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Smooinaght er Laghyn my Aegid
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Thinking about the Days of my Youth.
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She Manninagh dooie voish yn chlean va mee troggit,
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I was raised a True Manxman from the cradle,
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Er-gerrey da Cronk Veayl ayns shenn Skylley-Chreest,
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Close to Cronk Veayl in old Christ Parish (Rushen)
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Ayns unnane yeig as feed yn vlein va mee ruggit,
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In thirty-one, the year I was born,
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As nish ta mish three feed as shiaght bleeaney dy eash.
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And now I am sixty-seven years of age.
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Ayns yn ynnyd shoh feer faggys da ny sleityn,
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In this place very close to the mountains,
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Ren mish ceau ny bleintyn moghey jeh my vea,
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I spent the early years of my life,
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Hie laghyn my aegid shaghey fegooish seaghyn,
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The days of my youth went past without sorrow,
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Fud blaaghyn y chonney er croink ard as rea.
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Amongst the flowers of the gorse on hills high and flat.
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Sy voghrey va mee heose myr yn ushag chabbagh,
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In the morning I was up like the lark
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Ayns çhengey ny mayrey kiaulleeagh dy ard,
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Singing loudly in the mother tongue
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Choud as veagh my Voir snieu yn lieen ass yn barragh
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Whilst my mother would be spinning the linen and the tow
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As sleityn Chreneash ooilley gorrym as jiarg
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And the mountains of Cregneash all blue and red.
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Dy mennick tra veagh yn ghrian hourey er nierree,*
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Often when the summer sun had risen,
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Gys mullagh ny sleityn v’ee gra rhym dy gholl,
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To the top of the mountians she’d be telling me to go,
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Son dy yeeaghyn lurg ny reggyryn dy chirree,
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To look after the few sheep,
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Veagh mennick rouail ayn yn oie veih nyn oayl.
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Who’d often be wandering astray in the night.
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Agh laghyn my aegid dy siyragh hie shaghey,
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But the days of my youth went past in a hurry,
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Chouds va mee fegooish lane souaigney rouail,
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Whilst I was wandering without much anxiety,
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Ny hayrn(yn) dy voggey va mennick as palçhey,
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The portions of joy were often and plenty,
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Gys hie my chomraagyn ersooyl gys yn aill.
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Until my companions went away to be hired.
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Agh eisht haink yn imbagh dy row ny mraane aegey,
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But then came the season when the young women,
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Lesh bannaght meeley dy voirey my chree,
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With gentle greeting to bother my heart,
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Yn imbagh son sooree as clamey as paagey,
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The season for courting and hugging and kissing,
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Unnane ren mee reih as s’mie bynney lhiam’s ee.
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One I chose and how well I loved her.
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Agh v’ee goit ersooyl ayns aalid dy moghey,
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But she was taken away in beauty early,
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As ta mee foast faagit ny cooyl eck, rouail,
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And she left me behind, wandering,
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Feer deinagh as trimshagh, ta mee goll rish foddey,
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Very weary and sad, I am going so long,
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Trooid seihll ta dagh gerjagh goit ass ec kairail.
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Through a world depleted of comfort by cares.
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Agh cha bee eh feer foddey gys vees ym’s ersooyl
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But it won’t be very long until I will be gone,
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Gys yn voayl shen raad ta yn fer tooillit ec fea
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To that place where the weary man rests,
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Son shegin dou cur sheese my chione lheeah er y çhooyl
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For I must lay down my grey head by and by,
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Dy chadley ayns lhiaght ta feer dowin ayns yn chrea
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To sleep in a grave that is very deep in the clay.
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Myr skeeal t’er ny insh ta my vea er gholl shaghey,
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Like a story that has been told my life has gone past,
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Ta lane jeh my chaarjyn ersooyl gys nyn aash,
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Many of my friends are gone to their rest,
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Ass roshtyn ny sterrymyn, sniaghtey as fliaghey.
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Beyond the reach of snowstorms, snow and rain,
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Dy chadley dy kiune ayns oghrish y vaase.
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To sleep calmly in the bosom of death.
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Agh uss ta nish shooyl trooid yn seihll lhag-chairailagh,
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But you, who now walk through the world with hardly a care,
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Cur twoaie nagh bee oo mollit lesh brynneraght ghlare,
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Watch out that aren’t decieved by linguistic flattery,
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Bea dooinney ta giare as ta’n seihll feer chamlaagagh,
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A man’s life (that) is short and the world is very contradictory,
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Agh ooilley ny t’ayn faagys oo ayns traa giare.
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But all that there is you will leave behind soon.
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I never tried to write poetry in Manx, until you had called to see me.
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Edward Faragher
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Cregnaish, Isle of Man.
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