Dàn nam Ban / Fate of Women is the debut collection from award-winning bilingual Gaelic English poet, singer and teacher Ceitidh Chaimbeul. It highlights women’s voices from across the generations, and explores themes of folklore, family, motherhood and cultural inheritance. Here is a sample from the collection.

Dàn nam Ban
By Ceitidh Chaimbeul
Published by Leamington Books

Bana-bhuidsich Allt a’ Mhuilinn

Duilleagan fuil-dhearga
nan laighe gu trom-uisgeach
fo ruaim bhalbh, nam measg
mnathan ciar-bhuidhe is ruadh.
Geugan bàna ri dìosgail
rabhaidhean dìth cead
ann an uspag na Samhna
sgeulachd lusgairean
ann an doire nam bochd.
Mac-talla nan taibhsean,
rionnach maoim is smùdan
dannsadh tron allt,
is gaoir chorcarach nan dithis
gun eucoir ach banalachd.

The Millburn Witches

Blood-red leaves
lie heavy-drenched
in silent anger, taints
yellow and amber women.
Naked branches whisper
warnings of intolerance,
in Hallowed breaths
stories of the healers
in Diriebught.
Echos of spirits,
shadows and smoke
dance through the river,
and the screams of violation,
two innocents – women.

An Taghadh Eile

’S tus’ as coireach, a nathair chòir,
chuir thu nimh na fuil
is shiubhal do bhriathrachas
fo mhìne a craicinn mus do thogadh dhi slighe peacaidh.

Nas tarrangaiche buileach an t-ubhal
is àirde a shlaodadh dha beul
nìor leig ann am Maitheas gum biodh beachd aice fhèin,
seach a sàsachadh leis na bha an dàn dhi.

Bhruadair i air iteagan brèagha air eòin fad às,
feur na bu guirme an gàrraidhean eile
’s i sgìth den mhil a bhlais i
an eanghlas Àdhaimh

Ach saoil, a nathair,
an robh i ga iarraidh –
ceum duirche a thaghadh
is e na thrìlleach fhàgail
an lorg beatha bhàin
fo ghrian a sìorraidheachd.

The Other Choice

You’re to blame, dear snake,
you poisoned her blood,
and your lexicon swept,
under the sheen of her skin, until
she could only take the path of sin.

The forbidden fruit was the greater allure
and lowering its height to her mouth,
heaven forbid she had an opinion of her own
discontent with the destiny laid before her.

She dreamed the fair feathers of far away birds,
the lush grass of other gardens –
sickened by honey and
swallowing Adam’s insipid milk.

But I wonder, dear snake,
if she wanted it –
to carve darkness’ path
and breach his monotonous peace,
abandoning her eternal perfection.

Fluraichean Buidhe

Bho thùs tha i air d’ aithneachadh –
d’ ainm daonnan air blas a bilean.
A sùilean làn de d’ ìomhaigh ghlan,
an dealbhan gan taisbeanadh dhi.
B’ e an turas seo a’ chiad athais
tadhal ort ’s air an eilean o chionn fhada.
Glamaig chumhachdail gun atharrachadh
le ceò a’ cumail an t-siabain bho na speuran.
Rubha na h-aiseig srònagach sa mhuir fharsaing
fo dhubhar bataraidh na maighdinn-mhara
Ach fhuaras flùraichean buidhe lamaisteach, calaisteach,
duilleagan grèiste a’ màirneadh na thachair.
Mar thaibhsear, a b’ eòlach air d’ àite tàimh
thàinig buatham brosnachail bhuaipe is
gun ghluasad, theann i ris a’ chloich
le tulchuis na h-òige is chuir i oirr’ pògag gràidh.
‘Tha gach cùis ceart, na gabh dragh,
gheibh thu flùraichean nas fheàrr a Ghanga.’

Yellow Flowers

From the beginning she knew you –
your name ever on her lips.
Her eyes bright-full,
your portrait revealed to her.
This journey was the first opportunity
to visit you and the island, in an age.
Glamaig, powerful and unchanged,
mist separating the sea-foam from the heavens.
The ferry point jutting into the wide sea
in the shadow of the mermaid’s battery
But we found yellow flowers, battered and wind-swept,
embroidered leaves reflecting what befell them.
Like a seer aware of your resting place
an inspired thought struck her and
without prompting, she approached the stone
with the confidence of youth and placed her tiny kiss on it.
‘Don’t worry, everything is as it should be,
you’ll get better flowers, Ganga.’

Bi modhail

Lìon caillich na suidheachain eile
nan suidhe gu dìreach is modhail.
Cnàmhan is anman a’ gleadhraich
le spèiread fhaclan.
Brògan grinne a’ seachnadh an t-sruth’
air gach taobh den trannsa.

Ginealaichean de bi modhail,
na cur car an gnothaichean –
cha robh am breith-bhriathar
na bu làidire na glocail shocair,
sùilean mall-rosgach is fiamh orra,
ag èisteachd ris an t-searmon ràpach.

Bu annsa leam rudeigin a ràdh ach,
a-rithist, mar as àbhaist,
cha d’ rinn mi dad
’s mi nam shuidhe gu dìreach is modhail
mar an ceudna
a’ speuradh os n-ìosal ri nèamh.

Be polite

Old women filled the other seats
sitting straight and polite.
Bones and souls shaking
with the strength of the words.
Neat shoes avoiding the stream
on either side of the aisle.

Generations of behave,
don’t cause a scene –
no word of judgement
just their tutting,
calm eyed yet awe-struck,
listening to the noisy sermon.

I really wanted to say something
but, again, as always
did nothing
but sit straight and polite
like the others,
swearing silently to the heavens.

Dàn nam Ban by Ceitidh Chaimbeul is published by Leamington Books, priced £9.99.