A Visit To Planet Auschwitz (5 Poems In Scots) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

A Visit To Planet Auschwitz (5 Poems In Scots)



1.An Owersett in Scots of 'Pigtail' by Tadeusz Rozewicz

Fin as the weemen in the transport
had their heids shaved
fower wirkmen wi breems vrocht o birk twigs
swypt up an gaithered up the hair

Ahin clean glaiss the stiff hair lies
o thon smored in gas chaumers
there are preens an side caimbs in this hair
The hair isnae skinklin wi licht,
isnae pairted bi the win
isnae touched bi ony haun or rain or lips
In muckle kists clouds o dry hair
o fowk smored
an a faded plait
a pigtail wi a ribbon
pued at schule
bi ill-trickit loons.


2.Nicht An owersett in Scots o quotes from Night by Elie Wiesel

Niver shall I forget thon nicht.
The first nicht in camp.
I pinched ma chooks, wis I leevin?
Wis I waukened? I wis neb tae neb
wi the angel o daith

Chiels tae the left! Weemen tae the richt!
Eicht wirds spukken quaet,
Nae carin, hairtless
A prisoner cam up tae us:

'Puir deevils, ' quo he, 'Yer gaun tae the killin hoose
Thon's yer grave ower there. Hae ye jeloused it yet? '
Flames war lowpin frae a sheugh
They war birsslin somethin...wee bairnies.
Babbies! ...littlins in the flames
Foo could it be happenin...
An for the ward tae keep quaet?
Frae the founs o the keekin glaiss
A corp glowered back at me.


3. Auschwitz Evacuation, Jan.1945. a poem based on an actual account by Zofia Stepien-Bator, recorded in 1970

A lang fite road that raxxes oot afore us
The heich blaik waas o the wids on ilkie side
The soun o skreichin snaa aneth oor clogs
The foonert braith o prisoners warsslin forrit

Gunfire rivin the snawy nicht-time seelence
Weemen duntin intae the sheugh tae dee
A quinie, fair ferfochan, as her lanesome
Hytered an fell. I helped her tae her feet

`Pit doon yer pyoke...yer ower wee tae humf it'
`I've breid in it...I'm feart I'll sterve tae daith'

She wis an orphan lass. I said I'd save her
I shared ma crusts, telt her tae takk ma haun
The lee-lang nicht I cairriet her alang
Till, swyty wi the trauchle, waesome- wabbit
I cried for help, I could nae langer staun

We baith fell in the sna. Anther prisoner,
Yarkit ma airm. `Ye'll be a corp yersel
Gin ye bide here. Rise up an leave the littlin.'
We left her in the winter wid alane
A meenit later, aa her tribbles eyndit.
A shot rang oot. It rings yet, in ma heid.
There, far the sna faas yet ahin ma een
Deep in my lugs I hear the daithless deid


4.Chorus o the Rescued An owersett in Scots of an extract from 'The Chorus of the Rescued' by Nelly Sachs

We, the rescued,
Fae oor hollow banes daith had sterted tae futtle his flutes,
An on oor girssle he'd already straiked his bow
Oor bodies are yet lamentin
Wi their bladdit music.
Oorglaisses still fu wi oor dreepin bluid.

We, the rescued,
The wirms o fear still chaw on us.
Oor constellation is beeriet in stoor.

We, the rescued,
Prig ye:
Show us yer sun, bit cannily
Lead us frae starnie tae starnie, bittie bi bittie.
Be douce fan ye teach us tae live again.
Lest the sang o a birdie,
Or a pail being fulled at the wallie,
Let oor ill-steekit pain skail oot again
An cairry us awa

We prig ye:
Dinna show us ony angeret tyke, nae yet—
It micht be, it micht be
That we'll crummle inno stoor¬
Crummle inno stoor afore yer een.
Fur fit wips oor makk thegither?
We, fas braith left us,
Fas sowel fled tae Him oot o thon midnicht?
Lang afore oor bodies war rescued
Inno the arc o the meenit.

We, the rescued,
We press yer haun
We luik lino yer ee—bit aa that rowes us thegither noo is leave-takkin.
The leave-takkin in the stoor
Rowes us thegither wi ye.


5. View wi a Nippick o San: A Scots Owerset o View with a grain of sand - Wislawa Szymborska

We caa it a nippick o sand,
Bit it caas itsel neither nippick nor san.
It does jist dandy wioot a name,
Whether general, partic'lar,
Aybydan, short-laistin, wrang, or richt,
Oor glower, or touch mean naethin tae it.

It disna feel itsel seen an touched.
An that it drapt on the windae-sill
Is anely oor kennin, nae its.

For it, it's nae differ frae faain on onythin ither
Wi nae assurance that it has feenished faain
Or that it's faain yet.

The windae has a winnerfu view o a loch,
Bit the view disnae view itsel.
It exists in this Eirde
Peely-wally, without makk,
Sounless, guffless, an skaithless.

The loch's fleer teems fleerlessly,
An its shore teems shorelessly.
Its watter feels itsel neither weet nor dry
And its waves tae thirsels are neither ane nor mony
They splairge deef tae their ain sown
On stanes neither muckle nor wee.

An aa this aneth a lift bi natur liftless
In which the sun sets withoot settin at aa
And hides withoot hidin ahin an unheedin cloud.
The wind scooshles it, its anely rizzen bein
That it blaws.

A secunt shifts.
A secunt secunt.
A third.
Bit they're three secunts anely fur us.
Time has gaen like a postie wi news o import.
Bit thon's jist oor Simile.
The character's inventit, his hash is makkie-on,
His news nae human.

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