Scots Poems From Craa Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Craa Owersetts

Scots Owersett of a Crow with No Mouth: Ikkyū Sōjun 1397-1481
Hearin a craa wi nae mou
Skreich in the deep
Derk o the night
I feel a langin fur
Ma faither afore he wis born


Scots owersett of This Snowy Morning: Basho 1644-1694
This snawy foreneen
Thon blaik craa I hate sae muckle
Bit he's bonnie!


Scots Owersett of a Japanese proverb
The craa that makks on it's a shag
Gets drooned


Scots Owersett of Crows Calling at Night: Li Bai (Chinese) 701-762
Yalla clouds aside the waas
Craas reestin nearhaun
Fleein back they caa, caa
Caain ben the boughs

In the loom she wyves brocade
The Qin river quine
Vrocht o emerald oo like mist

The windae smores her wirds
She devauls the shuttle, waesome
An thinks o the hyne aff cheil
She bides alane in the lanesome chaumer
Her tears, unca like rain


Scots Owersett o Craas skreichin at Night bi Li Yu
Last night the win an rain blew thegither
The curtain on the waa reeshled in their autumn sang
The caunle deed, the watter clock wis foonert

I raise an sat, bit couldnae bide at peace
A cheil's matters are like the breenge o floodwater
A life is jist like floatin in a dwaum
I should wanner mair aften bleezin ben the kintra
Fur itherwise I couldnae thole tae live


Scots Owersetts of The Four-Legged Crow by Daniil Kharms 1905-1942
(a Russian Absurdist Screiver)
There aince lived a fower-leggit craa.
Richtly spikkin, it had five shanks,
Bit this isnae wirth bletherin aboot.

Aince, this fower-leggit craa
Bocht itsel a suppie coffee an thocht,
"OK, sae I bocht coffee,
Fit am I gaun tae dae wi it noo? "

Jist then, bi ill chaunce,
A tod wis rinnin by.
The tod saw the craa an skirled.
"Hey, " it skreiched, "ye- craa! "

An the craa skreiched back:
"Craa yersel"
An the tod skirled tae the craa:
"Yer a minger, craa, thon's fit ye are! "

The Craa wis sae pit oot
It cowpit the coffee. An the tod ran aff.
An the craa sclimmed doon
An gaed on its fower,
Or tae be mair exack,
Five shanks tae its mingin hoose.


Scots Owersett: To a Dead Crow by Kasiprasad Ghose, India,1809-1873
Blythe skreicher o the Indian airt
Foo aft at daybrak's first reid stert
Fin ye did skirl an caa yer threip
Scunnert I've waukened frae swete sleep
An sae tae jink thon hateful soun
That deaves ma heid, sairly profun
Hae wauked oot in ma gairden, far
Aside the tank, in mony a squar
Douce lilies, jasmine, roses brier
Far frae thon trees inbye faas drear
Derk foliage thick, ye hae yer nest
Frae daylang darg at nicht tae rest

Noo lifeless on the eirde, cauld, bare,
Tint o baith blithesome wyes an care,
The orrals o ma maet nae mair
Can draw ye as they did afore.
There's sottar skittered roon ye, bit
Yer hairt is still, yer een bide shut.
Nae mair thon blunt yet eesefu beak
Frae bluidy flesh yer food can seek,
Or catch the young unheedin moose,
That frae the fleerin o ma hoose
Spurred on bi its ill luck, wid gae
An bask aneth the solar ray.

Blythe skreicher! ne'er hid Daith afore
Its killin arra, sherpened mair
Tae stob a gayer, mortal hairt
Yer ain, ochone! has felt the smert!
Tho life nae mair is warm in ye,
Yet still ye luik as tho 't micht be
That life in ye is full an warm;
Nae coorse cauld daith could spyle yer form:
Yer makk, ay, ilkie pick, possess
E'en noo its former ugsomeness.
They are in truith the verra same
The Indian Craa has, kent in fame.

Och! may fin daith has steeked these een,
An lowsed frae eirdly bondage, flees
The speerit tae eternity,
Streetched at full raxx I lie like ye,
On mither eirde's cauld lap, sae ne'er
Tae screive sic verses oot I'll daur,
An please the public lug again
Wi sic wersh, tuneless gypit strain,
As ye did aince delicht tae poor
At morn or noon, or gloamin oor.
In truith I promise this'll be
My hinmaist line addressin ye.


The Parrot
A parrot aince bedd in Braemar
A terrible birdie fur sweirin
He'd turn the air blue frae afar
An scandalize aa within hearin

Fin the meenister cam on a veesit
Like a trooper, he f'd and he c'd
An affrontit his ainers wi curses
Sae orra they'd scunner the deid

Till his maister ae day kept him prisoner
Far the game for the table wis hung
Grouse an pheasants, wi feathers pued aff them
Cauld corpses on metal hooks hung

Eftir twa day they released the parrot
Weel mainnered an unca genteel
Sayin ‘please' an ‘guid thanks' for his seedies
Nae a word ooto place at each meal

For he'd nichtmares o parrot hett buttered on toast
O parrots stewed, fricasseed, curried or roast
O parrot wi salad or pickled in jars
O parrot as crisps, ingin flavoured in bars
O parrot, as burgers, or baked in goulash
O parrot poached, braised, parrot topped off wi mash
Parrot served up with couscous or diced in risotto
Parrot cooked with a fungus that found in a grotto
O parrot as mince, kebab, parrots in wraps
Sliced parrot wi rowies or in flooery baps
O parrot in pies, or in spice flavoured tart
The verra fear o'd made the puir parrot fart.

Noo he tells ilkie birdie he's met
The reason for his reformation
Wis seein fit men did tae fowls
That wir thocht tae be set for damnation

An he's perfeck this pet o a parrot
He disnae aince open his beak
Tho ye ettle tae deave an torment him
He's douce an he's quaet an he's meek

If ye hae a parrot that's Bolshie
Jist pop him intae yer deep freeze
Fin he sees aa the beheidit poulty
He'll come oot an be desperate tae please

Filmin oor Culture
Fit makks the Nor East special?
Ye hear it fin we news
The claes we weir are global
Bit nae the wirds we use

In T-shirt jeans an hoodies
We could be American
Bit we aye say ‘Fit like the day'
An nae ‘Well, howdee man! '

It's like a stick o granite rock
The wirds rin throw oor marra
Like oxters, scutter, wattergaw
Or midden, mingin, barra

An fin we film oor stories
Nae warsslin wi spellin
We use oor spikk tae celebrate
Oor culture, in the tellin!