The Barley Queen (18 Scots Poems) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

1.Bannockburn 1314
On passing the Signs of the Battlefield on British Rail, en route to Stirling

Stirlin Castle lay in Inglis hauns
Beseiged bi Scots, a biggin strang an stoot
Edward, the Bruce's brither, ringed it roon
Ettled tae sterve the Suddron sodjers oot.

The Englishman, King Edward traivelled North.
Wi wechty cavalry, Welsh bowmen, infantry
Weapons, siege engines, buglers, meat an wines,
Wi Knichts an Barons, prood clanjamphrey

Aa merched tae Stirlin, tuik the Roman road.
The Bruce placed men wi widlan at their back
He chuse his grun fu weel, a nerra gap
Atween the trees, should ony challenge brakk

He set his pikemen heich on Gillies Hill,
Close whaur the the road fords ower the Bannock Burn.
Inbye the wids he blockit paths wi boughs,
Leavin the Inglis feint the room tae turn

Tae cowp the Inglis shelties should they chairge
He howkit pits, an happit them wi sticks,
An syne, he wyted, wi his rings o spears.
As stinch a waa as ony vrocht wi bricks

Fechtin brukk oot, the Scottish pikemen held
The beast o War, sherpened its teeth an cleuks
Like ninepins Inglis cavalry wir felled
Men crawled tae dee wi fiers, in bluidy neuks

The Inglis forces crossed the Bannock Burn
Henry De Bohun, a young Inglis knicht
Spied a lane horseman on the Scottish front
Weirin a croon, the Scots King in plain sicht

Forrit De Bohun rade wi deidly lance
As Robert raised his battle-aixe alaft
Stude in his stirrups, jinked the comin cloor
An split the foe-man's skull-bane fore an aft

Thon nicht the English camped, Bruce planned aheid.
Ower fu o war's consarns tae brakk breid
The hinmaist fecht wad be upon the morn
The verra day the Baptist, John, wis born.

Bi day-brakk, aa the Scots war in position.
King Edward, saw the Scotsmen kneel in prayer
An leuch, nae kennin they socht Heiven's blessin
Thinkin they prigged for mercy, ooto fear

The Brecbennoch wi St Columba's banes
The Abbot o Arbroath, fur aa tae see
Held heich. Twid lead them, like St Andra's Cross
Through fear an pain tae sair-earned victory

Straicht ooto Revelations, aa in reid
The Horse o War breenged oot, a fiery steed
The Bruce's pikemen, stinch as porcupine
Cowped Inglis shelts at reid-raw gory meetin
The Scotsmen focht wi steel in ilkie spine
Welsh bowmen skewered their Inglis fiers retreatin.

The bonnie Bannock burn wis smored wi deid
Ran crammosie for days wi sodjers' bluid
Edward tuik ship fur hame, a beaten cur
Fechtin for freedom gies the weakest, virr
An smeddum, tae rise up an takk a staun
Tae strive fur liberty an native lam


2.Fit ma Grandmither telt me

Tinkler, tailor, sodjer, sailor
Rich man, puir man, beggar, thief

Coont prune stanes tae larn fa ye will mairry
Ye'll grow up tae be a wife
Skail satt an haive a pinch across yer showder
Inno the Deil's ee, he micht be watchin
See a fite shelt, makk a wish fur luck
Sex isna fine at first. It growes on ye.
The weird ye'll dree, ma lass, ye winna jink
A lassie's education is important.


3.A Gey Pernickity Chiel

As eaters o aipples gyang,
Mr. Feenie wis maist pernickety
Ayewis peeled the skins aff widdershins

Watch him stert frae the stem,
Takk teenie nippicks, like a field moose
Haudin a brummle fruit

He has donated his organs tae posterity
Imagines them cupped in a surgeon's cannie hauns
Imagines the surgeon unzippin his birthday suit

Mr Feenie powks a pear like a podiatrist
Checking fur latent bunions, signs o foosht
Ye'd niver see him ett a black banana
Or use a speen marred wi a toosht o roost


4.Two Scots owersets from poems by Ivan V. Lalié, a Serbo-Croatian poet,

Thon Muckle Meen

Thon muckle meen that's jist aboot tae set
Bonnie an byordnar big, in orange bluid
Thon sweet, unroondit miracle, ae blaik winter mornin
Ower the sherp jynts o fooshtin reef rig-banes
Oh hyne-aff wytin o mine, this witnessed meen
O hinney an stoor ower chaumers noo asleep
Far the braith o luvers has mistit the seelence
On windaes as brittle as ice on puils

A meen wi nae glaisses, gun nor smile
Gaun by my life like a boatie, a thochtie dowie
As I staun here, staun here upon the shore
Ma hauns in ma pooches, an dinna meeve
For I hate the meen, this muckle meen
Tellin me: yer alane, an disna takk tent o me.


Rider: A Fresco

Cuddy an laird o the bridle, breengin as ane
In the thrall o iron. The frichtened girse
Sooks in its teenie tongues, an a grue rins
Ower the simmer seelence, teucher than glaiss
The laddie is meevement, air is resistance won.

Ee tae ee. Like wafter in watter they skyte
Edgeless, inno each ither. Cleuks aneth
The stammach, the hatred o flinty teeth
The cuddy's laithered in swyte, its een are gapin.

The lance o a suddenty, ripe wi the rider's wecht
Abeen the dragon, as cuddy an maister rear
Aneth the fogg, the yird, shakkin in fear
Has turned tae stane. The dragon's cheenged tae sclate.


5.An Owersett in Scots o a poem by Ivan V Lalic

Places We Love

Airts that we lue live anely throwe us,
Space dinged doon is anely a dwaum in aybydan time,
Airts that we lue we can niver leave,
Airts that we lue we lue thegither, thegither, thegither

An is this chaumer really a chaumer, or a bosie,
An fit is aneth the windae: a street or years?
An the windae is anely the merk left bi
The first rain we understude, foraye returnin,
An this waa didna define the chaumer, bit perhaps the nicht
That yer son began tae meeve in yer sleepin bluid,
A son like a butterflee o flame in yer ha o keekin glaisses,
The nicht ye war frichtened by yer ain licht,

An this chaumer leads inno ony eftirneen
That ootlives it, foraye stappit
Wi yer casual meevements, as ye steppit,
Like fire inno copper, intae ma anely myndin;

Fan ye gyang, space closes ower like watter ahin ye,
Dinna luik back: there is naethin ootside ye,
Space is anely time seen in anither wye,
Airts that we lue we can niver leave.


6. An Owerset into Scots from Couplets 20, by Robert Mezey

Couplets 20

Dinna be feart o deein. The glaiss o water
Is quickly poored inno the wytin joog

Yer physog'11 be nae langer eese tae ye. The keekin glaiss
Grows mair an mair see-throw, naethin is happit

It's nicht in the farrest provinces o the harns
Seein faas back, inno the great sea o licht

Foo fey, tae see thon skinklin green flee
Wauk onno the eebaa, rubbin its hauns an prayin

Dinna be feart, ye gyang tae far ye war
Afore birth pushed ye inno this cauld licht

Lie doon here aside Empedocles
Be jyned tae the sma grains o britherhood


7.An Owersett in Scots o The Peace of Wild Things Bi Wendell Berry

Fan wae for the warld growes in me
an I wauken in the nicht at the smaaest soun
feart o fit ma life an ma bairns's lives micht be,
I gyang an lie doon far the wid drake
reests in his bonnieness on the water, an the muckle heron feeds.

I come inno the peace o wud ferlies
fa dinna tax their lives wi forethocht
o wae. I come inno the presence o quaet water.
An I feel abeen me the day-blin starnies
wytin wi their licht. Fur a whyle
I reest in the grace o the warld, an am free.


8.An owersett in Scots o the poem Sometimes, bi Hermann Hesse

Whyles, fan a bird skreichs oot,
Or the win swypes ben a tree,
Or a dug howls in a far aff ferm,
I bide quaet an lippen a lang time.

Ma sowel turns an gyangs back tae the airt
Far, a thoosan forgotten years syne,
The bird an the blawin win
War sib taee me, war ma brithers.

Ma sowel turns inno a tree,
An a craitur, an a cloud bank.
Syne it cheenged an fey it comes hame
An speirs me questions. Fit should I repon?


9.An Owersett inno Scots o Flying Inside your Own Body, bi Margaret Atwood

Yer lungs fill an spreid thirsels,
wings o pink bluid, an yer banes
teem thirsels an become hollow.
Fin ye draw braith ye'll lift like a balloon
an yer hairt is licht as weel an michty,
stounin wi pure blytheness, pure helium.

The sun's fite wins blaw ben ye,
there's naethin abee ye,
ye see the eirde noo as an oval jewel,
skinklin an seablue wi luve.

It's anely in dwams ye can dae this.
Waukenin, yer hairt is a shakken neive,
a fine stoor staps the air ye breathe in;
the sun's a hett copper wecht pressin
straicht doon on the think pink rind o yer skull.

It's aywis the meenit jist afore gunshot.
Ye tcyauve an tyauve tae rise bit ye canna.


10.Wee German Poem

Naebody unnerstude
fit the wee German poem wis aboot
Aabody said it wis complex, it wis deep
Nae kennin the spikk ava, jeloused it wis rale profund

I speired at the poet:
Wis thon poem philosophic?
`A fyew wirds haein a lauch' quo she.
Nae sae much ode as comic.'


11.Echo

My time...will it be lang's the clouds in sky?
Ay
My weird, will it be roch's the hoodie craa?
Ah...
Should I takk flicht, or be a loveless bride?
Ride


12.Catriona
*Catriona is the name of a malting barley grown on Fadlydyke Farm New Deer

Simmer wins are saft an warm
See her in a Buchan Park
Swyin, bonnie blithe an swack
As gloamin deepens intae derk

See Catriona toss her pleats
The hoolet flichters up abeen
Starlicht stealin ower his wings
Ay she daunces neth the meen

Green her dress, this Buchan quine
Bred tae turn a laddie's heid
She'll set passions in a lowe
Smeddum's in her fiery bluid

Slowly, up Catriona growes
Mony moths draw tae her flame
Grown an simmered in a still
Whisky Katie is her name


13.Back Speirin

Fit did ye say ye cad yersel?
Ye didna?

My name's Joe. Yer nae a local body
There's somethin brocht ye hereabouts aa richt.
It's nae ill-fashence tho, that gars me speir
Ye micht be in the wrang place, michtn't ye?

Yer nae? Yer affa dour
Weel weel, gweed nicht.


14.The Turra Coo tune: Paddy McGinty's Goat

In the year o nineteen thirteen there arose a great to-do
Fin Lendrum's Robert Paterson wis pairtit frae a coo
He wadna pye insurance tax sae Sherriff Keith he came
Up tae the ferm the value o the unpyed tax tae claim

The family coo wis staunin chawin quate oot in the park
Tae full Lloyd George's coffers it wis liftit wi a yark
Bit fin it won tae Turra weel, fowk's rage they did reveal
An they peltit aa the Sherriff's men wi neeps an eggs as weel

Lendrum tae Leeks it wis peintit on its side
Anither fermer bocht the beast bit losh she wadna bide
The fowk in Turra brocht her back wi ribbons roon her neck
The famous shorthorn milker fa wis better than a cheque

There wis firewirks at her hamecomin, fower thoosan o a crowd,
See the Conquerin Hero comes the band wis playin lood
Wi buntin hung frae windaes, twenty members o the police
Come ower frae Inverurie tae try tae keep the peace

Noo there's holy coos in India, a coo that lowped the meen
Wi a kittlin an a fiddle an a bosker o a speen
Bit Turra's favourite hero is the cratur wi the horns
That gart Lloyd George roar oot as if she'd trampit on his corns

A postie cad Mark Gartly climmed the heicht o Bennachie
In a costume wi coo-udders roon his hurdies swingin free
There's bin raffles, quiz nichts, antique fairs, aa kinno ploy an game
Tae pye tae raise a monument tae Turra's coo o fame

I'm telt it will be biggit ooto bronze this famous coo
Wi its teets like baby bagpipes an a smile aboot its moo
Bit ae thing wi this statue that'll niver come tae pass
This coo'll be eco-frienly an blaw oot nae methane gas

Prince Charles the Duke o Rothesay, unveiled the Alford bull
Imagine if ae meenlicht nicht it gaed oot on the pull
Gaed coortin in the gloamin wi the swanky Turra coo
The calfies wad be cast-iron hits frae Slains tae Timbuctoo!


15.A Sang o Portsov: tune, the Bonnie Ship the Diamond

Portsoy it is a fishin toun upon the Moray Firth
An braw the boaties bob therein aroon the herbour girth
The partens an the labsters they stap each fishin creel
The dolphins, whales an porpoises
Aa dance the Portsoy reel

Chorus:
Oh Portsoy by the sea far the wee boaties sail
It kens the joy o briney breeze an the dunt o gurly gale

An aince a year gin ye are here, and seafarin's yer wish
They'll larn ye foo tae mend a net, makk ropes or catch a fish
They'll tell ye o the smugglin days aroon the Star Inn Bar
The smugglin crews shared oot their dues an supped a foamin jar

Chorus etc.

Gin ye should traivel tae the East, Boyne Castle for tae view
The ghaist o Mary Beaton micht appear tae gar ye grue
Gang tae the shore an frae the san lift up a pearly shell
Ye'll hear drooned men frae mony wrecks their tales o shipwrack tell

Chorus etc

An should ye fin some serpentine, the merble o this airt
Jist mynd the Palace o Versailles has a swatch o't at its hairt
For fowk fa like a couthie dram Glenglassaugh's unca gweed
It'll cheer the dreichest, dowie day an pit fire in yer bluid

Chorus

Oh cast yer een abeen the waves far gannets flee an skirl
Whyle frae the cliffs the puffins dive an roon the watters birl
The guillemots an pyoolies skreich heich in the herbour skies
An the heron at the herbour waa wytes fur the fish tae rise


16.Doric in a Suit

A Memsie loon o fermin stock, John Milne set aff fur Kings
An pruved the sheltie frae the park like Pegasus had wings
He trained up tribes o dominies gart aathin roon him sproot
An screived o orra loons an dubs in Doric...in a suit.

He warned his student chairges they maun cheep afore they craw
An be eident, fair an couthie thon's the best advice ava


17.The Maiden o Drumdurno: Tune: Barbara Allen

Twis in the month o sweet July fin hye is richt for raikin
The maiden o Drumdurno stude in her ferm kitchie bakin

An as she trauchled at her darg aside the open yett
The bannocks an the simmer sun, turned her cheeks rosy-hett

Alang the road atween the park, a stranger chiel cam ridin
A cape o black, a wide-brimmed hat, his countenance a-hidin

He tied his shelt at the stane waa, an tae the hoose cam stridin
I'm near tae dee o drouth quo he, a drap tae drink I'm seekin

She socht him in, gart him sit doon, brocht him a jog o watter
An ay he watched her, as he drank, Drumdurno's weel-faired dother.

I'll wager here, a waddin ring, the finest gowd yell see
Gin I can bigg a road frae here, tae tap o Bennachie

An aa the while, bake ye yer breid, an gin ye bake it faister
The wager lost, I'll turn awa, takk fa ye like for maister

The lassie leuch, she thocht him daft, nocht bit a gangrel body
She shook his haun, turned tae her flooer, an badd him makk his roadie

But ere an egg cracked in the bowl, tae Bennachie she keekit
An saw a sicht that gar her wish, her bonnie moo she'd steekit

He'd bigged a road up tae the tap, the cinners flew like lichtenin
An back tae claim his prize he flew, the trap aroon her tichtenin

She's fleein fur Pittodrie Wids, her hair ahin her fusslin
Auld Nick Hissel, frae lowes o Hell, sae close her back wis birsslin

Wi aa her micht the lassie prayed, as Clootie catched her showder
The Lord sent doon his mercy syne, an cheenged her tae a boulder

An noo she stauns, Drumdurno's Quine, a comely stane is she
Her keekin glaiss, still in its place, at fit o Bennachie

Some say o nichts, fin dyew is saft, she wauks the warld alane
The speerit that the Deevil wooed, men caa the Maiden Stane.


18.The Bullers o Buchan: Tune: Blow the Man down

There's a landmark in Buchan that catches yer braith
Staun firm, niver look doon
Ae slip an ye'll plunge tae a wattery daith
The ocean maks war on aa at its foun
Birds are their citizens, heich ower the sea etc
Kittiwakks, razorbills, puffins sae wee etc

Shags hing their wings ower the cliff-taps tae dry etc
Fulmars an guillemots fecht on the sly etc

Smugglers an pirates kent ilkie dark cave etc
An mony's a sailor slipped here tae his grave etc

Bit gin yer a seal or a porpoise sae braa etc
Ye'll lowp frae the waves an ye'll lauch at it aa

Takk tent or the Bullers will dash oot yer brains etc
Gin ye think this is fearie, ye hinna seen Slains etc