by Anastasia Gorbatova
“Calbharaigh”
Chan eil mo shùil air Calbharaigh
no air Betlehem an àigh
ach air cùil ghrod an Glaschu
far bheil an lobhadh fàis,
agus air seòmar an Dùn èideann,
seòmar bochdainn ’s cràidh,
far a bheil an naoidhean creuchdach
ri aonagraich gu bhàs.
“Calvary” (trans. Sorley MacLean)
My eye is not on Calvary
nor on Bethlehem the Blessed,
but on a foul-smelling backland in Glasgow,
where life rots as it grows;
and on a room in Edinburgh,
a room of poverty and pain,
where the diseased infant
writhes and wallows till death.
“Calvary” (trans. Anastasia Gorbatova)
My prayers are neither with Calvary,
nor with heavenly Bethlehem they are,
but with a lousy corner in Glasgow
where the rottenness endlessly sprouts,
with a morbid room in Edinburgh,
devoured by torment and want,
where wallows and squeaks an infant
abandoned by God to depart.
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