The Evil That Men Do (Scots Owersetts & Poems) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

8 Scots Owersets in ‘Evil’ pamphlet

1.The Panther: A Scots Owersett o a poem bi Rainer Maria Rilke
His trauchelt glisk frae passin by the bars
Has grown intae a blearie, teem-like glower
It seems tae him there are a thoosan bars
An oot ayont thon bars, teem air aa ower

The dunt o his strang feet, thon ongaun soun
O swippert tread ahin the iron bans
Is like a daunce o virr, furlin aroon
While in the mids, a bumbazed smeddum stauns

Bit there are times the preen-pricks o his een
Grow great, the strang shanks staun alert, apairt
Tense wi the linn o veesions that rise up
Anely tae sink an dee inbye his hairt


2 Ute Indian Prayer: Owersett in Scots
Yird, larn me quaetness
As the girsse is stilled bi licht
Yird, larn me sufferin
As auld stanes suffer wi myndin
Yird, larn me tae be hummle
As blossoms are hummle fin they brier
Yird, larn me carin
As the mither takks tent o her littlins
Yird, larn me courage
As the tree that stauns alane
Yird, larn me ma limitations
As the emmerteeen that creeps on the grun
Yird, larn me freedom
As the erne that flees in the lift
Yird, larn me tae thole
As the leaves thole daith in the Faa
Yird, larn me regeneration
As the seed that briers in the Spring
Yird, larn me tae forget masel
As melted snaa forgets its ain life
Yird, larn me tae mynd on kindness
As dry parks greet, eftir rain



two Scots Owersetts o Poems bi John Clare

3 Winter
Auld Januar rigged in cranreuch cauld
Comes hirplin in an aften makks a staun
The blindrift doonfaa near caas time ajee
Yule stravaigs on bit dunts his shaky haun
An Februar like a wee feartie quine
Smilin an waefu follaes on ahin
Happit in cloak o dubby roads, sair made
She hashes on, aince mair her hame tae win

Syne Merch, the seannachie, bi storms inspired
Teets up wi blytheness on the tribbled lift
An syne, in ram-stam roose, fair kittlet up
She gars the hale storm byle, an gyang quick shift
Yet neth the blaikest cloud a sunbeam’s gley
Shaws cheerie promise that spring’s on the wye


4 The Hurcheon
The hurcheon hides aneth the fooshty hedge
An biggs a nest o girsse aneth its edge
Or in a buss, or in a howked oot tree
An mony aften boo, an claim tae see
Him rowe an stap his jags fu o aik caps
An creep awa, ben far the pyot flaps
His wing at dubby dyke. In auncient reet
He biggs a nest tae full wi wid fruits sweet

On the hedge boddom, powks for nuts an slaes
An like a girselowper, chirps as he gaes
He rowes up like a baa or grumphie breet
Fin traivellers him wi tykes at their feet
I’ve seen him in their camps; they caa him sweet
Throwe blaik an wersh, a tasteless kinno meat

Bit they fa hunt the park for stinkin maet
An wash at dubby dykes, an arna blate
Tae ett fit dug’s refuse, far e’er they bide
Carena a snuff for task, or guff besides
Fowk say hurcheons milk kye, an fin they lie
Chaw at their fleshy teats an makk them dry
Bit they fa’ve seen the smaa heid, grumphie like
Rowed up tae meet the oncam o a tyke
Wi mou scarce big eneuch tae haud a strae
Will mervel at fit fyew hae seen bi day
An still they hunt the hedges aa aboot
The shepherd’s tykes are trained tae hunt them oot
They haive wi virr the wechty stick an stane
Aa peetilesss, the fecht gaes on again


5.Thich Nhat Hanh: A Zen Buddhist Prayer
Peace is in ilkie step
The sheenin reid sun is ma hairt
Ilkie flooer smiles wi me
Foo green, foo caller, aa that growes
Foo cweel the win that blaws
Peace is in ilkie step
It turns the eynless path itsel tae blitheness


6.A Tale: Miklos Radnoti(Hungary) English by Andrew Peters & Livia Varju
Peace sleeps quaet in a cave on a Ben
She’s still bit a bonnie bairn
A douce deer cams tae feed her
The wyver’s moosewab is wuvven tae hide her


7.Meen: Li Bain
Fin I wis wee
I thocht the meen wis a fite jade ashet
Or mebbe a keekin glaiss in Heiven
Fleein ben the blae clouds


8.A Cup that is Fu: Frae the Tao Te Ching bi Lao Tzu (Chinese circa 500BC)
A cup that is fu is easily skailed
A sword that is sherp is easily brukken
A hoose fu o treisur is easily reived
A body that’s prood is easy tae cowp
Aince yer wirk’s dane, seek anely tae rest
Thon is the road tae blitheness

..end of Owersetts

The Cassies
These are the souns that the toun cassies ken
The thunnner o larry gaun racketin ben
The clatter o skateboard, the hoast o a beggar
The dirl o a buggy, the steps o a shopper
The skirl o a seagull, the croo o a doo
The blether o scaffies that wirk as a crew
The tootin o bussies, the skreich o a van
The lauchter o hen-nichts oot on the ran-dan
The boozers an fowk that are oot on the razzle
Gaun styterin alang in the dreich weety drizzle
The shauchlin wauk o the auld coffin-dodgers
The slappety-slap o the faist rinnin joggers
The steer fin the green man clicks on wi a bleep
An pedestrians hash ower the cassies like sheep
The furl o a bike wheel, the dunt o a bin
The splyter o rain draps. A spylet littlin’s din
The newsin o friens: English, Doric, or Poles
The lug-rippin soun as the roadies howk holes
The loon an the quines dauchlin hame frae a class
The waddin guests scalin frae kirk in a mass
The dirl fin a pipe band stricks the cassies’ croun
The gush as a dug’s piddles treetle on doon
Tae jyne wi the chuddy, the fag eyns, the tins
O fowk fa’ve nae grasped yet the eeses o bins
The muggers, the chorers, the chauncers, heid bangers,
Step oot wi the hairdressers, nurses an bankers
Their mobile phones bleatin, like calves needin fed
As Aiberdeen traivels frae worktime tae bed
Nae tae mention the howl o the win aff the sea
The hailsteens, the rain batterin buntin skweejee

Bit the cassies thole aa…a smaa piece o the pairt
That is Aiberdeen’s heirskip, its grey granite hairt

Gaun deeper, an these are the souns cassies myne
The toun as it wis in an earlier time
The skreichin o bombers that scrattit its face
The greetin an sabbin as hames turned tae aisse
The clang o a shelt, as its hooves struck the road
The creak o a cairt wi a fresh veggie load
The chink as a tackety buit struck the stane
The sweesh o a skirt heistit ooto the rain
The whoosh o a tram as it drave ben the cauld
An aabody younger, fin fifty wis auld
The scrape o a shovel tae haud back the sna
The scart o a breem as it swypt leaves awa
For shopkeepers then tuik a pride in their store
An keepit the street weel redd up at their door

Souns o leaf, fowk an watter, fae tap tae its heid
The anely thing quaet in oor toun, are the deid!


John Fyfe 1830-1906: A Spikkin Portrait

I am John Fyffe, a blank canvas
Wi an inventive turn o mind.
A Bucksburn loon, son o a quarry maister

Oh aye: I invented the Steam Derrick Crane
An the Blondin, that heistit 20 ton
Frae a quarry’s fleer tae its edge

I cadged thon idea frae a ropewye ower the Dee
That cairried the mail frae the bank
Tae the castle o Abergeldie across the watter

An I cadged the name
O Blondin frae him fa trod a tichtrope
Abune Golden Square

Dae ye like ma beard an mowser?
Dis it makk me luik affa distinguished?
An ma suit’s the verra best that siller can buy!

I ained a quarry in Kemnay, while alive
It helped tae bigg the London Cenotaph
Biggins on Princes Street, Auld Reekie
The Forth Railway Brig, The Thames Embankment,
Marischal College, the Citadel, the Art Gallery,
St Mary’s Cathedral, Northern Assurance offices,
HM Theatre, Palace and Grand Hotels
Piers, docks, viaducts, lichthouses, sea defences tae
Ma wirks, like Ozymandius, rin aff the tongue in a torrent!

I am the heid bummer o aa heid bummers
Serjeant peinted me, aged 72
I glower oot frae the frame
In truith, like a block o granite
Roch hewn, thrawn an flinty

Provosts favoured me,
The great an the gweed
Heezed roon me like flees roon sharn

Ma granite helped bigg Sydney Herbour Brig.
Ma wirkers tuik their skills tae California,
The Mississippi Levees and Odessa.

Paradise Hill is far ma wealth cam ooto
The maist influential quarrier o ma time

Ma wife, ma Barbara, bore me a faimily o ten,
Echt dothers an twa loons.
I biggit Beechgrove Hoose for us tae rear them

Efter the honours, the siller, the darg, the tcyauve, the achievements
Fin aa is said an dane,
Fit is a man’s memorial bit his bairns?


Cuisine: Inspired by The Stove in the Studio: Paul Cezanne

Granmither’s dumplins, rich an rare
Were sappy an beguilin
Fowk lued tae sup her daily fare
Sae keep the pottie bylin

Mither’s mince wis wattery-kine
The rowth o bree fair spylin
The natural poothery tattie taste
Sae keep the pottie bylin

Granda’s parritch wis sae teuch
It near wad dae for tilin
The dauds o aets war iron-hard
Bit kept the pottie bylin

Auntie’s brummil berry pie
Fin cooked wis ripe for wylin
Ye’d traivel far tae better thon
Sae keep the pottie bylin


Clickety-Click: Inspired by An Old Woman with a Rosary Paul Cezanne

Click-clickety-click click
The string of Dementia’s beads
Rattle in my hands, thin memories

Click-clickety-click-click
Dead man’s teeth in a mug
Little bubbles rising like fish
Through the tepid water

Click-clickety-click-click
Bouncing ball on the wall
Why am I grown so old?
How has this happened?

Click-clickety-click-click
Zimmer wheels turn beneath me
Like mill stones grinding
A rag and bone person

Click-clickety-click-click
Shuttles weaving a shroud
Time is working my fingers
Into shards


The Odd Couple: Inspired by the Jan Arnolfini Marriage: Jan Van Eyck

She’s up the duff
Face like a skelped erse
Naebody else wad hae her

I winna lie at nicht an winner
Is’t my bairn?

She wis a virgin bride
(A rare thing noo)
Nae back-chat

A dab haun at hoosewirk
Vrocht her maternity frock
Frae her granny’s curtains

The headsquare’s happin her alopecia
I’m bald masel,
I’m naea beauty either

My fur coat’s ooto a car boat sale
Saves a fortune on central heatin
At nicht we warm oor feet on oor wee dug


The Wreath: Inspired by The Rosy Wealth of June: Ignace-Henri-Jean-Theodore-Fantin-Latour

The wreath sits a little too easily
On the bare midriff of the coffin

Begonias, Lilies, Dahlias and delphiniums
Begonias too, and roses
Cream, pink, red

Thorns and briers crown the wreath, like suffering
Let us not dwell on the mortal remains beneath
Let us not think of the stopped lips
The stoppered orifices
Like plugs in a bottle of holes

Shall we show compassion for one
Whom nobody liked but the florist?
The guilty son sent flowers in his absence


The Gowden Brig (Bairn Migrants)

The warld is fu o the puir an tint
Some hae hames, an ithers hae nane
An mony war shipt ower the gowden brig
Some war orphans, aa sailed as ane.

Glesga’s gorbals, fin parents deed
Seekened or pairtit, their helpless geets
Prigged or borraed or chored a crust
Frae haun tae moo on the hairtless streets

Aff the streets an intae a Hame
Chaiper tae ship ye hyne awa
Far fowk are fyew an wirkers are socht
Stappin yer heid wi veesions bra

Aff tae the Gowden Brig o dreams
Canada, far there’s wealth for aa
Wee an feart, ye boord a boat
Swallaein bairns in its muckle mawe

Jist yer luck that the trip is roch
Days o seekness, for hame, the sea
Gars ye cowk, maet’ll nae bide doon
At nicht ye trimmle wi misery

Noo ye’ve crossed the Atlantic wave
Met an fed an wytin a place
Will fa chuses tae takk ye in
Be kind, an gie ye a breathin space?

Gin yer lucky, they micht be guid,
Gin yer nae, yer a slave tae chase
Kicked an cloored like an ootliined tyke
Nane tae listen, or plead yer case

Ae quine keepit her frostbit feet
Warm, bi staunin in drappit sharn
Ae loon nursed twa brukken ribs
Eftir a beatin in the barn

Years win by, an bairns are men
Scotlan…far are their kinfowk noo?
Dis ony ane care for the hyne awa
Shipped awa in the last adieu?

Dis yer ma drink gin,
Dis she drink it oot a tin
Dis she get a funny feelin
That she’s gonnie hit the ceilin
Dis yer ma drink gin? ...trad


Maud

Backhill of Ironside, Scareleys, Hareshowe
Gilkhorn, East Gowkhill, Hardbedlam, on throwe
Doghillock, Rashypans, Swanford as weel
Sprottyneuk, Hindhillock, Drymuir, Clackhill
Achreddie, Silverlead, Yonderton tae
These an Pitfoskie ye’ll see in a day
By Mill o Fedderagate, roon bi Balthangie
Up Hill o Corsegight, far brakes are gey handy
Backhill o Clackriach, Nether Gookhill
Fridayhill, Kiddshill, haun on wi a will
Bog o Artomfard an Punnercroft, trauchelt
Back bi the Waggle Cairn wishin ye’d dauchelt
At Maud, for a sup an a bite afore traivellin
The length o the Ordinance Survey map, raivellin!


The Hotel

The hotel wis a wirk still in progress
The men war still layin the fleer
Bit the meals war aa fully digestit
An oor atween courses, I sweir

I thocht that a murder hid happened
Stairs taped…wi forensic intent?
Bit the tape wis fur blockin the staircase
For fear fowk wid bladd the cement

Aa thon guests, an wi ae elevator?
Health n’ Safety wad hae sax blue fits
Hid a fire brukken oot in the kitchie
We’d aa hae bin birssled tae bits

An the shooer wis inventit for Noah
A flat fleer that the watter scooshed ben
Still, the hotel provided the towels
Tae sype up the sottar, ye ken



The Liver Birds

The Liver Birds are unca birds
They dinna flech nor cheep
Their body’s like an unca shag
Their heid’s an eagle’s beak

The She-Bird luiks far oot tae sea
(For trade, a global token)
The He-Bird faces tae the toun
Tae see the pub yetts open

Hitler’s Day Oot
I winner of Hitler liked ice cream?
Did he goose step ben the stran
Wi his mowser stapped wi vanilla
Frae the 99 cone in his haun?

Did he paiddle a while wi his breeks rowed up?
Did partens chaw on his taes?
Fin Hitler traivelled tae Liverpool,
Oh foo did he spen his days?