Moon Cakes And Hinney (21 Scots Poems) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

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1. Gloamin, Siem Reap

Motorscooters ferry families hame
Unhelmeted human sannies
Breid slices stappt wi chillis

Cambodia’s a barfit lan o sandals
Traffic heezes like boorichs o poorin ants
In true reid britherly solidarity

A vender peddles by, wechtit wi pyocks an trock
Like an upricht cuddy

A quine frae a new hotel, swyty in ticht blaik skirt
Badge preened tae her sark,
Hyters ower the road in sheen an hose
The ootlinn in this hett, brunt, humid lan


2. Street Café

Nyaakit weers hing fae danglin sockets
A muckle scunnersome cockroach
Squats in the laavie
Ower bumbazed bi heat tae rin for cover

The pyjamaad, three toothed waitress
Pykes the siller frae a dumfounerment o notes
Dunts doon a de-husked coconut,
Pierced wi a straa

Hanks o phone weers crackle like live spaghetti
A rooster craas afore a corner kiosk
Like a firey sergeant major on parade

On the cassies, a skeleton in rags
Heists his haun tae his mou, the global sign o hunger


3. On the Mekong Delta

Mangosteen an rambutan
Pineapple an durian
Mango trees an floatin hames
Burns far chocolate watter faems

Bird’s nest juice, a sting ray fry
Stilt toons on the watterwye
Gibbon, langur, rice, catfish
Snake’s wine, noodles piled on dish

Sampan, bonsai gairden, bees
Basket vender on his knees
Heich bamboo, green paddy field
Monkey brigs an jackfruit yield

Lappin waves an bairnies splashin
In pagoda, cymbals clashin
Jasmine tea an sugar cane
Coconut an monsoon rain

Weemen rowin staunin up
Coolie hats an cheena cup
Boats sail by wi peinted een
Mahjong, mines, an tropic scene

Palm an fig tree, dragonfruit
Size zero coos an betel root
Mekong Delta, breedin grun
Fur floatin merkets, fruits, an fun!


4. Angkor Wat

Roon the temple, Agkor Wat
Mozzies whine an towrists swat
Ilkie guide’s a polyglot
In the lan that time forgot

A michty fig tree, heichs the sky
Drives its muckle reets doonbye
Temple waa, a timmer mawe
That swallaes stane an statue aa

Vive La France! An omelette
Wi crossant, suits the Scots palette
French rule has left its merk ahin
Empires faa, bit cuisines win!

Jumbos wechtit doon wi fowk
Daunder far the termites howk
Towrists, scan the waas tae see
Scenes frae hyne aff century

Here, a wumman rypes a heid
O flechs. A baker’s kneadin breid
Here a grumphie’s killt an scoored
Thon’s a cauldron. There’s a gourd.
Yonner, warships wi their crew
Fecht like veggies in a stew
Bubblin up or drappin doon
Crocodiles crunch shank an croon
Fin sodjers faa intae the waves
Crocodiles makk fechters’ graves

Stane Buddhas in the rooms upbye
Contemplate the warld foraye

Rowed in silk an incense rikk
Furlin frae each scentit stick

Angkor Wat aneth the stars
Teem o fowk, tuk-tuks an cars
Tae the jungle turns its face
An the ghaisties o the place


5. Grub’s Up

Stir fry crocodile wi spices
Puddock in rice parritch, cooked
Goat’s prick byled. Fruit drinks wi ices
Grilled green draigon, chawed an sooked

Bellyfish or snake in bowl
Spurgie, ivy juice, steamed snail
Teenie squid wi tentacles
Scallops grilled wi egg o quail

Field moose, lemon, grumphie’s stammache
Sauted bluid clams. Lychees, sweet
Raivellt noodles, shrimps an dumplins
Weasel grilled, wi nuts tae eat

Byled deer’s tendon, lotus juice
Fruits o jungle, rare an bricht
Sic a rowth o unca ferlies
Nae a plate o broth in sicht!


6. Sky Fowk ower Cambodia

Sky fowk gyang traivellin in comfort an style
Airm rests an doon-raxxin seats mile efter mile
Road fowk maun warssle like sprats in a tin
Crammed inno buses that Wint squashes in

Sky fowk lie dwaumin. Air hostesses say
‘Maet tae refresh ye? Roast chucken the day.’
Road fowks’ repasts are flee-pepperet an swyty
Sappy, an fooshty, an tasteless, an clarty

Sky fowk drink aften, wi laavies nearby
Wee, bit wi soap an clean tools on supply
Road fowk are drouthy…nae watery, nae sink
The bus winna stop, sae they’re aa feart tae drink

Sky fowk, oh sky fowk, tell’s, fit dae ye ken
O the thoosans o traivellers wi little tae spen?
Sky fowk, oh sky fowk, pray ye dinna faa
Siller decides fa wauks big, fa wauks smaa.


7. Ninetieth Daithday

Pool.
Peopl
e plop!
Cool.

Lowped inno the muckle puil o seelence
Edwin Morgan, jynin the ither sax,
MacCaig, Maclean, MacDiarmid
Crichton Smith, Mackay Brown, Robert Garioch
Raxxin the ripples o their influence oot
A Glesga chiel, drawn tae matters o intellect
Champion o ootlinns. Giein prejudice the auld hee-haw

Thon braid grin wad hae meltit a hairt o granite
The gleg een keekin pawky oot ahin his glaisses
A linguist, scholar, gaun-aboot body
Fa gaed voice tae sic disparate craiturs as
The Loch Ness Monster, Marilyn Monroe,
A blin man ettlin tae pee
Rousseau's bogle, Auld Clootie at Auschwitz
Mao's kittlin an Glesga Gangs

Luv-makkin on the Cathkin Braes
In the bield o trees an buss in the gloamin licht
He gart us ken ken that luv’s the gowd,
Fariver it’s bestowed.

Sweet dreams, sweet makar
Fa keepit yer audience warm in the hap o yer haun
Widenin oor harns tae
the weird,
the wud,
the winnerfu


8. Conga Fever

I am watchin the blootered attemptin the Conga
Ane’s jigglin her thong an ane’s scrattin his donga
Like dervishes dauncin tae pipe skirl or bonga
Ilkie Jack Jacques and Juan’s like a native o Tonga

There’s Callum frae Crieff like a wild anaconda
There’s Doris as wizzent’s King Tut or Jane Fonda
There’s Wilhelm as stiff as a cut an shut Honda
The veesions ye see fin yer watchin the conga!

The shooglin o Rhys, a toon clerk frae the Rhonda
Nae haein tae wark tae some tickin sekonda
He hopes tae impress a fit waitress caad Wanda
He’ll burst his bihoochie fin dauncin the conga

It’s hetter than Hades, Mount Etna, Rwanda
Foo can they still daunce? It’s a mystery tae ponda
Arooon an aroon like a furlin rotunda
Like eels on amphetamines, daein the conga


9. The Warld’s Warst Cabaret Act

Foo much dae they pye a pro act tae sing flat?
Dae they pye him in sweeties, or haun roon the hat?
I’ve heard sweeter notes fae a fricasseed cat
Foo much dae they pye a pro act tae sing flat?

Fin he dees, will he gyang tae a bum steer’s corral?
He’s cringfu as dichtin yer a...s wi Izal
Bring on the lugplugs, the fricasseed cat
A hyena wi croup could sing better than that!


10. 4 Confabs heard on a bus

The Punk Spikks Oot
Ye dinna mynd me sittin doon aside ye?
I dinna like the back seats on the bus
Dinna be feart at ma piercins an tattooes
Its jist the fashion, ken?
We’re nae aa tarred wi the same brush.
Yer grandother’s anither ane comin?
Ye dinna luik auld eneuch.
I like tae see the auld fowk getting oot
It makks them smell better, the fresh air.


Back Speirin
Far is gley-eed Jimmy noo? He bedd at Dubby-Dykes
His uncle ained a smiddy an sortit roosty bikes
Ye ken the lad I’m meanin..a richt chiel fur a spree
Ye’ve niver heard o Jimmy? Waur...Ye’ve niver heard o ME?


I Niver Thocht
I niver thocht I’d see the day fin fish war fand in fingers
I niver thocht I’d see the day fin burgers were humdingers
I niver thocht I’d see the day fin girse come cut like rugs
I niver thocht I’d see the day fowk cleaned up eftir dugs


The Daith Announcement
Ay ay, fit like?
Nae bad conseederin
Foo’s the man? Rheumaticks sair?
Fair tae middlin.
Foo’s yer ma...a cheerie wife?
The richt side o the sod
Foo’s yer da?
He’s unner it.
Oh my God!


11. Tryst
This is a Scots owerset o a poem bi an anonymous seventh-century Japanee

I telt them I wis wytin tae see the risin meen
Abune the heich Ben’s showder. It wis a lee I’d gien
As I wis wytin lanesome for the true licht o ma een.


12. The Bawd
An Owerset in Scots o ‘The Hare’ frae the Carmina Gadelica. Alexander Carmichael.

Faiver reads ma testimonial,
I wis wioot doot vertuous,
Wioot wae or serveelity
In ma natur. I wadna ett roch girse,
The maet fur ma wame
Wis the gran herbs
O the muirs. Ma cap, tho it be reid-like,
Wis lued bi leddies,
An ma hoch, tho cauld,
Bi lairds. It’s a dowie tale tae tell
That I am this nicht streekt oot
An that ma harns-pan
Is bein rypit, efter they had strippit ma coatie
Richt doon tae ma paas,
An birssled ma corp
On the lowe.
I wisna in this state
Ower the Mertinmas sizzen
Lowpin an caperin
Mangst the roch knowes.
Withoot thocht at thon time
That the vratch wad cam
Wi his gun tae catch me
In the gloamin. I wis at hame on the heath
Far ma faither an forebears
War kittlesome, blythe
An virr-fu; chawin the blades o girse
On roondit braes an muirs,
Tho I fell inno the snare
That wis ma doonfaa.


Scots Owersetts o 3 Poems an ae Nippick o Prose bi Georg Trakl(1887-1914) frae Inglis translations bi James Wright & Robert Bly

13. The Rattens

In the fermyaird the fite meen o autumn sheens.
Eildritch shaddas drap frae the eaves o the reef.
A seelence is bidin in the teem windaes;
Noo frae it the rattens creep oot saftly
An skitter here an there, skreichin,
An a blae dowie mist frae the pish-hoose
Follaes ahin them, snifflin:
Ben the mist the ghaistly meenlicht chitters.
An the rattens skirl wi virr as if gypit
An gyang oot tae stap hooses an barns
Which are reamin fu o fruit an grain.
Jeelin wins argy in the derk



14. On the Weety Lea

A chiel fa stravaigs in the blaik win; the dry reeds reeshle quate-like
Ben the seelence o the weety lea. In the blae lift
A waa-gaun o wud birds meeve in ranks
Aboot-birlin ower derk watters.
Stramash. In the doon-faain hooses
Foosht is flichterin oot wi blaik wings;
Bladdit birks breath wechty in the win.
Gloamin in teem road hooses. The langin fur hame sattles aboot
The delicate grue o the grazin flocks,
Veesion o the nicht: taeds breenge frae siller watters.



15. De Profundis

It is a stibble park, far a blaik rain’s faain.
It is a broon tree, that stauns alane.
It is a hissing win, that rings aroon teem hooses.
Foo waesome the gloamin is.
A fylie eftir,
The saft orphan gaithers the fyew nippicks o corn.
Her een luik, roun an gowden, in the gloamin
An her wyme awytes the heivenly bridegroom.
On the wye hame
The shepherd fand the sweet corp
Dwinin in a buss o thorns.
I am a shadda far frae derkenin clachans.
I drank the seelence of God
Oot o the burn in the trees.
Cauld metal wauks on ma broo.
Wyvers hunt for ma hairt.
It is a licht that gyangs oot in ma moo.
At nicht, I fand masel on a lea,
Happit wi rubbish an the stoor o starnies.
In a hazel thicket
Angels o crystal rang oot aince mair.



Three Owersetts o poems bi Johannes Bobrowski (1917-65)

16. Deid Leid
Pruzzian was used by the German writer Johannes Bobrowski. The italicised words are among the remaining fragments of that tongue in this Scots owerset of an English translation

He wi the beatin wings
ootbye fa swypes agin the yett,
thon is yer brither, ye hear him.
Laurio he says, watter,
ablow, tint o colour, deep.

He cam doon wi the burn,
driftin aroon buckie
an snailie, spreid like a fan
on the san, an wis green.

Warne he says an wittan,
the craa has nae tree,
I hae the pouer tae kiss ye,
I bide in yer lug.

Tell him ye dinna
wint tae listen –
he cams, an otter, he cams
heezin like hornets, he skreichs,
a girselowper, he growes wi the muir
aneth yer house, he fuspers
in the wallie, smordis ye hear,
yer blaik alder will dwine,
an dee at the palin the morn.


17. Dryad
Owersett frae an Inglis trans. bi Ruth an Matthew Mead

Birk, cweel
Wi sap, tree, yer braith
In ma hauns, stinch
Bark, a yieldin glaiss
Bit tae fin deeper
Steerins, the streetchin
in the trunk
raxxin tae the branches
let yer hair faa
faa on yer nape, I hear
throwe the cweelness, I hear a flichterin
hear the current heist
the risin flood
hear ecstasy
sing in ma lug


18. The Soun o Watter biggs Nests inno the Feathered Seelence

Ma lift
Mixter-maxters wi yours
Sae dis ma doo
Noo it flees ower yours
I see twa shaddas
Faain
In the park o corn

We luik wi
Each ithers een
We finn a neuk
Rain
We say
Like a story
The hauf
Green sentence
I hear
Yer moo
Wi the spik
O birds
Cairries twigs an feathers
Up tae ma broo


Owerset in Scots of an English translation by Robin Fulton of a poem by Olav H. Hauge from ‘Leaf Huts & Snow Houses’


19. I Chapped Doon the Muckle Aipple Tree (frae Olav H. Hauge)

I chapped doon the muckle aipple tree bi the windae
It connached the ootluik, fur ae thing.
The parlour wis dreich aa simmer
Mairower, the traders
Didna wint thon kyne o aipple

I thocht o fit ma faither
Wad hae said, he likit
Thon aipple tree
Bit yet I chapped it doon.

There’s a rowth mair licht.
I can see ower the fjord
Or keep an ee on
Mair neebors
The hoose is noo in full
View, shows
Mair o itsel.

I dinna wint tae admit it
Bit I miss thon aipple tree
Things arena the same.
He gaed a gweed bield
An gweed shade
The sun keeked
Throwe his branches
Ontae the table, an at nicht
I aften lay, lippenin
Tae the airy leaves,
An the aipples-
Nane finer in spring
Wi their spicey taste

It’s sair ilkie time I see the stump.
Fin it saftens
I’ll chap it intae kinnlin


20. Scotland Lives: OK?

After The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living
An installation by Damien Hirst

Pickled in the formaldehyde of forever,
Mary Queen of Scots continues to reign
Along my synaptic clefts

Memory's a rowan tree of myths
Neuro-transmitters cradle Flodden’s angst
The thistle, crushed and bleeding, a mighty army, crows meat.

The hemispheres of my mind
Track Allt na Giubhsaich,
A broken dyke, the cry of whaup and banshee
I am hard-wired to the history of a nation
The prism of music, lighting its every crannie
Its leafy glens flooding my mind’s receptors

Time ferments the loch of lineage
Deepens the self’s connections

Each moment the soft rain of language
Rises up from legend,
The hynie-back, the eildritch, the un-deid

This charts my life, a backdrop of belonging
The gritty roar of the city,
The hush of the North Sea’s incam


21. Hong Kong frae the Air

Hong Kong, the fragrant herbour,
Is noo Chinee, ower far doonbye tae notice
Drappin doon tae Chep Lap Lok airport,
Ower Lantau islan, bi Discovery Bay
The Trappist an Po Lin monasteries
Luik like chalk sticks unner a lan o cloud
Muckle plumes an corries o air
Glimmer at ee-level, heicher than hawks
Ablow, the lego o skyscrapers
Are dwarfed bi the michty Heivens