’S e Mother Glasgow aon de na h-òrain co-aimsireil as ìomhaigheil ann an Glaschu an latha an-diugh, sgrìobhte le aon de dh’ulaidhean cultarach na h-Alba – agus Dùn Dè – Mìcheal Marra nach maireann. Tha e a’ togail air ìomhaigheachd suaicheantas a’ bhaile (agus fionnsgeul an Naoimh Mungo bho bheil e a’ tighinn), agus gu socair ach gun teagamh sam bith a’ cumail cliù Ghlaschu a thaobh gràin-creideimh suas ris an t-solas. Thug an teaghlach Marra cead do Mary Ann a màthair Kenna Chaimbeul, a choimiseanadh airson an t-òran eadar-theangachadh gu Gàidhlig.

Mother Glasgow is one of the most iconic contemporary songs of modern-day Glasgow, written by one of Scotland’s – and Dundee’s – cultural treasures, the late Michael Marra. It picks up on the imagery of the city’s coat of arms (and the legend of St. Mungo from which it comes), and gently but unequivocally holds Glasgow’s unenviable reputation for sectarianism up to the light. The Marra family gave kind permission to Mary Ann to commission her mother, Kenna Campbell, to translate the song to Gaelic.

Dàrna cathair-bhaile mòr na h-Ìmpireachd,

Tha Glaschu ag altrumas a h-àl;

A’ saorachadh a druidean beaga bhiathadh,

Gun fhiosda, gheàrr i ’n sgiathan aig am bàrr.

‘S tha Glaschu gun leiteachas na màthair

Do Phròstanaich ’s luchd-leanmhainn a’ Phàp;

Bhruadair mi dhol cuartag le Naomh Mungo

Feuch an glacainn iasg nach b’ urrainn snàmh.

A-measg eòin gun sgèith is ghlagan sàmhach,

Tuigidh Glaschu a dhruidean fhèin,

Ach ‘s gann gun ruig an t-athar seo air Pàrras,

Ma’s ann a dh’Iubharn stiùireas e a threud.

‘S tha Glaschu gun leiteachas, ag altram

Pròstanaich ’s luchd-leanmhainn a’ Phàp;

Bhruadair mi dhol cuartag le Naomh Mungo

Feuch an glacainn iasg nach b’urrainn snàmh.

Air sgàth:

Craobh, agus eun, agus glag, agus iasg

Gun soirbhich Glaschu!

In the second city of the Empire

Mother Glasgow nurses all her weans

And working hard to feed her little starlings

Unconsciously she clips their little wings

And Mother Glasgow’s succour is perpetual

Nestling the Billy and the Tim

I dreamed I took a dander with St Mungo

To try to catch a fish that couldnae swim

Among the silent bells and flightless birdies

Father Glasgow knows his starlings well

But he will not make his own way up to heaven

By waltzing all his charges in to hell

And Mother Glasgow’s succour is perpetual

Nestling the Billy and the Tim

I dreamt I took a dander with St. Mungo

To try to catch a fish that couldnay swim

And the tree, and the fish, and the bird, and the bell

Let Glasgow Flourish!