn a' sreap - na fionnain-feòir
gan sluigeadh suas anns na lèintean fosgailt' againn
clisgeadh de dh'aoibhneas làn

do làmh a' leigeil mo làimh' às - tha thu 'g ràdh
tha mi dol don ghiuthas ud thall - na do ghàrradh
thu a' gabhail 's a' toirt an t-saoghail uair is uair
agus air a thoirt an sin tha loinn a tha sinn a' cruinneachadh
's tu ri gàire 's a' labhairt an tiotain - na meuran agad
a' glacadh mo mheur fhèin 's a' sreap barrachd fhathast

Jean-Georges Lossier in Gaelic

2009-06-10T00:31:00.001-07:00

Un Éclair Court au Hasard
Dealanach, geàrr, le turchairt –
A-steach tron phreasarlach
Gu luideagan na h-oidhche
‘S i ga h-imlich gu lasair anns an spot.

Na dorsan dubh’ a’ bualadh –
Cluinnidh tu iad.
Na lòchrain sa ghaoith na cùis-uabhais
A bhios ag èirigh gam bruthadh fo chois.

Ach tilgidh an àilleachd ag iadhadh na talmhainn
Solas fada fhathast
Air na h-eilthirich air an sligh’ air adhart.

Ach an dèidh sin gun dùin an t-sìorraidheachd
Air a togail air cùl nan tobhtaichean
Thairis orra turas eile.

Mise agus Pangur Bàn

2009-06-04T01:37:00.000-07:00

Mise agus Pangur Bàn
Brisidh an dùthchas tro shùilean a’ chait

Mise ‘s mo laochan Pangur Bàn
Ri seilg le chèile mar bu dàn,
A mheanmna fhèin gu lèir gu buan
Ri luchag is mi fhèin ri duan.

Gach oidhche ‘n uair sin ri rosg
(Seach òl mar chàch mar an trosg)
Is ri mo leabhran air obair a’ bhàird
Is obair nan luch aig Pangur mar cheàird.

M’ aire ri seo ri toirt sùil a-nall
Nam Schottenkloster ann an St. Gall
Air na beanntan àrda bhuam an cèin
Gun sgeul – mo sgìths! – air mo dhùthchas fhèin.

Issa

2009-06-02T04:12:00.000-07:00

a' toirt a bheòlain
gu sleamhainn -
an dreathan-donn

Robert Rehder nach maireann

2009-05-28T12:12:00.000-07:00

Tuireadh

Bidh na duilleagan a’ tuiteam an-còmhnaidh.
Cha ghabh stad a chur air a’ mhodh.

A h-uile craobh, abhainn,
Na meanglain air an sìneadh a-mach,

Clàran-dùthcha gun chrìochnachadh,
Cuimhne -

A’ dol bhuaithe.
Aig an deireadh, bidh ‘n draoidheachd a’ falbh,

Gun ach sruth leanmhainneach na camhanaich
A’ cur air chomas dhuinn na ciad rionnagan fhaicinn.

2009-05-25T02:17:00.001-07:00

There's you in St. Gallen and me in the Jura, let’s meet up at an althaus halfway,
In whatyoumacallit Inverlacken East or West, what do you say?

On the way back home, I hear familiar sounds: Prochain Arret, Nachster Halt,
Achilty, Tarvie Lochs, Garve, Lochluichart, Achinalt.

Issa

2009-05-15T02:20:00.001-07:00

cuideachd ri fàrsan
thairis air an raon,
gealach blàth nam plumaichean

2009-05-11T13:56:00.001-07:00

On some strasse or gasse I stop at a window display. This could be my life.
A Swiss timepiece. A Swiss pen. A Genuine Swiss Army Knife.

2009-05-11T09:56:00.000-07:00

Who can say where, on the way back from les deux Lacs out of Ins,
The multilayer, multiyear snow and ice on Ochs ends and altocirrostratus begins?

Everything in its place: ice in the glaciers on Finsteraarhorn and Ochs;
Ice on the surface of Loch nan Dubhraichean and the Black Lochs.

Reed-like masts make a sound like lowing cowbells in the floating pontoon
In the breeze off Lake Neuchatel as a crane rises across the face of the moon.

Untersetzungen

2009-05-11T02:14:00.000-07:00

Taigh-solais anns an oidhche
(Alfonsina Storni)

'S e tha san speur speur dubh.
‘S e tha sa mhuir clàr dubh.

An taigh-solais a’ fosgladh
A’ ghaoithrein-ghrèine ri oir oir na fairge,

A’ cur nan car anns an oidhche.
Cò tha e sireadh

Agus an cridhe nach seas
Gam shireadh anns a’ bhroilleach?

Seall a’ chreag dhubh
Nuair a tha i air a sparradh sìos.

Ròcas a’ cladhach gun lasachadh
Ach gun a bhith a’ cur fala tuilleadh.

Sgàilean-fodha
(Phillippe Jaccottet)

‘S iad na sgàilean-fiodha seo, macanta, foighidneach,
Nas aotroime na ‘m feur fiù ‘s
A thàinig beò sa gheamhradh,
Sgàilean-bàis a tha tostach, dìleas,
Nach fhairichear ach air èiginn

An-còmhnaidh ris an là gheal
A’ dol timcheall
Air ar bodhaigean
An-còmhnaidh sa bhlàr-a-muigh
Na leacan seo de sglèat liath.

Deireannach anns an Dùbhlachd
(Daniele Pantano)

Cho follaiseach. Gun mòran a’ dol. A’ chlann fhathast is am miann
Ris an t-sneachd’. An còrr. Airson rudeigin seach na tha comasach.
Nas aosta na ‘n ceò. Socrachadh mar dhealgan. Air a reothadh.
Air callaid. Nochd an geamhradh gun fhiosta, a’ cur gath air ar bacaidhean.
Ciùin. Chan ionndrainn neach an àbhaist. No fiù ‘s an lon-dubh.
Dìreach mar nach ionndrainn duine bho thaobh seach taobh deireadh an domhain.

Yu Chang

2009-05-10T23:29:00.001-07:00

uisge blàth,
gealach an earraich a’ tilleadh
air a’ chrogan mheirgeach

Subversions, Traductions, Intertonguings

2009-05-09T01:35:00.000-07:00

dè th’ ann
(Hans-Christian Oeser)

‘s e th’ ann sgudal
tha a’ chiall ag ràdh
‘s e th’ ann ach e fhèin
a chanas an gràdh

‘s e th’ ann dòrainn
a tha ‘n cunntas ag ràdh
‘s e arraing a th’ ann
a chanas an t-eagal
cha ghabh e leigheas
a chanas an tuigse
‘s e th’ ann ach e fhèin
a chanas an gràdh

‘s ann a tha e gòrach
a chanas an t-àrdan
tha e sgapte
a chanas an t-aithreachas
cha ghabh e dèanamh
a chanas am fiosrachadh
‘s e th’ ann ach e fhèin
a chanas an gràdh

Laoidh
(R. S. Thomas)

Dè tha san Nollaig
Gun an sneachd’? Tha feum againn air
Mar aran den aimsir fhuar,
Mar eirmean gus ar peacaidhean

A ghearradh, na mhuilcheann
Goirid air an cuir fear-brèige
Na carthanachd a chridhe,
Cho dàna ri brù-dhearg.

Ùrnaigh
(R. S. Thomas)

Uaigh Bhaudelaire
Gun a bhith tuilleadh is fada
Bho chraobh an eòlais.
An tè agam fhìn cuideachd
Bho dh’fheuch mi ‘s nach d’rinn an gnothach
Air goid bhuaipe,
Am badeigin am fianais
Craobh na bàrdachd
A chaitheas gu sìorraidh
Duilleagan uaine ‘n ama.

Issa

2009-05-09T01:33:00.000-07:00

a’ ghealach aig a’ chachaileith,
mar a bhios an teas a’ maolachadh,
bidh ‘s na h-eòlaich

am foghar air nochdadh,
mi fàs fuaraidh
dìreach ga ràdh

2009-05-07T12:28:00.000-07:00

At a colloquium in Zurich, that could be Leopold Bloom
Working away at slogans on his own in a corner of the Meetingroom.

A couple jogging in the open in the foothills of the Mittelland give it big licks.
I stop to let them pass and watch, as I lean on my Nordic walking sticks.

Interlochan

2009-05-01T01:15:00.001-07:00

Two Doppelstocken at once, one going back home, the other on to Lucerne,
Pass between Interlaken Ost and Ouest, as in Upper and Lower Lough Erne.

Ernst Ranseier in Gaelic

2009-04-22T02:12:00.000-07:00

Postojna 1997

Than a h-uinneagan air falbh,
Tha ‘s na cailleachan ri cnuasachd.
Tha ‘n clò-gorm a’ cleitearnach
Anns a’ ghaoith.

Bhon uinneig agam tha mi faicinn
Cladh an àite,

Eachdraidh air a tòrradh
Fo thuim den ùir an solas na maidine
‘S na croisean-iarainn
Fo ghrìogagan den driùchd.

2009-04-20T02:21:00.000-07:00

Sunday afternoon. Cheviots and Highland cattle. Wandering.
Douglasie. A Hurlimann outside a churchyard. I hear bells ring.

Maurice Chappaz

2009-04-19T03:17:00.000-07:00

Tuathanach a’ Teannachadh a Chinn

‘S beag orm na h-ainglean
Ach bidh mi gan sgrùdadh.
Bidh mi beachdachadh
Air na beathaichean ‘s gan tuigsinn.

Tha trì rudan a tha math san oidhche:
Suirghe,
Sealltainn air a’ ghealaich
No ‘g ùrnaigh.

2009-04-18T05:46:00.000-07:00

In the Aare on a holm or - as in Inchnadamph or Abbotsinch -
An inch, a herring-gull, a tern. All that way from the Little Minch!

2009-04-17T23:50:00.001-07:00

Still fresh and clear. The last snow. Spring in the Jura.
Eyebright and mountain avens. The first swallow. Aqua Panna. Aqua-Pura.

S. Corinna Bille

2009-04-16T03:33:00.000-07:00

Uaimh

Bha uaimh os cionn lios nam fìonan
Agus boireannach òg na broinn.
Cha nochdadh i ri duine
Ach uaireannan thigeadh luchd nam fìonan
‘S an t-eagal orra.

Sheall i san sgàthan air chumadh uighe,
Na sùilean aic’ air an socrachadh
Agus theireadh iad cho math
Gun robh nathair mar chuideachd aice.

Rinn i suas na sùilean
Aice le sulphate,
Am beul aice le dearcan dubha
‘S chuir i gagain bheaga ‘n crochadh
Ris na cluasan.

2009-04-14T02:17:00.000-07:00

I wash and peel a Schalenkartoffel and place it against my ear.
Can that be the Shannon flowing into the Atlantic I can hear?

2009-04-11T08:38:00.000-07:00

The snow on a terminal moraine in the Jura’s beautiful indeed
In May, melting and moving at speed. At glacial speed.

2009-04-09T01:55:00.000-07:00

I go back through the new-growth woods and pick things up like a child.
Bar. Fuchs. Hase. Luchs. Reh. Wolf. Auf und Ab. Wald und Wind und Wild.

The old folk tend to their allotments in the evening near the village hall
In Kirchenfeld. It’s not a bad way to end it all at all.

I light up when I see the Bunnhabhainn and Bruichladdaich in rows,
Out on the town en Suisse. And Talisker and Isle of Jura. It probably shows.

There’s Rhum up there and all. I’m getting used to the spiel.
Glenlivet, Glenfiddich and so forth. Glendale. Glenshiel.

I walk down a long Durchgang beside the Aare and under the ground.
I should be afraid. I feel sound. I feel sound.

2009-04-07T02:33:00.000-07:00

Snowblindness. That middle-aged man there going grey and bald
In the reflective glasses on the way down from Grindelwald.

Alain Rochat in Gaelic

2009-04-07T02:32:00.000-07:00

Tha h-Uile Càil Geal

Ciamar a tha h-uile càil
Anns an t-saoghal geal
Thuirt an sùileachan
‘S e togail nan sùl
A dh’ionnsaigh an t-seòmair-mhullaich.

An sneachda mar chuinnlein.
An solas bhon lòchran mar anart-bàis.
Dèile ach cùis-uabhais
Nach follaiseach.

Tha h-uile càil geal.

2009-04-06T02:47:00.001-07:00

Out, everything in its place. Perfect. A little sad.
The Aare in Bodenacherfare and Muribad.

2009-04-05T04:08:00.001-07:00

Under the permasnow, look!, a spring, the first Alpine thyme, avens, edelweiss
As old as Torridonian sandstone and Lewisian gneiss.

2009-04-04T00:41:00.001-07:00

I look up from the computer. It’s nearly quarter to three.
Outside the Polizei, birds are tweeting and twittering away in the bare plane tree.

Lochs and glens

2009-04-03T02:01:00.000-07:00

An old wifie stares, then snores, opposite me, face like a stone –
Don’t I know her? - all the way to Interlaken in the Ruhezone.

I’m disorientated - first it’s a Bort, next the last departure from First, then Jungfraujoch.
I can see nearly all the way home: Alpinglen, Egg, Locherboden, Appin, Beinn eadar dà Loch.

Clo Duri Bezzola in Gaelic

2009-03-27T08:29:00.000-07:00

Madainn

Sgòthan a’ pògadh mu do chneas

Bho bheul gu beul
A’ ghealach air an allaban
Ann an teangachan solais

Na rionnagan gan leagail
A-mach às na làmhan againn

Maurice Chappaz in Gaelic

2009-03-25T02:21:00.000-07:00

B’ Fheàrr Leam Pògan

B’ fheàrr leam pògan
Seach ceileireadh nan eun.
A sheinn bho bhriseadh-na-fàire
Mu na gruaidhean ‘s na fabhraichean agad.
B’ fheàrr leam an oidhche
Seach an latha,
Ùrnaigh seach obair,
An t-sàmhchair
Seach briathran.
B’ fheàrr leam an t-sìorraidheachd
Seach a’ bheatha
Ged nach biodh ann ach tiotan.

Image based on the character Florentino Ariza in Gabriel Garcia Márquez's Love in the Time of Cholera

2009-03-25T02:15:00.000-07:00

On a terrace in the Botanischer Garten, garlanded with German and French
And English and Latin flora, a young man reads on a bench.

S. Corinna Bille in Gaelic

2009-03-24T02:38:00.000-07:00

Fosgail an Uinneag

Fosgail an uinneag
Ach an gabh mi a-steach nam anail
Am fìonan fo bhlàth
Thuirt a’ chailleach a’ dol eug.

Bha uiread a ghaol
Aic’ air an fhonn
‘S nach b’ urrainn dhi fhàgail buileach.

Sgaoil a gruag a-mach na maotharain
‘S fo bhuinnein nam fìonan
Bha na sùilean aic’ fhathast a’ sealltainn oirnn.

Achtung!

2009-03-23T09:18:00.000-07:00

Suddenly in a clearing, a fence, a Volkswagen in an outhouse full of dung
And fodder and stuff like it was back there in Derryoober. The sign’s right: Achtung!

Issa

2009-03-23T03:53:00.001-07:00

sèimh is ciùin,
a’ sealltainn air na h-Alpaichean,
gille-cràigein

À L'Étranger

2009-03-23T03:41:00.000-07:00

À l’étranger in Rossacher out of the Gurtenbahn, looking out on Berne,
I could be Sweeney or Éamonn an Chnoic or a woodkerne.

From the site highland-gurten.ch near Gurten Kulm,
I can see virtually all the way home clear to Duntulm.

I met her on a Privatweg. I bent down to give her a kiss.
She turned her cheek and went: No! Not one! Three! Ah, the Swiss!

A shop full of whisky and tartan and other Scottish things. Might it be amiss
If I were to demonstrate, by way of a further example, a Glesga kiss?

On the Wanderweg, no, the Meanderweg, I stop and think of home at every turn.
Duisdale Burn. Muir-burn. Saddle burn. Heartburn.

Remo Fasani in Gaelic

2009-03-23T03:36:00.000-07:00

Feasgar anns na Beanntan

Solas mar am fìon
Ri losgadh mun fhàire làn sneachda
‘S criothnachadh an crochadh os cionn nan creag.

An oidhch’ air nochdadh,
An uair sin a’ ghaoth na misg
Ri slacarsaich nan taighean aosta
‘S ri blaomadaich fhathast ann an aislingean.

Tha ‘n tuainealaich a-cheana
Ri sgiathalaich mu gach palla,
Clamhan ri farsanaich am fad na h-oidhche ‘s i falamh.

Willkommen in der Blogosphere

2009-03-18T09:16:00.000-07:00

Another country. A different language. A map says You Are Here.
A sign says Willkommen in der Blogosphere.

Here I am, an embedded observer at my oeuvre in my own atelier in a loft
Looking down on the city, no, the town, no, the village, no, the croft.

March, Bern, Helvetiaplatz, the Aare. On the first leg
Of the Wanderweg.

Shake a leg, it’s nearly half past three!
Time to go out again on Wege zu Klee.

On the Rundgang, going through the motions, I imagine Klee out for a lunchtime jog
With an Ohrwurm that won’t go away: Walking the Dog.

Wanderweg

2009-03-18T01:13:00.000-07:00

Sunday afternoon. Everywhere closed. Christkatholische Kirche. Wandering.
Munsterplatz. Chapelle de L’Église Libre. I hear bells ring.

The Stadtbach outside of the Rathaus is the only sound
I can make out. Everything else is all underground.

The Aareweg by the wood is full. I’ve gone and lost my way.
All green. It could be in Chicago on St. Patrick’s Day.

St. Patrick’s Day. I meet them at the station.
In the Barengraben, they’re all coming out of their hibernation.

Two Minutes

2009-03-13T02:40:00.001-07:00

The rain appears in small drops, barely
Discernible, as I look out of my study
Down on the square and the passers-by
And minibuses on Speichergasse,
One-way, at a ninety degrees angle
Precisely, punctiliously, without the slightest fuss.

Another two minutes and they’re all gone
And the sun shines
On the skylights and shutters of Office World Express.