Scots Poems From The Little Mannequin Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Haute Cuisine
The dearer the maet
The less on yer plate

Owersetts frae aa the Airts

Doric owersett o Kintraweemen by Katherine Mansfield New Zealand
Thon are twa kintraweemen.
Fit a size!
Muckle sonsie airms an roun reid faces;
Muckle braid bihoochies;
Muckle wechty breists strang as cheese
Breengin ooto their kintra jaikets;
Braid deep laps an sturdy knees;
Hauns ootspreid,
Roun an rosy,
Hauns tae haud
A kintra posy
Or a babby or a lammie-
An sic een!
Glekit, sleekit, smaa an fly
Keekin throw a slit of sty,
Gleyin throwe their neebors' plackets.


Doric owersett o Laneliness by Katherine Mansfield New Zealand
Noo it is Laneliness fa cams at nicht
Insteid o Sleep, tae sit aside ma bed.
Like a trauchelt bairn I lie an wyte her fit,
I watch her saftly blaain oot the licht.
Nae meevin, sittin, neither left or richt
She furls, an trauchelt, trauchelt draps her heid.
She, too, is auld; she, too, has focht the fecht.
Sae, wi the laurel she is leafy crooned.

Throw dowie derk the slawly ebbin tide
Brakks on a barren shore, unsatisfeed.
A fey wind rins... syne seelence. I am fain
Tae turn tae Laneliness, tae takk her haun,
Haud tae her, wytin, till the barren lan
Reams wi the dreidfu monotone o rain


Doric owersettoThe Tint Heifer by Austin Clarke; Ireland
Fin the blaik herds o the rain wir grazin,
In the gap o the caller win
An the wattery haar o the hazel
Brocht her intae ma harns,
I thocht o the hinmaist hinney bi the watter
That nae hive can fin.

Brichtness wis sypin ben the branches
Fin she traivelled again,
Turnin siller ooto derk girses
Far the leverick had lain,
An her voyce camin saftly ower the lea
Wis the haar becamin rain.


Doric owersett o The Blackie O Derrycairn by Austin Clarke (Ireland)
Devaul, devaul an lippen fur the bough tap
Is fusslin an the sun is brichter
Than God's ain shadda in the cup noo!
Forget the oor-bell.Waesome matins
Will soun, Patrick, as weel at nichtfaa.

Feintly ben haar o brukken watter
Fionn heard ma tune in Norway.
He fand the widlan track, he brocht back
This beak tae makk gowd the branch an tell,
Foo chiels maun walcam in the daylicht.

He lued the win that warns the blaik grouse,
The skirls o gillies in the mornin
Fin packs are coontit an the swans cloud
Loch Erne, bit mair than aa thon voyces
Ma thrapple rejoicin frae the hawthorne.
In wee cells ahin a fortress,
Patrick, nae haunbell gies a blythe soun
Bit lear is fand amang the branches
Lippen! Thon sang that shakks ma feathers
Will thong the leather o yer pyokes.


Doric owersett o The Heap of Rags by William Henry Davies (Wales)
Ae nicht fin I gaed doon
Thames' side, in Lunnon Toun,
A howp o rags saw I,
An sat me doon nearby.
Thon thing could skreich an skirl,
Bit shawed nae face at aa;
Fin ony steamer passed
An blew a lood sherp blast,
Thon howp o rags wid sit
An makk a soun like it;
Fin struck the clock's deep bell,
It vrocht thon peals as weel.
Fin wins did maen aroon,
It mocked them wi thon soun;
Fin aa wis seelent, it
Drapt intae a fey fit;
Wid sough, an maen, an roar,
It lauched, an blessed, an swore.
Yet thon puir thing, I ken,
Had neither frien nur fae;
Its blissin or its curse
Made naebody weel or waur.
I left it in thon airt -
Thon thing that shawed nae face,
Wis it a chiel that had
Tholeduntil he gaed gyte?
Sae mony shooers an nae
Ae wattergaw in them aa?
Ower mony wersher flegs
Tae makk a pearl frae tears?


Doric owersett oThe Bird o Paradise by William Henry Davies (Wales)
Here cams Kate Summers, fa, fur gowd,
Takks ony chiel tae bed:
"Ye kent ma frien, Nell Barnes, " quo she;
"Ye kent Nell Barnes -she's deid.

"Nell Barnes wis coorse on aa ye chiels,
Orra, a chore as weel;
Yet aa ma life I hinna fand
A better frien than Nell.
"Sae I sat at her side at last,
Fur oors, till she wis deid;
An yet she had nae mense at aa
O ony wird I said.

"Fur aa her spikk bit cam tae this -
'Nae fur the warld! Takk tent:
O leave thon bird o paradise,
On the bed-post ahint! '

"I speired her wid she like some grapes,
Some damsons ripe an swete;
A custard vrocht wi new-laid eggs,
Or tender fowl tae ett.

"I promised I wid follae her,
Tae see her in the grave;
An buy a wreath wi borraed pence,
Gin naethin I could save.

"Yet aye her spikk bit cam tae this -
'Nae fur the warld! Takk tent:
O leave thon bird o paradise,
On the bed-post ahint

The Pedestrian
I'm a pedestrian waukin by
Usin ma ain twa legs
I dinna use gas or spyle the air
Or toot tae gie fowk flegs

I'm a pedestrian waukin by
I've time tae watch the trees
As ane bi ane in the Autumn cheenge
They quaetly doondrap leaves

I'm a pedestrian waukin by
I dauchle an whyles devaul
Tae watch the clouds in the Heivens flit
As the day creeps oot twa fauld


Scots Owersett of a Poem from The Book of Highland Minstrelsy,1846, pp.256-258

On Ederachillis' shore
The grey wolf bides in wyte-
Wae tae the brukken door,
Wae tae the lowsed yett,
An the hyterin vratch fa sleety haar
On the trackless muir makks latchy.
The lean an hungeret wolf,
Wi his fangs sae sherp an fite,
His stervelin body nipped
Bi the cranreuch norlan night
An his peetiless een that fleg the derk
Wi their green an fearie nicht.
[…]
He sclimms the guairdin dyke,
He lowps the hurdle bars,
He rypes the yowes frae the pen,
An the fish frae the boat-hoose spars,
An he howks the deid frae the mools,
An chaws them unner the starns.
[…]
Sae ilkie grave we howked
The hungeret wolf rived up,
An ilkie morn the yird
Wis strewn wi deid bluid tae sup:
Oor mither-yird gaed oor deid nae rest
On Ederchaillis' shore

Twa Traditional Malay Pantuns
They weir bangles on their airms
I weir bangles roon ma queats.
They say, 'Dinna dae yon, ye tyke.'
I dae fit I damnt weel like!

Aaeech! Jobbit ma fit
On a stob in the bog.
Aaeech! Hurtit ma een
Watchin her briests stot
Unner her sark.


Storm Frank
In December 30,2015, torrential rain hit the North East, with Ballater, Braemar and Aboyne worst affected.

Frae twa or three spits o rain, there cam a maelstrom
Doon frae the Bens aroon, swalled burns cam breengin
Bringin terror an wae tae the nearhaun clachans

Mair nor a hunner fowk, driven frae hames in Ballater
Eftir the Dee raced ower the gowf coorse, droonin greens an bunkers

Nae electricity, the clachan cuttit aff
An island in the middle o the watter

The Ballater-Braemar road, washed aff at Micras
Dichtit aff the map bi the wecht o rain
The Invercauld Brig, steekit tae aa traffic.
Cambus O'Maysteel brig, warped like a wrung oot cloot

Abergeldie Castle, auncient hame o the Gordons
Teeterin on the brink as the Dee aroon it floods
Like a spurgie on a twig in the heicht o a gale
The Tarland Burn brakk oot,droonin nearhaun hooses

Caravans birled like peeries, sweemin like dyeuks
Alang wi trees, upreeted, floatin like boaties
Hames washed awa, their ainers fleggt an greetin
The storm itsel, tho, disnae gie a snuff!