About Me

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Dingwall, Scottish Highlands
I am a Gaelic singer living in the Highlands.I have produced 4 CDs - the most recent being "Archipelago- Songs of the Scottish Islands in Scots 7 gaelic""released on the Greentrax label. The other Cds are " A Good Suit of Clothes- emigrant Songs" "Duan Nollaig" - a unique Gaelic Christmas double CD( also on Greentrax, 2007) and "Orain nan Rosach" ( 2006). I look forward to keeping you up to date with my music, gigs, news www.fionamackenzie.org Tapadh leibhs! Thank you!

Saturday, 1 August 2009

Gaelic Song of the Day -

http://www.fionamackenzie.org/Audio_Map.html Click on Island of Tiree for sound clip.

A’ Choille Ghruamach

Gu bheil mi ‘m ònrachd sa choille ghruamaich
Mo smaointean luaineach, cha tog mi fonn
Fhuair mi’n t-àite seo’n aghaidh nàdair
‘S gun d’thrèig gach tàlant a bha nam cheann
Cha dean mi òran a chur air dòigh ann
Nuair nì mi tòiseachadh bidh mi trom
Chaill mi a’ Ghàidhlig seach mar a b’àbhaist
An uair a bha mi san dùthaich thall.

Chan fhaigh mi m’inntinn leam ann an òrdugh
Ged bha mi eòlach air dèanamh rann
‘S e mheudaich bron dhomh‘s a lughdaich sòlas
Gun duine còmhla rium a ni rium cainnt’
Gach latha‘s oidhche s gach car a ni mi
Gum bi mi cuimhneachadh anns gach àm
An tìr a dh’fhàg mi bha’n taic an t-sàile
Ged tha mi’n dràst’ ann am bràighe ghleann.

‘S I seo an dùthaich sa bheil an cruadal
Gun fhios don t-sluagh tha gun tigh’nn a-nall
Gur h-olc a fhuaras oirnn luchd a’bhuaraidh
A rinn len tuairisgeul ar toirt ann
Ma ni iad buannachd cha mhair I buan dhaibh
Cha dean is suas iad- s chan iongnadh leam
S gach mallachd truaghain a bhios gan ruagadh
Bhon chaidh am fuadach a chur fon ceann.

Bidh gealladh làidir ga thoirt an tràth sin
Bidh cliù an àite ga chur am meud
Bidh iad ag ràdhtainn gu bheil bhur càirdean
Gu sona saidhbhir gun dad a dh’ èis
Gach naidheachd mheallta ga toirt gur n-ionnsaigh-sa
Feuch an sanntaich sibh dol nan dèidh
Ma thig sibh sabhailt’, nuair chi sibh iadsan
Chan fhearr na Stàtachan na sibh fèin.

Chan fhaigh mi innseadh dhuibh anns an dàn seo
Cha dèan mo nàdar a chur air dòigh
Gach fios a b’aill leam thoirt do na càirdean
San tìr a dh’fhàg mi, rinn m’àrach og
Gach aon a leughas e tuigibh reusan
‘S na tugaibh èisteachd do luchd a’bhost;
Na fàidhean breige a bhios gar teumadh
‘S gun aca spèis ach an dèidh ur n-òir

Ged bhithinn bliadhna ann an sgrìobhadh
Gun gabhainn mìosa ris agus còrr
Mun cuirinn crìoch air na bheil air m’inntinn
‘s mun tugainn dhuibh e le cainnt mo bheòil.
Tha mulad dìomhair an dèidh mo lìonadh
Bhon‘s èiginn strìochdadh an-seo rim bheò
Air bheag thoil-inntinn sa choille chruim seo
Gun duine faighneachd an seinn mi ceòl


I am alone in the gloomy forest
My thoughts uneasy, I can’t sing a chorus
I this place so unnatural
That every talent in my head has gone from me
I can’t get around to creating a song here
Whenever I start, I become depressed
I’ve lost my Gaelic compared to the way it was
When I was back in the country over there.
I can’t get my thoughts in order
Though I was once so good at composing verse
It has made worse my misery and diminished my happiness
That there is no-one around for me to talk to here.
Every day and night, in everything I do,
I am always reminded
Of the land I left behind, bordered by the sea
Though now I live high above the valleys.

This is a country full of hardships
Undreamt of by those who have never been here
We’ve been conned by the fraudsters
Who drew us here with untrue stories
Whatever profit they make will not last them for always
Nor will it gain them advancement- and no surprise.
For they’re haunted by the curses of each poor soul
In whose head they sowed the thought of emigration.


They offer extravagant promises
Strengthened by the reputation of the place
They claim that your relatives
Are happy and wealthy and want For nothing
Each report of lies which you receive
Is aimed at making you want it for yourself
If you arrive safely, when you see them for yourself
You will find out that the States are no wealthier than you are yourselves.
I can’t begin to tell you in this poem
I am just not able to tell
The information I would like to give my relatives
In the land I left behind, the land of my youth
But believe my words, all you who read this
And do no listen to those of propaganda
The false prophets who wish to harm you with no other reason than to take your money
Even if I spent a year writing this
It would still take me another month or more
To finish everything that I am thinking on
And to convey it all to you in my words
I am filled with this secret pain
Forced to struggle here for the rest of my life
With sparse pleasure in this labyrinth of a forest
Where nobody asks me to sing my music.

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