Transatlantic Sessions

Por casualidad descubrí este programa de la BBC que reúne "lo mejor de Nashville, Irlanda y Escocia". Básicamente es una reunión de talentos de música celta, desconocidos para el público no especialista, pero auténticos de verdad. Os dejo una canción que me ha gustado mucho: Bothan Àirigh am Bràigh Raithneach (The Sheiling in Brae Rannoch), poema anónimo de las Highlands escocesas, compuesto hacia el 1700. Sheiling es una palabra escocesa gaélica que viene de "pastos de verano" y significa cabaña en la intemperie o similar. Sgían dubh, del irlandés scían dubh, significa "cuchillo negro" y es un arma tradicional de las Highlands. El nombre de Edimburgo, en gaélico escocés es Dún Eideann.

Cantan Julie Fowlis y Bruce Molsky. Os dejo las letras en el original y en inglés.

Bothan Airigh am Braigh Raineach

Gur e m’anam is m’eudail
Chaidh an de do Ghleann Garadh,

Fear na gruaig mar an t-or,

Is na poig air bhlas meala.

O hi o hu o, o hi o hu o,

Hi ri ri athu eile,

O hi ri ri ri o ghealla bho.

S tu as fhearr do’n tig deise

De na sheasadh air thalamh,

S tu as fhearr do’n tig culaidh

De na chunna mi dh’ fhearaibh.

S tu as fhearr do’n tig osan

Is brog shocrach nam barraill,

Cota Lunnainneach dubh-ghorm,

S bidh na cruintean ga cheannach.

Mo sporran donn iallach,

Mar ri sgian nan cas ainneamh,

Thig mo chrios a Dun Eideann,

Is mo bhreid a Dun Chailleann.

C’uime’m biomaid gun eudail,

Agus spreidh aig na Gallaibh,

Gheibh sinn crodh as a’ Mhaorainn,

Agus caoraich a Gallaibh

S ann a bhios sinn gan arach

Air airigh’m Braigh Raineach,

Ann am bothan an t-sugraidh,

S gur e bu dunadh dha barrach.

Bhiodh a’ chuthag’s an smudan

Ag gabhail ciuil dhuinn air chrannaibh,

Bhiodh an damh donn’sa’ bhuireadh,

Gar dusgadh’s a’mhadainn.

A Sheiling in Brae Rannoch

It was my soul and my love who went yesterday to Glengarry,

He of the golden hair and kisses of honey.

Your suit becomes you as does no other on earth,

You look better in your clothes than any man I have seen.

Trews suit you well, as do laced boots,

A dark coat of London cloth,

Bought with much silver.

My brown sporran of thongs,

And sgian(dubh) on fine leg,

My belt from Edinburgh

And head-cover from Dunkeld.

Why would we be without spoil

While the Lowlanders have much?

We’ll get cattle from the Mearns,

And sheep from the Lowlands.

We will rear them on a sheiling in Brae Rannoch,

In the hut of happiness,

Secured by brushwood.

The cuckoo would be singing to us in the branches,

The dun stag’s bellowing would be our morning call.