Scots Poems From Carpe Diem Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Fower Poems: Efter James Robertson's Stories in his buik 365

Jack the Suitor
Aince Jack set aff tae fin a wife
Tae cook, tae spin, tae clean
He saw a wyver wyve a a wab
An tuik her hame richt sune

His mither quickly telt her son
She wouldnae dae ava
She couldnae cuik, she couldnae clean
She turned his luve awa

Neist day Jack tae the hen wife gaed
An brocht a chukken hame
Each day he hoped she'd lay an egg
Fin she wis aa his ain

His mither cried ‘Ye glekit stirk
She winna keep ye hett
Ye need a wife that's warm in bed
Tae bosie ye, ma pet.'

Neist day Jack traivelled up the glen
An stole a shepherd's yowe
Nae suner did he gain the hoose
The polis reached the howe

Bin syne his mither gart them wyte
As she explained the fack
‘He thocht thon yowe wid makk a wife
Noo ye can takk her back!
He's better nae tae wad ava
I'll see til't, ' said his mither
‘Ae eejit in the warld's eneuch
He maunna breed anither'


Jack an the Treisur
Nearhaun Jack's clachan wis a cave
Wis treisur hid inside it?
Ae day, airmed wi a baa o oo
An caunle, he explored it
He drapped a threid o oo ahin
Tae shaw his fitsteps back
An eftir miles o wannerin
Three tunnels split the track

At ilkie tunnel's mou there sat
A baa o worsit thonner
An Jack explored aa three, bit och
He fand nae pick o treisur

Disjaskit, syne, he trauchled hame
Nae gowd or jewels sae cheerie
Anely fower baas o scratty oo
Hamecamin, dreich an wearie

His mither wis delichtit tho
‘Thon oo will makk a ganzie
An mebbe wi eneuch left ower
For mochles fur yer granny! '


The Cattie o Pitfodles
There wis an auld laird bedd alane
A fly, ill faschent body
He kept a cat fur company
An a fusky keg for toddy

Noo thon wis a sleekit, nesty cat
Fa kept his secrets hid
For cats hae trysts that naebody sees
Wi the Deil thon cat wis sib

At nicht the lairdie saw his cat
Alang the Clash gae lowpin
A swatch o boggy peaty grun
Near Twa Mile Cross, twis breengin

The meen wis heich ower Brig o Dee
Fin hame the cat cam mincing
‘I saw yer ploys' her maister quo
‘Fit ill tricks wir ye daein? '
‘Ye saw me aince…bit ne'r again, '
Quo she, baith coorse an stoot
An lowpit at her maister's heid
An tore his thrapple oot


Michael Scott
Michael Scott wis a warlock
Ane o Auld Horny's tribe
Alexander king o aa the Scots
Summoned him tae his side

‘O ye maun gyang tae Paris
They'll hear frae yer ain lips
That their French king maun ban his men
Frae plunderin oor Scottish ships'

The French king wis fu vauntie
He turned his heid awa
‘I'll haud nae spikk wi ye Scotsman
Yer kintra's puir an sma'

The warlock he wis angered
Raise in his stirrups syne
Frae the back o his michty stallion, roared
‘Ye'll see fit pouer is mine!

Ma steed'll stamp it's hoof three times
Ye'll ken fit pouer I bring! '
The first knell o the stallion's fit
Gart aa French bells tae ring

The neist chap o the stallion's hoof
Three touers o the castle fell
‘Wyte! 'cried the French king, horrifeed
‘Hae ye opened the yetts o Hell? '

‘Nae mair we'll plunder yer Scottish ships
Or reive yer Scottish gowd! '
Wi a crack o thunner an lichtenin flash
In the mids o a gurly cloud
The warlock tuik his leave o France
An nae man barred his leavin
French pirates tint their livelihood
An the French king stopped their reivin
A Wee Poem fur Grief
Ma sleep is lichtit bi myndins
Meetin the deid in dwams

The sun flegs them back tae the mools
I refuse tae rrese oot the abyss

Ma son, the hinmaist mornin I met ye
I didnae ken within seeven days
Ye'd staun in the roll caa o the deid

I hope ye like the Yuletide wreath I gaed ye
Time his pykit the banes o murnin clean
I wid wheep ma wecht in wildcats
Tae resurrect ye, reinvent yer life

Flicherty ghaist, I aften glisk ye briefly, hynie aff
Amangst fowk passin, swippert derk an lued

Grief canna rowe the oceans back
Or stop the sun frae risin
It canna seed the desert san
Or stop the leed frae deein

Scots Owersetts

Fit things are caad; bi Erich Fried (1921-1988)
Foo wir ye nae like the Trung Quan tree?
A quine speirs

Thon means
Her luver is ane o them brunt

The leaves o the Trung Quan tree dinna catch fire
Like bamboo poles or human skin

Lazy Tyke
Is the nemme fur an iron cross
Atween aerial bomb an dum-dum bullet

Safety Detonator
Is a fermer tied tae a towe
An herdit aheid ower a minefield

Tug o war
Is ruggin a prisoner
On a towe
Ahin a tank
Ben a clachan
Bi wye o warnin

Bunnle
Is a corp
In a pleatit bass

Hairst
A rowe o bunnles
In a park

Some ferlies mean as muckle
As the mood o
A heid bummer

An some mean as little
As the life o
A haunfu o kintrafowk, faither, mither, three bairns

Pacifeein a clachan
Means nae anely beheidin
Fermers fa wir suspeck or clyped on

Pacifeein likewye means
Cutting oot their liver
An haivin it intae the air
The liver's the hame o courage

Weirin blaik jaikets an breeks
Means
Bein a fermer

Bein killt
Means eftirwirds
Haein bin a Viercong


Ochone, the Lums bi Nelly Sachs (1891-1970)
Ochone the lums!
Ochone the evidently vrocht hames o daith
Fin Israel's corp wauchtit like rikk
Throw the air-
Wis walcamed bi a starnie, a lum sweeper
A starnie that burned blaik
Or wis't a ray o sun?

Ochone the lums!
Freedom airt fur Job an Jeremiah's stoor
Fa vrocht ye an pit stane upon stane
The road fur refugees o rikk?
Ochone the hames o daith
Doucely appyntit
Fur the Host fa eased tae be a guest-
O ye fingers
Layin the portal
Like a knife atween life an daith-

Ochone ye lums,
O ye fingers
An Israel's corp as rikk throw the air!


Peace, Horror: bi Miklós Radnóti (1909-1944)
As I steppit ooto the yett it wis 10 o'clock
A baker on a sheeny wheel birled by, he sang
Abune, a plane wis birrin, sun sheened,10 o'clock
Ma auntie fa deed I myndit on her, an aa the sowels
I'd lued, fa lived nae mair, wir fleein owerheid
Darkly, a heeze o seelent deed flee by abune
An o a suddenty, a shadda drappit alang the waa
In seelence, morning devalued, it wis 10 o'clock
Peace hung alang the street, a touch o grue as weel


Draft o a Reparations Agreement bi Dan Pagis (1930-1986)
Aa richt cheils fa skreich blue murder as aywis
Miracle-makkers
Quaet!
Paragraph eftir paragraph
The skirl back intae the thrapple
The gowd teeth back intae the gums
The terror
The rikk back tae the tin, an farrer on inbye
Back tae the marra o the banes
An already ye'll be happit wi skin an sinews an ye'll live
Luik, ye'll hae yer lives back
Dowp in the hoose, read the evenin paper
Here ye are. Naethin is ower late
As tae the yalla starnie:
It'll be rived frae yer breast
Straicht aff
An will emigrate
Tae the lift


Massacre o the Loons bi Tadeusz Rózewicz (1921- 2014)
The bairns cry ‘Mam!
Bit I hae bin gweed!
It's derk inbye! Derk! '

See them. They are gaunt ae the boddom
See the wee feeties
They are gaunt ae the boddom. D'ye see
Thon prent
O wee feeties here an thonner

Pooches wechtit
Wi towe an stanes
An wee shelts vrocht o wire

A muckle plain steeked
Like a shape o geometry
An a tree o blaik rikk
An upricht
Deid tree
An nae starnie at its croon


Bairnhood bi Edith Brück (1932-)
Yer milk wis already pysoned
By derk thochts o the yet tae cam
Yer trauchled airms
Gied me nae bield
Yer een wir fu o greetin
Yer hairt duntit in fricht
Yer mou opened anely tae pray
Or tae ban me, the hinmaist born, sikkin yer help
Frae humankind that attackit in the derk
Frae tykes eekit on by seelent gypes o maisters
Frae the spis o bairns fed on lees
Frae eejits lat lowse bi faimlies
Fa keepit them in affront an shynes
Sae they could takk things oot on Jews
At the synagogue yett


Night in the Unnertakkers
In the unnertakkers
Eftir the forensic team feenished their bluidy wirk
Ye are left alane in the derk

Aneth the kist lid
Ye lie stiff as a block o ice

Naebody straiked yer hair in a last ferweel
Ye are ayont rain, sunsheen an kisses

The kist is a slammed yett
Nane will fusper in yer lug
Nae visa will lat me veesit

Whyles I dream ye back
In yer bairn claes
Afore the days o poppies an deid eyns


Nicht in the Unnertakkers
In the unnertakkers
Eftir the forensic team feenished their bluidy wirk
Ye are left alane in the derk

Aneth the kist lid
Ye lie stiff as a block o ice

Naebody straiked yer hair in a last ferweel
Ye are ayont rain, sunsheen an kisses

The kist is a slammed yett
Nane will fusper in yer lug
Nae visa will lat me veesit

Whyles I dream ye back
In yer bairn claes
Afore the days o poppies an deid eyns


The Tarland Burn
Twal kilometres it rins doon
Frae fertile knowes tae Tarlan toun
The wee waves o the Tarlan Burn
Makk music at each watery turn

The Otter Brig it crosses ower
The burn far waukers takk a tour
Bi Coull, the burn mids sun an snaas
It guairds the ruined castle waas

Tae draw the seepins frae the grun
A straicht canal it wis begun
Fin queen Victoria wis queen
Nae thocht o floodin lang yestreen

Forestry, livestock, game birds, hoosin
Brocht waste, pollution bi misusin
Noo fermers, scientists aa try
Tae keep the burn frae gaun agley

Sae that thon bonnie burn will be
A treisur fur posterity


Lang Sandy (The Heron)
Lang Sandy stauns on ae shilpit shank
The ither's tucked unner a feather
The rain poors ower Lang Sandy's heid
Bit he disnae heed the weather

He stauns like a statue, his lang sherp beak
Like a sword stukken ontae his face
Till a daft wee bandy sweems alang
Seein naethin amiss in the place

Plunk! He's liftit an tossed up heich
Snap! Doon Lang Sandy's thrapple
An thon's aa the funeral richts he gets
Lang Sandy's wyme's his chapel


In the Playgrun Walker Road Primary School 1897-2021:
Fit like aabody, fit like aa body
Gled that ye are here
Fit like aabody, fit like aa body
Gled that ye are here
Aye aye aye aye aye
Gled that ye are here
Aye aye aye aye aye
Gled that ye are here

In the playgrun lang ago
Fin Victoria wis the Queen
Pupils wir trawl fishers' bairns
Torry Scots in Aiberdeen

Twa Warld wars brocht wins o cheenge
Ile rigs brocht a hurricane
Tradition stude on shoogily pegs
Naething iver bides the same

Noo the warld cams rushin in
In the playgrun, hear the spikk
Romanian, Yoruba, Thai
Polish, Russian, Arabic

Fit like aabody, fit like aa body
Gled that ye are here
Fit like aabody, fit like aa body
Gled that ye are here
Aye aye aye aye aye
Gled that ye are here
Aye aye aye aye aye
Gled that ye are here



In the Classie: Mile End Primary: Additional Support Needs Units
Fit like aabody, fit like aa body
Gled that ye are here
Fit like aabody, fit like aa body
Gled that ye are here
Aye aye aye aye aye
Gled that ye are here
Aye aye aye aye aye
Gled that ye are here

There are ither weys tae spikk
Makaton an Singin Hauns
Throwe the senses, bring the warld
Open up a Wonderlan

In the sensory gairden, free
In the wildlife gairden, rinnin
Gated areas, flooer an tree
Braw tae see new life, beginning

Fit like aabody, fit like aa body
Gled that ye are here
Fit like aabody, fit like aa body
Gled that ye are here
Aye aye aye aye aye
Gled that ye are here
Aye aye aye aye aye
Gled that ye are here


The Twa Brigs Bussie

Ching: Gray's School of Art
Students, clarty claes an peint,
Humfin canvases an pieces
Bletherin intae a ringin phones
Fusslin new music releases

Ching: RGU
Omni Nunc Arte Magistra
Hong Kong, Camaroon Bahrein
China, India, Botswana
Hallelujah! Ranjit! Wayne!

Ching: Asda, Brig o Dee
OAPs wi eerins wechtit
Hirplin, gammie leggit, cauld
Vive the bus that's free tae enter
Ae wee perk o bein auld

Ching: Trinity Haa
Here's Trade Haa o Aiberdeen
Ghaists fa focht at Reid Harlaw
Saved the toun frae Gael invaders
Tradesmen skeelie, stinch an braw

Ching: Music Haa
Audience, aa shapes an sizes
Steppin oot, throw aff their cares
Halflins, auld yins, yin an yang
Past the beggar at the stairs

Ching: Mither Kirk/McDonalds
Ae side o the street, the deid
The ither side, far faimlies feed
Baps an graveyaird interweavins
Seagulls fecht ower aabody's leavins

Ching: Toun Hoose/Justice Coort &Tolbooth
See the lawyers, wigs an gouns
The coort's fur gallus quines & loons
Aa the ootlins, drunken orrals
Argyin in boozy quarrels

Ching: Mercat Cross an Castlegate
Gordon Heilanders stun guaird
Unicorn pynts tae the stars
Lichts the revellers stottin oot
O cheerie howfs an couthie bars

Ching: Pittodrie
Pittodrie! Fitbaa
Goals an singin
Reid scarfs wyvin
Lauchin, sweirin

Ching: Auncient Univarsity
Croon o Kings far scholars gaither
Elphinstane's lang trodden girse
Waddings, graduations, blether
Don & doctor, teacher, nurse

Ching: Seaton Beach
Seaton seals an skyscrapers
Seagulls, sea, win ferms an ships
Boaties ridin oot at anchor
Storms an winter throw here rips

Ching: Balgownie/Danestone
By Balgownie tae the Don
Far the lan gaes knippin on
Tae the kintra's farms an braes
Ching: sae eyns oor city's praise


Waulkmill Road, Tarland
Sax thoosan years o pottery shards
Dug frae the grun alang the wye
Cremated banes, a cauldron, brooch
A Neolithic pit forbye

Souterrains, gamin pieces, rings
Stane circle ryped fur ferm biggins
Wee bitties o the deid langsyne
Howked up bi cannie local diggins

A blithesome wauk for simmer nichts
Fin birdies cheep in ilkie tree
An rubbits howk in Drummy's wid
An sheughs wi flooers brier fragrantly

Aince Waulkmill wis a drover's road
Cattle an shelts gaed steerin ower
Drappin their sharn ower ruts an stanes
Bravin win, sna an sleety shower

An dae thon ghaists still takk thon path
Makkin fur marts in Suddron lans
Did fusky smugglers gyang thon gait
Or lang deid luvers, haudin hauns


Fit Time is't
Pee the bed clock fit time is't noo?
Time tae fleg the Jersey coo?
Time tae shave the werewolf's legs?
Time tae swat the nesty glegs?
Pee the bed clock fit time is't noo?
Twa times twinty in Peru!


Yokie Oxters
There wis a futterat bed in Birse
It liked tae daunce the polkie
Especially fin midgies heezed
An made its oxters yokie


The Wee Yowie
There wis a wee yowie
Fa mairriet a hen
Their bairnies gaed baa
As they traivelled the ben

They'd feathers aa ower
Bar a big wooly heid
An they dined on Rice Krispies
An hett buttered breid


Speirins
Foo dae fowk wauik forrit?
Foo's the warld flat?
Foo dae stars cam oot at nicht?
Fa made a rat a rat?
Foo dis rain faa doon, nae up?
Noo can ye tell me that?

Scots Owersett of Horace's Odes

The Carpe Diem Ode 1.11
Dinna speir, Leuconoë, the forbidden speirin, foo lang
The gods hae gien tae ye an tae me: dinna jelouse
Spaewives ken. Better tae takk fit's camin,
Whether Jupiter will gie us mair winters, or this that noo
Trauchles the Etruscan sea as it dunts on the cliffs
Is the hinmaist. Be wyce: strain the wine: in a wee life,
Takk nae lang luiks aheid. As we spikk, time nips us
An rins: grip this day: save nae hopes fur the morn


A Lament 1.24
Foo shall we haud in or leemit oor wae, sae dear
Wis this cheil? Teach me a daith lament,
Melpomenë, gien bi yer Faither wi a clear
Voyce an the lyre's music.
Sae the sleep that laists foraye noo haps Quintilius.
Honour, an unbrukken Trust
The sister o Justice, an Truith fa wauks nyaakit,
Fan shall they iver finn his equal?
He dees murned bi mony guid cheils,
Bit bi nae cheil mair deeply, Vergil, than yersel.
Eeseless devotion tae prig the gods fur Quintilius,
He wisnae lent on thon terms.
Fit guid wid it dae tae play the lyre mair doucely
Than Thracian Orpheus, tae fas music the trees reponed?
Wid the bluid cam back tae his thin ghaist,
Fa Mercury aince an fur aa
(he doesnae takk weel tae priggin tae lowse the yetts)
Wi his gurly staff his gaithered tae the heeze o shades?
It's hard: bit patience makks thon maitters lichter
That we hae nae pouer tae cheenge.


The Cleopatra Ode 1.37
Noo fur a boozing splairge, noo fur a lowse-fitted
Daunce, noo is the time tae pye
Oor debt tae the gods, ma friens,
An spreid a bumbazin feast.
Afore the day, tae bring oot Caecuban wine frae
Faimily storechaumers wis wrang, while the gyte
Queen wis still plottin wi her
Peely wally eunuchs, her bourach o perverts,
Tae sen the Capitol tae crockanation an beery
The empire: wud wir her dwaums o daein
Fitiver she winted, the best
Luck wIs her drink. She sobered up
Fin her ships wir bleezin, scarce ane unskaithed,
An widdendremes sooklit on Egypt's wine
Wir cured bi Caesar wi the facks
O fleg, his navy near as she fled
Frae Italy, like a hawk gaun efter
A douce doo, or a faist hunter trackin
A bawd ower sna-happit parks
In Thessaly: chynes awyted this
Damnt monster. Bit a heroine's daith
Wis her aim: she shawed nae wummanly chitters
At the sicht o a sword, an her
Faist-sailin fleet socht nae secret herbours.
Her smeddum wis great: she luikit on her connached
Palace, a smile yet on her face, an bauldly
Played wi pysonous asps,
Her flesh drinkin their wersh stang,
Sae heichly she daured, her harns set on her daith.
Nae fur her the fae's ship, the croonless
Stravaig, her pairt in the gran
Parade o Triumph: she wis nae dweeble wumman.


2.3
Haud this in thocht: a steidy heid on a steep
Pathie; the same hauds true fin the gaein is guid:
Dinna lat blytheness gae tae yer heid,
Frien Dellius, fur ye maun dee someday,
Whether ye spen aa yer time in wae,
Or keep yersel blythe on festive days
Raxxed oot on the girse alane
Wi a joog o yer best Falernian wine.
Foo dae the touerin pine an fite poplar
Lue tae wyve shady walcam bi interwyvin their
Branches? Foo dae the breengin watters
Hash on agin the twinin river?
Tell them tae bring the wines an the perfumes an
Swete rose flooers that live sic a wee whylie,
Here, fin it still is alloued bi luck an
Youth, an the derk threids o the three Sisters.
Ye will leave the parks ye bocht an yer hame
An yer kintra hame washed bi the tawny Tiber,
Ye'll leave, an intae the hauns o
An heir will gae the siller ye biggit sae heich.
Rich, an descendit frae auncient Inachus,
Or puir an frae the laighest class, dauchlin
Oot in the open, it's aa ane:
A giftie tae Daith, fa disnae greet.
Aa o us are bein herdit thonner, fur aa
Lots are haived in an urn: suner, eftir,
Oot theyll cam an buik oor passage
On the boatie fur iverlaistin exile.


Tae the Goddess Diana
Vergin protectress o the ben an the widlan,
Fa, caaed on three times, hears young quines, in jizzen bed
Throw thon stangs, an saves them frae deein, O
Triple vrocht goddess,
May it be yers, this pine-tree abune ma ferm,
Sae that I micht, blythely, ben passin years,
Offer it the bluid o a boar, that's ettlin
Its first sidelang stobs.