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(18/8/1947 / Aberdeen)

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A Kenspeckle Creel (24 Scots Poems)

1.Widder

I lue Glen Gairn at the skreich o day
Fin the dyew lies weet on the fen
An the mochy haar ower the broon peat glaur
Cooers oorie on brae an ben

The mist is mizzlin doon the howes
An eildrich's the larick's airm
As leirichie-larichie reeshlin saft
It fuspers a warlock's chairm.

I lue Glen Gairn in a snell foreneen
Fin the clouds are a cattie's hair
An the lift itsel is a salmon's back
Wi the sun-spirks hingin there
An a humphy-backit driver cloud
Comes caain the win alang
A drumly, gurly, growly win
A lowrin win, a soughin win
A furly, birly, snarly win
That's forcy, brashy, strang...

A reivin win, a nyitterie win
A nizzen win, an Easter
A howderin blinterin brak-neck win
That spears ye sair's a leister.

I lue Glen Gairn at the mids o day
Fin the sun is a din-skinnt cyard
A wattergaw, tween twa roch shooers
That birsles the peat-hags hard

Fin it's close an malmy an plottin hett
An ye swyte like a road new tarred
Oh, braw tae dowp on a grouse's seat
Fin the yoam frae the Glen's baith sherp an swete
An the warld an his wife's weel-faured.

I lue Glen Gairn in an efterneen
In the smirr o a growin shooer
Wi a wattergaw, far the hoodies blaw
A bow raxxed ower the stoor

I lue Glen Gairn at the gloamin time
Fin the thunner an lichtenin cracks
A splyter o weet, that's gey near sleet
Dings doon, fin the on-ding braks
Frae a spirk tae a spate, the lift's nae blate
Tae drook us wioot devaul
Tho it's coorse n' caul, the swackin swall
Is the linns an the burnies' maet.

I lue Glen Gairn in the pit-mirk nicht
Fin a pluffert o snaw doon-draps
A blatter o hailsteens, lowsed abune
The pine, dreeps doon in plaps

Tho it's stervin caul in the fite-oot smore
It's wersh ahin, blin-drift afore
An the meen is rikkin wi wintry hoar
Muir's saft, as mither's paps.

I lue Glen Gairn in the Teuchit storm
as weel as the Gab o Mey
Fin the Gowk Storm's dane, the simmer's gean
Trysts me far the larick's swey

I lue Glen Gairn at the Lammas tide,
at the hinneren an aa -
Be't wild an weet, be't saft an sweet,
be't snaw, or wattergaw!


2.Three Gulls

Three gulls, dowpit on a lum
Luikit affa glum, luikin fur a crumb.
Three gulls, dowpit on a lum
On a caul an frosty mornin

The first gull rugged a plastic pyock in twa
Efter things tae chaw
Tore the pyock in twa
The first gull rugged a plastic pyock in twa
On a caul an frosty mornin

The secunt gull stuck his bill inside a tin
Michty fit a din! Wisnae yon a sin?
The secunt gull stuck his bill inside a tin
On a caul an frosty mornin

The third gull cut his flipper on a glaiss
Michty, fit a mess! Bluid as ower the place!
The third gull cut his flipper on a glaiss
On a caul an frosty mornin


3.Cambus o May

Birks toss their silken boughs like lowse-tailed lammies
Lean ferns, like Celtic monks, screive fronds o scrolls
A thistle raxxes, straucht's a Lonach pikeman
A sma blue saltire, speedwell's flag, unfurls.

Salmony-pink slabs slidder neth the watter
A wavelet lowps, a liquid wing o tan
Doon in the deep pot's foun, the eels are steerin
The lang blaik puil, slides unner the Fite brig's span.

A fisher laddie plays a plappin trootie
The lift's adrift wi pearly doo-grey clouds
Fir, aik, an pine staun close... a merle's clachan
The win, a lullin mither, larick showds.

The creepie-crawlies in the girse hike hamewird
Ants treetle ben their heathery, hudderie gait
A wechtit bee, hip-pooches swalled wi eerins
Bizzes an braks the simmer gloamin's quate.

Gin my hairt war a quaich, I'd full't richt reamin
A Heilan scowf, frae Mar, tae Kinker's lee
Teem oot the cassies' stoor, the stank o city,
Takk aff a dram insteid, o caller Dee.


4. Highland Cataract: Linn o Dee

Watter an stane: it's the music they makk thegither
Jinglin crystal stringles o ice-bree dreeps
Treetlin ower the mirled face o a crag drap,
Jibblin doon tae the green linn's dimplin deeps.

Glisks o a shaddawy salmon, slawly steerin
Skelpin its muckle tail in the foun o a puil
Lirks o sunshine flashin abeen its ceilin
Brinkin bubbles link in the burnie's sweel

Lochans, licht, an linns, mell heich i the heather
A winsome waddin, yieldin the Dee as bairn
A rowany gypsy road the river raivels
Furled roon bappity braes o fir an cairn

Carved an cuttit, scoored an smeethed bi Winter
Black broos hackit an clawed bi Beltane's thaw
The crags o the Linn rise up, foriver sindered
Glower at each ither, ower a wattergaw

Sprintime's gift tae the glen is the green-gouned larick
Raxxin its tooshts o needles ben the air
Sap in the birk, an the greet frae a whaup's bill scalin
Trystin the reid-lugged squirrel frae its lair.

Tan and tawny, bronze an copper an pearl
A smush o roundit steenies spirked wi pink
Stipple the bank far the wash o the tummlin wafter
Cowps, a tuilzie o spray frae a boulder's brink.

Polar cauld is the wechtit wave's doonfaain
Glaiss-green bree wi the antrin snawy fleck
Caain the rikk tae rise frae the linn's blaick cauldron
Breengin on, like a rinawa shelt, brakk-neck.

Yon's the place tae be in the blearie gloamin!
A hinneycaimb o cliff an thunnerin spray
Wi the saft curmurrin croo o the cooshie dronin
A pibroch as its ain, tae the deein day.


5.Gairn-Granary

My thochts dwell on Glen Gairn
Warm as a cushie doo her littlins happen
Welcome's a frien's neive at the door chap-chappin
Saft as the oo that kittlins takk an teaze
Faist as an arra lowsed frae a bow-string flees
Hidden's a brock fa's treisur's beeriet deep
Secret's an erne's lair on the come steep
Deep, as a mowdie cooryin in the yird
Lang as the raxxin pine showdin the cloudy bird
Pleisunt's the hinney-ale, hairsters drink tae the lees
Lichtsome's the bolt o sun, piercin the reeshlin trees
Sweet as the dew that draps frae the harebell's heid
Wad that my ilkie thocht brocht sic remeid!


6. The Monarch o the Glen

I'm the stag that posed for Landseer's famous pictur
Glued on tap o bottles, shortbreid, cake an toffee
In a hunner cafes frae Sky tae Embro toun
I'm the culture that they hing abune yer coffee

I'm the monarch o the glen... an institution
Like 'The Broons' or 'Jimmy Shand' or 'Burns's Sonnets'
I sproot sae mony pynts upon ma antlers
As a hatstand I cud haud a score o bonnets.

Here I staun, an OAP amang the heather
Wi the midgies an the tourists heezin roon
I'm negotiatin wi the Daily Record
Ower the rights tae sell my memoirs o John Broon

There's bin a cheenge or twa since Queen Victoria
Glesga hillwalkers wi hairy oxters bowfin
Drappin tins an tabbie dowpends like confetti
An I sweir tae God their heids are fairly lowpin.

My jynts are stiff wi posin in the peathags
Wi liniment they're cryin fur a grease
Oh it's nae an easy darg tae be a model
Gin ye wint tae be a famous masterpiece!

Noo the Frenchmen brag o Degas, Braque an Rousseau
An in Spain they've Dali... yon artistic Titan
Bit they canna haud a licht tae Landseer's peintin
I'm nae sae much a pictur... I'm an icon.


7. Auld Cailleach Frae Louis Aragon's poem 'Old Woman'

Yon auld cailleach
Fa traivels humfin a pyock o unspikkable trock
Draps a shadda like a ricktickle shelt.

Puir cuddy,
Her heid hings bi a wire.
Auncient philosophers tcyauved wi the notion
O whether sic craiturs ained an ayebydan sowel
Or nae sowel ava,
(Wi scarce a sowel thirsels, educatit chiels
Po-faced, clawed their croons aboot thon)

Mealie-moued deils, nooadays
Wi fine-soundin wirds
Wad caa ye their sister.

Auld cailleach,
Ye dinna ken o their cosie lee
Its umpteen thoosan miles
Frae yer swalled, wechty fitpreints
Trampit inno the dubs.
The truth plaps aneth yer stride
in yer sypin shadda rikkin o pish
Ye canna be saved.

Conseeder yon.
Three score year an ten
It's ower late.
Sax hunner year o thralldom ahin ye-
It's ower sune.


8.Capercailzie

Oh the Deil fur fun, tuik the pepper frae a gun
An the claws frae a hoot-hoot-hootie
The neb frae a doo, syne he gart them stew
Rowed up in a dumplin clootie
Feech! Oot frae the pan, flew the auld widsman
Fa's kent as the capercailzie!
He wis soor as sin, wi a beard upon his chin
He wis nippy as a forkietailie!

His heid wis as sma, as a billiard baa
It wis stapt wi blitz an blethers
This cock o the North, gaed stridin forth
In a sark o spit an feathers.
Frae the China sea tae Killimanjee
Ye'd nae fin a waur ill natur
In a far flung airt, that wis fand in the hairt
0 this contermaschious craitur.

Deep in the mids o the oorie wids
He stravaiged like a ram-stam bantam
Like a bubblyjock, wi a fan fur a dock
Wi his birse fair up, he'd be rantin.
He'd rage an he'd ban, this Napoleon
0 the pines, wi his reid een flashin
Wi the Spring in his bluid, there'd be nocht in his heid
Bit his hens an the virr o his passion.

Like a hurlygush, he wad caa tae smush
Ony gowk in his road criss-crossin
`Tik up, tik up' he wad skreitch an hup
Wi his lugs, like the North Sea tossin.
He dined on pines wi his feathery quines
Fowk said he'd be far frae tasty
He wis rosity as peat an a teuch's a buit
An as coorse as a hedgehog pasty!

Ochone, ochree, come a dirdum dree
An American tourist sheeter
Gaed oot on a dive, far the midgies thrive
Wi a dram an a pirn-taed beater...
Syne oot frae the muir, in a cloud o stoor
In a rooze flew the capercailzie
Like a pyock o seed, he wis fulled wi leid
An the quills blawn aff his tailie.
They cairriet him doon, tae the fir trees foun
An the erne an the ptarmigan grat
His beak an his claws, war bequeathed tae the craws
An his breist-been chawed bi the cat


9.Gangrel Sleepin After the painting: The Sleeping Gypsy by Henri Rousseau,

Her animus or guairdian?
Fa's tae ken?
Lion an leddy baith are twinned foreay
Gad-aboot breet / gangrel Bohemiënne.

Sic quate! Sic blessed peacefu quate!
The gangrel gypsy dwaums, her traivels deen.
Aneth a roon hairst meen
Glimmerin abeen a desert teem o steer,
Dunes rax intae the nicht

Saft, saft as clouds o oo,
Hyne frae the clash o warld's hashed mineer.
Her frock's a wattergaw
A linn o colours.
Skyrie strippit braws.
Aside her heid, a mandolin
(Yon sweet sang's wame)
It's secret music hides
Its harmonies. They're doverin like the quine.

A mild win blaws.
Aside her bowster
Gap-moued as a wallie
Catchin the meenshine
There's a wide-hoched pot o wine

Nae tracks lead
Tae the sleeper's sanny bed.
The milky meen hings still
Mysterie an Meenlicht meets in the peintit lift.
A lion, ripple-maned
Owerluiks the Gypsy lass
Much as a thrissle ower a violet teets
Twa Fauves, bi an artistic fancy tamed.


10.Faither-Tongue

The prentit leid (cut frae its navel-towe, the tongue)
Is deed.
Is hauf-a-tale. Cauld kail.
A horse, wintin a cairt
Fin spikk frae spikker's ruggit hyne apairt
The twa pink shells that war my bairn-lugs
Catched an keepit the saftsome Doric 'wheesh'
It rippled ben them like a soughin sea
`Wheesht my wee sodjer... steek yer eenies ticht' `
Wheesht wis, IS and it will foriver be
Beardie an bosie. Turnin doon the licht
A closin curtain an a da's delicht.
A purrin, strokit cat
His guid-nicht `wheesht caimed aa day's taigles, flat.

I learned tae raxx his leid. Savour't alang my mou
Wye ilkie thocht. His wards, war deep an fyew
Inglis wis ten-a-penny. A chaip-John spikk that ony spurgie cheept
A quick claik, clippit close as a sheared yowe
An jist as eeseless 'gin the winter's snaws
That roon the Doric wirds, sae leal, sae richt, war there.

Inglis, wis Sabbath braws. Mither's pretensions
Cut glaiss in the mou and hypertensions
A tyrant leid, o bulldozer dimensions

Takk `Dreich' I howk it frae the yird
0 my first dreel. It rises blaik an bauld
A cauld steen o a wird.
`Dreich's' a car-haik hame, by dreepin birks
Braith rinnin doon the driver's windae pane
`Dreich' my da wid say. The soun hung fire
A littlin, wearie-eed, I'd luik ootbye.
The lift wis blae The coos war huddlit,
craws war drookit, wae.
'Dreich' gars me chitter yet.
First shark tae sweem, inno my memory's net.

This much I ken.
That `Dreich' is nae the same tae us
As tis tae ither men.
Fur we hae lived it, tholed it, sooked it in
Leid's nae a secunt skin
Raither a wye o thocht that bides wi'in
Wards arnae claes tae weir, tae shift, tae cheenge,
They're reeted. Screived in bluid
My ain, my kinsmen An my faither's leid


11. The Feel

`The time has come' the feel jeloused
`Tae spikk o mony things -
O mowser-mugs an galluses
O barley bigged in bings
0 snochrie geets an tatty reets
An scones on girdle rings.

`Those maun be aa' (I heard him craw)
`A Doric Fiddle's strings.'
`Her bards maun screive' (he threepit on)
`0 smachrie an sma beer
The Greeks may hae their shelt o Troy
For we hae shanks's meer
It's tacket buits... nae winged queats
A Doric muse maun weir.'
`Nae Henryson, bit strouds on Don
Nae Will Dunbar... bit Udny
Sing o a soo... the antrin coo...
0 chaulmer, tcyauve, or chunty
Sir David Lyndsey penned fur kings
We eulogeeze a grunty.'
`Sud Gavin Douglas rise again
He'd hae oor harns bamboozled! '
Quo he, syne gied his powe a dunt
Fur his wee thochts war toozled
An frae his heid, there drapt doon deid
A notion, malygruizled.

A snell win pinged the jester's bells
His lugs, it whussled ben
Fur there wis nocht tae haud it there
As teem's a guttit hen
A pitcher fu o styte an stew
As aa fa meet him ken.
Tho kail is canty, brose is braw
Sud Scots bide in the byre?
Be banned frae kirk, frae schule, frae wirk
Furl in a shrinkin gyre?
Be keepit in the stirkie's stag
It's mapamound entire?

The feel, sez 'Ay.' Gin HE'D his wye
(Eclectic as a stirk)
Oor Scots was schauchle, spinnle-shanked
Inno Nihil's pit-mirk!


12. Tarland Inspired by the painting 'Me and my Village' by the Russo-Jewish artist visionary Marc Chagall.


Tarlan. The roon hairst meen
Sens doon its siller rays fur it aleen.
Its weird Pict circle, kirk, its Bonspeil green.

The warld stops at the burn, the mairket staunce,
Cyards' Raw, the gowf coorse, a broon tattie dreel...
Dounside's reid kye ayont the littlins' squeel...
Banchory micht be as hyne awa as France!

The young fowk tryst an tuilzie
At village discos, show, or marquee daunce
Auld fowk swap claik at shoppies, ower a waa
Or staas o veggies in the village haa.

The crook o circlin knowes
(Blae Morven, Press n'Dye an Ledlilick
Mulloch an Mortlich) vrocht yon misty rikk
That reams ower barn an brae an heddery muir
They shepherd in a flock o sun-spirked clouds
Loud wi craws skreichin steer.

Deeside's grain granary's the sheepfauld o Cromar
Simmer nichts draw sweethairts tae the burn
The kirkyaird's sleepers, laired hard by the howff
Gently becam the yird they eesed tae turn.

Far randies gallivant, a gallus loon
Cowps up a whisky glaisse
Offers tae skelp a heid, kitties a kecklin quine
Syne quatened doon
He hyters on lowse shanks, unsteidy, hame...

A puckle lace screens switch... lang nebs powk roon.
A late-nicht ceilidh crummles inno aisse
A fiddler's mettled rant
Gaes sweetly soundin
Far broon pheasants gant.

The Sabbath briers wi wirkin claes rugged on
Fresh ironed sack lies toastin ower a cheer
A duntin heid is cleared wi tarry tea
A pechin collie sprauchles ower a fleer
On fifty fairms the nowt are sortit,
Rich rigs ring wi sang
`Roch tykes o Tarlan' sae the stories gyang

They're richt. The men hae virr, thir weemin, spunky blether
Dog rose an brummil, wedded weel thegither
Tarlan... fur sturdy lads an bonnie quines are thrang
An fell unchancy weather!


13. Anither Breed Anither Age

We are the same... bit nae the same
They're fremmit. Bairns, o a fey mither
Naethin we share... tae them, ae daud
0 grun's as guid as ony ither.

We are the same... bit nae the same
A ring o elfin green tae me
Brings tales o Wee Fowk steerin back
Tae them, yon's haiverin idiocy.

We are the same... bit nae the same
The Beltane dyew granminnie'd sain
I hauf-think yet's a magic cherm
Watter, tae them, is acid rain

We are the same... bit nae the same
I feel 1000 aeons auld
King o their warld is the machine
Clivver as clockwirk, an as cauld

We are the same... bit nae the same
Anither breed. Anither age
Gloamin tae me is glamourie
Life wioot mystery's, a cage!


14. The Gudeman’s Craftie

The Gudeman's Craftie wis a bield
Grown oxter-deep wi nettle bings
A muir-moch's reest... an aidder's booer
A hame fur ootlinned, oorie things.

Auld Clootie's neuk, noo delled an plooed
Yields a wersh crap o nerra meisur
The Gudeman keepit open hoose...
We steek the yett on Natur's treisur
The wild an winsome weir awa
An wi them, muckle pith an pleisur.


15. A Meen Rune (Traditional Gaelic, here set inno Scots)

Fin I teet at the New Meen
It behoves me tae heist ma ee
It behoves me tae ben ma knee
It behoves me tae boo ma heid

I reeze oot yer praises,
Meen o Wyceness
Sin I've gIen ye anither gley
Sin I've seen ye, New Meen

Bonnie Heich-Yin abeen the wye,
Mony hae left the warld
In the time atween the twa meens
Tho I ay enjoy the yird
Ye Meen o Meens an o Blessins.


16. Daunce o the Genes

She wyled her guidman. Sax fit twa
He wyled his wummin. Fair, an sma
Syne chuse a hame tae keep his bride
A car. A hinneymeen Stateside
Opted tae plan their progeny
Plenished their hoose maist eidently.
Culled the decor frac 'Vogue, ' wi thocht
Their likins stamped on aa they bocht
Decidin efter five years grace
They'd like a bairn aboot the place.

Nine month they wyted. On the nail
The bairn wis born. Hairty, hale
A pertrick in the barley patch
It grew intae a nesty vratch
Waesuck... the scrapins o the pot
A muckle, coorse, genetic blot.

Ye chuse yer trock... bit nae yer kin
Gowd pendles, whyles, drap tooshts o tin
Is it yer weird... or callous chaunce
That heids the generations daunce?


17. Daunce o the Years

Anery twaery spins the twine
Ooto the cradle lowps the quine
Fiddlum faddlum swack's a swaw
Swippert's a puddock an saft's the snaw

Thethery blethery meenlicht's pale
She's as curved as an aidder's trail
Aremy faremy spinnly silk
Breist's as fate as a yowie's milk

Zinty tintv divverry: lover
Grown as grait as a stirk in clover
Stoorum stibblum thirty saxt
The sonsie may is jizzen raxxed.

Eenertv, feenerty, gristly grist
Doon the brae an inno the kist
Furly birly rins the gird
Stoor gaen back tae Mithir Yird!


18. The Birlin Years Jan 1995

In jizzen-bed, life's kinnelt like a spunk
Spirkit wi bluid as reid's a cockerel's caimb
A skirlin skirp o virr's a mannikie
Cast, weety frae the pit-mirk o the wame.
A littlin's bit a bank o new-faan snaw
A drift the warld will set its fitmerks ower
As the derk loch's the starnies' keekin glaiss
His een takk in baith lauch, an angeret glower

Bairnhood sud be a kittlin's kecklin purr
A thrapple fu o thrums
Sweet meadow far the bummer haiks an hums
Whyles, it's a hungeret tcyauve, in clarty slums.

A halflin is a tousie cloud o rikk
Caad tapsalteerie bi the win o chaunce
A time o sex an swither Masquerade.
Gaun widdershins, wrang-fittin ilkie daunce.

Manhood's a meen afore the quarter's wane
A creamy kebbuck moosies circle roon
A mill wheel birlin ben the biggin years
The lovely, lang-shanked flooerin o a loon.

Auld Eild's a doonhill sled gaun heigh-ma-nannie
Rigwiddie... a cauld, dottled, pyock o beens
The verra craws takk scunner tae flap ower
Stringle o watter, on a bedd o steens.


19. Elly Broon

Elly bides far the toun's kirk steeples soar
Her neebors? The Northern Lichts an a pirn-taed doo
Skyscrapers rise like gravesteens aside her door
Mair tidemerks roon her bath than the QE2

Gaps in her teeth-as mony's a bandstaun railin
The gas in the flat is aff. There's a Polar breeze
Elly bides wi her gran far the planes gyang sailin
Alane wi her sookin-cloot an a kink-hoast wheeze.

The leein box in the neuk shows hames wi plenty
A da, a ma, twa bairns an a gairden neat,
Wi a catty, roon's a barrel, fite an deintie;
In Elly's kitchie the moosies sit an greet.

Monday mornin. Brakfast's a broken bikky
Doon in the lift that peintit like a Sioux
Scraunin the bins fur pieces, back o the chippy
Far Billy McGinty's da lies rot-gut fu.

Aff tae the skweel, far Miss McBain is wytin
(Miss McBain wi her nails aa buffed an reid)
`Elly-yer late. Nae homewirk dane. Yer writin
Luiks like a raw o spiders lyin deid.'

Ben 'Dictation', Elly's heid is noddin
Hard bi the radiator's cosy guff
Dwaums o a TV cat, in its furry cleddin
Its bowlie fu, a spyled baa o fluff.

Twinty hoasts an the bell, brakk throw her dwaumin.
'Hae ye nae hame tae ging tae Elly Broon? '
Ootbye, a doonpish sets the litter sweemin -
The skweel is scalin the classies ben the toun.

Mebbe granny'll win the pot at bingo!
Mebbe her da's come back, tae takk her hame!
Elly opens the door... excitement risin...
Tea's on the table. Breid n' jam again.


20. The Gollach Gang
Ca cannie in the jungly girse - there, creepy crawlies heeze
Doon far the horny-gollachs bide, the slaters tak their ease
The muggers o the gairden, midgies, mob in coorse profusion
They lurk ahin the weeds, tae smash'n grab a bluid transfusion

The wyver biggs its scaffoldin - a multi-storey lair
She plavvers in cadavers, like ony Burke 'n Hare
A forkietail gaes clankin by, a tank frae ooter space
Antennae far his lugs sud be - an fur his heid, a mace.

Wasps in their strippit semmits sikk tae stab ye in the queats
A minnie-mony-feet rins aff - a monster, mang the breets
The flees are doon-'n-oots, ye find them, powkin roon the midden
The phantom o the docken leaf, the wee clock-bee is hidden.

The leddylanners, reid as rouge, are peintit tae the nines
The butterflee's a buddin ghaist - a flappin shroud fa dwines
The ettercaps are smugglers in the heather-hinny sector
A bummer is a hijacker - a reiver, in the nectar.

The Daddylanglegs wauchts aboot - a fankle i his legs
He's spinnly, he's treelipy - a bogle-fu o flegs
Ca cannie in the jungly girse - there's mair nor sooricks there
The hale jing bang - the Gollach Gang - micht catch ye unaware!


21. The Cat’s Pyjamas

Ma's awa tae a hen nicht...
A cluck o quinies claikin
Will she win back hame,
wi a beak an camb
Efter her meenlicht raikin?

Da's awa tae a stag nicht
Will he staun in the street an roar?
If he jynes the breed wi horns on its heid
Will we let him back ower the door?

Da says I ett like a grumphy
Ma says I've the sense o a flee
Gran says I'm the cat's pyjamas
Bit I say I'm jist me!


22.The Reid Flannel Sark owersett of a poem by C Shiang-hua
Takkin her man's swyty reid flannel sark,
Cannily, a wife scoors it clean,
Hings it aneth the windae tae dry.
The saftness o the cloot,
The fineness o the wyve
Its hue o crammosie wine
Its glimmer o amber quaichs
An the trim she wis in fin she bocht it fur him
A day, a month, a year,
Aa owercam's her.

The saftness, rochened,
The ticht wyve, raxxed.
The fineness, cheenged
Tae nyittery repetition
An the heidy delicht
0 crammosie wine an amber quaichs
Fermented inno budgets,
Hame computers, eerins,
Peels - the scunnerin, obleegatory deceesions.
The reid flannel sark hingin oot in the foreneen air
Efter anely a fyew oors
Is aathegither dry
Leavin nae dreeps on the grun.

A cheil an his wife
Are like watter, evaporatin inno the win
A thirled twasome, melled
Tae dree the weird
0 their lang lives,
Thegither.


23. Hairst owersett o the poem Harvest by the Greek poet Dionysis Serras,

Lugs boo
In the foremaist win
reeshlin gow

the sun steeps
larik yowies
braisse

the meen in the bog
an aisse-blaik lizard
cheenged tae siller

bricht watter
fite wings
lie mirrored

a stane sinks
kerfuffled cloud

crammosie gloamin
draps licht
onno fite flooers

chittered leaf
a nyaakit snailie dovers

pine needles
wyver
full meen
siller cleddin

an almond
tree twig in a teem glaiss
ye speir aboot spring?

Snaw-fite trees
in the knots
simmer faulds


24. This is the Hoose Jack Biggit

This is the hoose Jack biggit
This is the chiel
That bedd in the hose Jack biggit
This is the chiel
That merriet a wife
That bore a bairn
That bedd in the hoose Jack biggit

This is the hoose Jack biggit
This is the chiel
That gaed tae wark
Tae keep the wife
That bore him a bairn
That bedd in the hoose Jack biggit

This is the hoose Jack biggit
This is the chiel
That needit a dram
Tae thole his life
Wi his lovin wife
That bore him a bairn
That bedd in the hoose Jack biggit

This is the hoose Jack biggit
This is the chiel
That thrashed the bairn
(the innocent bairn that did nae hairm)
That bedd in the hoose Jack biggit

This is the hoose Jack biggit
This is the bairn
That grew tae a man
That tuik him a wife
Tae share his life
That bore him a bairn
(an innocent bairn that did nae hairm)
That he’d thash an thraw
Jist like his da
That bedd in the hoose Jack biggit.

This is the hoose Jack biggit….

Submitted: Sunday, December 08, 2013


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