The Wind's Nest: (24 Scots Poems) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

The Wind's Nest: (24 Scots Poems)



1.The Cod Quartet

We o the tinned an sequinned ee
Fin, fjord, fishickie, daith tae the net
Doon in faddoms o foam, sweem free
Swye in time tae the cod quartet
Halibut, whitin, sole an hake
Fin, fjord, fishickie, daith tae the net
Roon the corals an reefs we raik
Foo we jink tae the cod quartet!
Wee line dauncers, sea-fowk aa
Fin, fjord, fishickie, daith tae the net
Shimmy an shakk frae the shark's blaik mawe
See us flee in the cod quartet!

Far the Atlantic brakks its waves
Fin, fjord, fishickie, daith tae the net
We rype moofus frae seamens' graves
Turn in time frae the cod quartet!

2.Crovie wi Dug an Gull

Dyod ay! Tae see the washin steer
In Crovie's backies by the pier
Tae sniff the backets fu o rotten
Orrals, the dulse-stank, unforgotten
Guff o the sea, an hear the win
Howlin aroon each wheelie bin.

Dae blobs o jeely-fish ay lan
Like snot, alang this fishy stran?
Dae fishers still pyke fooshtie scales
Aff o their sarks wi briny nails?

Dis morning still bring wheechs o cauld
Tae jeel the young an skelp the auld?
Dis gloamin time bring mair soor bree
Ower Crovie's stanes, frae Crovie's sea?

An eftir, fin the stars come oot
Dis ae dug powk wi snochrin snoot
Hopin fur ferlies he micht chaw
Or his the gull clean rypit aa?
Dae shags still shauchle ower the sea?
An are there buckies, still fur tea?


3.Damaged Goods

The urban trees staun sterk, alane,
Up till their queats in gowden smush
An ilkie blatterin, bowfin win
Gars mair leaves birl in the doonrush

The Xmas lichts bleeze in the air
The greasy cassies skyte wi rain
The bus is thrang wi oot-gaun fowk
Grey tears blear ilkie windae-pane

Dowped in ma seat I'm settin oot:
A ceilidh, friens, a festive oor
I'm diddlin a gleg strathspey
An takk nae tent o Winter's clour

A hoodie dichts its vampire beak
Doon its funereal flappin duds
A bairn in wellies stauns ootby
Wytes fur the bus in puils o dubs

I think on orchards as a bairn
I stood aneth, the sweet fruit caught
An on the windfaas in the wid
That rummled bruised, an didna stot
Ae meenit, wheeplin a tune,
The neist, I'm laired, heid on the grun
Somelike the rowin o a pirn
It stitches steeked, its threid ootrun.


4.Curriculum for Excellence

I'm a real top-teen in the day's Academy
A confident individual, that's me. See on a bus?
I hae tae be seen tae be believed.

I can clear the deck in meenits,
Spittin doon semmits...
Takk Sleepin Beauty yonner
Mebbe she's deid.
Divn't auld fowk gie ye the scunner?
She'd wauken if I skelp her on the heid
I happy-slap a pensioner a day.
Nae my wyte, Missus Social Wirker Thinggy
See, naebody iver showed me foo tae play.
(This is the cue fur as ye bams tae greet)
Bit I'm a successful learner
An effective contributor tae mayhem, communal keech.

I am tomorrow's citizen, by the way
Interactin in fitbaa stooshies
Touchin up barmaids' titties
Problem solvin foo tae brakk ma ASBO
Spikkin ma wye roon panels
Coontin ma chored gear
Sharin ma stash o hash
Wi the second year
Explorin wyes tae scarifee the warld
(It's social enterprise) . Ay, Turner Gallery,
My graffiti's art.
I ken ma richts..ye canna touch me pal
I'm nae feart o some auld mingin fart
Hit back, I'll say that yer a paedophile
Here...let me kick yer coupon
Takk it wi a smile.


5.The Ratten
Some old fireplaces in Aberdeenshire weren't furnished with a 'swey' but a cross, called a 'runtle tree' inside the chimney. A chain hung from it with hooks for the cooking pot handles. The following rhyme is from the fragment of a verse (in italics) told to me by Catriona Low of Severin Publishing.

A ratten ran up the runtle-tree
Wi a reid bit liver in his throat,
Cryin harras, barras, traps an trams
This auld wife's clogs hae brunt ma coat! '

It's a puir-like thing fin there's meat laid oot
Tae gar the teeth o a ratten watter
An aa tae kindle ma nyaakit tail
A curse on her piz, her pot, her platter!

May her steys be ticht an her dug takk skitter
Her coo rin dry an her bairns hae plooks
Her stovies birssle, her meat be girssle
May rattens fatten in aa her neuks! '
6.The Comin o the Flamingos

Hae ye heard the news?
Flamingos hae settled in Banchory
They've taen ower the local heronry
Pinchin the troot ooto the herons' moos
Fit's waur, reports confirm these birds are skyrie pink
Fa fiver heard o a native Scottish bird that wis skyrie pink?
Anely a freak has a beak like a flamingo
Like it's daen ten roons in a fitba supporter stooshie

`They should aa flee back tae their kintra o origin'
The hoodie craas complained.
`We canna' replied the flamingos.
'We're official asylum seekers,
Noo that yer humans hae turned oor wids
Intae lottery tickets,
Daily Stars, bog roll an pairty hats'

The pheasants held their wheesht, as weel they micht
Haein sneakit in at the dowp o the Roman legions
Mind, they niver stray frae the ghetto o the trees
They bide under sufferance, fodder fur towrist bullets

A twa three peacocks gaed a dweeble skirl
Syne ran awa afore the hoolets clooked them
The gulls were mair hospitable
Welcomed the strangers in wi open wings.

`Welcome, brither flamingos' quo the gulls
`We feel yer pain. We'll gie ye the guided tour
0 faist food options...playgruns, rubbish tips
An public parks. Naebody likes us either.
An Oo la la, yer feathers luik real French.
Mebbe we cud ceilidh in the glomain? '


7.The Eirde is wide Tune: The Banks of the Ohio

The Eirde is wide, yet the Eirde is sma
It needs the rain an the wattergaw
For ilkie man, ilkie brierin tree
Shares the sun an meen, wi the shiftin sea

I am the stoor on a Roman street
I am the tear on a hameless geet
I am the win in a Bronx Subway
I am the tree on a Heilan brae

The wids that faa in a distant lan
Teem the warld's glaiss o its precious san
An the knife that turns in the tiger's side
Adds a wave o bluid tae the traivellin tide

The farrest bird heard the twin touers faa
As the oceans rise in the meltin snaa
A warld that's hurt is a warld in pain
An the leaves turn black in the acid rain

I am the sang o the humpback whale
I am the wheech o the birlin gale
I am the wing o the hoodie craa
For the warld's pulse, beats in us as


8.Variable Ailments

The measles are spreidin roon Glesga
There's swatches o plooks aboot Troon
There's a North/Sooth divide o the shingles
There are spells o the pox in Dunoon

There's a warnin o asthma in Alva
A wheen caulds comin in frae the west
Bit the flu in Birkhaa it is dwinin awa
(Tho Camilla, clart Vic on her chest)


9.Panjotterels

In ilkie family
Ane's the stang o the trump
Masel an ma brither
War anely the panjotterels


10.The Dinosaur

A dinosaur! A dinosaur!
We niver saw the like afore!
The beastie makks the bairnies roar
fae Sumburgh tae Singapore!

A dinosaur! His muckle moo
has teeth as lang as knives
An fin he roars, the tabby
losses as its seven lives!

A dinosaur! His ilkie snore
caas continents ajee.
An fin he piddles, lochs arise
as braid's the Irish sea.

A dinosaur! Fit dis he ett?
A herd o coos for tea!
He sweels it doon wi a lagoon
o vats o barley bree

A dinosaur! His heid's amang
the aeroplanes an stars
His legs are pylons, tail's as lang's
a traffic jam o cars.

A dinosaur's a fearsome breet
fin it lies doon tae claw,
Bit fin it daunces, hae a care
skyscrapers stert tae faa!


11.The Skiffie's Rant

Ye students are aa the same.
Playin at wirk...nae like yer earnin a livin.
Dinna ken yer alive. Ye dinna pit breid on the table
Fur a family. Na, aa fur yersel, tae get blootered
Doon the union.

I'd show ye. Oot on yer lug if ye were mine.
Twenty years I've mopped these bluidy fleers
Dae I complain? Hot flushes, piles, bad veins I jist get on.

See yer hauns? Saft as fooshtie dough
Widna ken a hard day's graft if it stood up
An skelped ye on the neb. Shitehooses the lot o ye.
Cairryin on like ye war still in hippens.

Students? Mair wirk than they're wirth
Bleedin waste o space.
Gap year? Gap year? I'm lucky if I get a wikk awa
Ower in Majorca, or awa at Nairn.
Far wid ye be if naebody cleaned yer fleers?
E-coli city, that's far ye'd be.
Ay, that dichtit the grin frae aff yer face.


12.Fergusson in Bedlam
Lichtlie this gin ye daur:
Here Robert Burns knelt and kissed the mools: Robert Garioch

Twa trees grew reets in Tarlan.
Their seed in Embro briered
Doon in the Cap an Feather
Close a new Scots poet steered.

Rab suckled at Kildrummy's briest,
Forbes' bluid ran through his veins
Thon littlin, schuled at Niddry's Wynd,
bigged cairns frae chukkie stanes

Frae bursery, tae student-chiel, tae clerk....
a scunnerin dule
In club an howf he raised the reef,
a blithesome, uncut jewel

He'd thrive on porter, haddock, gin.
Daft days o luv an sang
A caunle-lowe quick smored o licht,
wud waes cam thick an strang

Auld Reekie wis his subjeck,
as gutter bares a cod
He laid her open, wame on hoch,
on poetry's feastin brod

There wis nae line bi Fergusson
rang onythin bit true
Nae listenin critic happed his lugs
an skelloched Gardez-Loo

A dram, a faa, a raivellin,
cracked cup o fragile harns,
The wit that jibbled like a spring
wis fyled bi fey consarns

Lang Sandy Wid the surgeon,
stepped in tae see him syne
Oh far 's the bonnie laddie,
could cheer us wi a rhyme?

He sat, the King o Bedlam,
weirin a croon o strae
Grey rattens fur his courtiers,
a patch-breek monarchy

The fowk in his tint kintra,
that ootlinned pit o Hell
Skirled frae the foun o misery,
each in his cauldrife cell

The warld wis Rabbie's oyster,
and he, the pearl inbye
At twenty-fower the play wis ower.
Daith's knell, his lullaby.


13.Cornkister for Boris the Shelt Tune: The Barnyards o Delgaty
Boris the shelt raised £100,000.00 for children's cancer charity. He was voted Aberdeen's Champion of Charity in 2002, and appeared in Mel Gibson's Braveheart. He died aged 24.

In Aiberdeen there wirked a shelt, a muckle Clydesdale lued bi aa
The Gentle Giant o the North, fa bedd in Geordie Walker's staa

Chorus:
Clydesdales come an Clydesdale's gyang. This ane gaen tae Hollywood
The stallion famed in buik an film, the shelt cad Boris aabody lued

Sivven hunner shows an waddin days, Wi George his maister at the reyns, There's mony's the merriege album hauds Braw Boris hurlin loons an quines.

He'd wauk-on roles in Emmerdale. In Hamlet, aince, he tuik a pairt
Bit at the littlins' hospital, twis there he won the bairnies' hairts

A hunner thoosan pun he raised, this champion o charity
This hero o a heeze o buiks, the shelt fa shunned celebrity

Sae fare ye weel ye kindly breet, there's nae anther hauf yer wirth
Fa plooed a dreel tae help mankind, the Gentle Giant o the North


14.If It Wisna for the wirk o the Builders

Tune: If it Wisna for the Wirk o the Weavers

Chorus
If it wisna for the builders, far wid we be?
Far wid we keep oor cars, computers an TV?
Far wid we stash oor cookers, beds an lingerie
If it wisnae for the wirk o the builders?

Davie has a bungalow, wi cairriage lichts sae braw
Tae licht up ilkie veesitor that enters in the haa
Tae bigg his wee bit Shangri-la a forest hid tae faa
Bit that wisnae ony tcyauve tae the builders
Mary's in a skyscraper aside the sanny dunes
Wi a budgie an a bidie-in an sivven teenage loons
Bit the ocean level's risin, we hae read it in the runes
She'll be sennin fur the flitters nae the builders
Jimmy had a but-n ben upon a heather brae
It wis skelp amids the pathie o the planner's motorway
Bit progress is a steamroller ye canna keep at bay
Sae his hoosie will be flattened bi the builders
Aince we hid a kintraside aroon oor bonnie toon
Wi ferms an breemy hill-taps each a jewel in oor croon
Noo we've miles an miles o hooses for they're caain widdies doon
In the urban keech that's biggit bi the builders

Aince towrists cam tae Scotland tae see its bonnie views
Noo buses dae the highlicht tour o cul de sac an mews
Wi music o pneumatic drills tae jog ye fin ye snooze
For it's taa taa tae the kintra say the builders

Aa ye tods an bawds on mavises that settle on the Ben
The peesie an the ptarmigan in ilkie snawy glen
Ye'd better sign up for a zoo or find yersel a pen
Afore ye maun skedaddle fur the builders


15.Back Gairdens

Butterflees flap ower lids o wheelie bins
Sypin sheets an breeks o bidie-ins
Wallop an skelp on ilkie washin line
Graffiti peels on boord an traffic sign

A lassie raxxes up, pegs stapped in moo
Feet splayed in bauchles, sun upon her broo
Her littlin stots upon a trampoline
Heid shaved like heroes frae the TV screen

Her airms are blue tattoes o barbed wire
She boozed as nicht an noo her throat's on fire
A spurgie tries his mate fur a wing trimmler
A wasp droons in a halflin's cider tumbler

The Simmer backies hotter in the heat
Costa Del Aiberdeen. Gallus, bit sweet.


16.The Ootin

Iona, Shona, Rhona, wi Angus, Fergus, Neil
Gaed up tae tour the Heilans wi a labster in a creel
Ben MacDuih's yeti, ett Fergus fur a snack.
The Carlin-Wife o Morven, threw Angus doon a crack.
Iona, syne, an Rhona, war cowpit in a gale
An the monster kent as Nessy swallaed Neil an Shona hale

Sae dinna book yer holidays far ghaists an monsters heeze
Yer safer in the Congo than in the Hebrides.


17.Junkie Bairn's Blues

My mither is my granny, cause my ma is on her back
Wi a needle in her airm an her body fu o smack
I dinna get tae see her. She's wastit ilkie day
An because o pervs an muggers, I bide inside tae play
I think I hae a faither. It micht be Joe, or Sam
Or Abdul or Mohammed. Whyles, I winner fa I am

Bit still, I keep on growin. I'm granny's special bairn
Altho she's auld an crabbit. I'm fed an safe frae herm

An fin I'm big an wirkin, I think I'll emigrate
Tae find a better warld than this they caa the Welfare State.


18.The Faa o the Warsaw Ghetto
An Owersett in Scots o swatches frae a 7-day anonymous diary screived in Polish bi a Jewess, fand in the ruins o the Ghetto eftir the 1943 uprisin


We're inbye a bunker. The soun o fitfaas
A chap at the yett, jeels oor claik.
The bunker's thrang wi fowk
Ithers, chap, chap, sikkin a bield
The air inbye sae fyaachie, ye'd gey near smore.
Sae close, ye canna sleep.

0 a suddenty, ootby, aathin's cad tae crocanation
Quaet fills the chaumer. Sodjers cercle the hoose
Sikkin tae catch us. The anely weapon we hae
Is oor deid seelence.

This is oor tenth day hidden in this bunker
Ettlin tae live, sikkin the richt tae live
The air is wersh, oor bodies lowp wi flechs.
Germans are sheetin ilkie Jew they fin.

Cut aff frae the warld, we dinna spikk o rescue
Ootby in the cassies, aa's in a lowe.
Factories, shops, hale hooses...
The ghetto's a sea o flames ayont salvation
Daith's the King-pin here. Nae incam and nae ootgaun
Mony smore on the rikk, skreichin tae God `Hae mercy on us'
God's as quaet's a sphinx, makks nae repon.
An ye, the nations, foo are ye sae mute?
Dinna ye ken the eyn o the warld has come?
Dante's Inferno...Hell is here on the Eirde
We live eenoo by the day, the oor, the meenit.


19.The Terrorist, he watches An owersett in Scots o a poem bi Wislawa Szymborska

The bomb'll caa aa tae smush in the howf at twenty past ane.
Noo, it's anely saxteen meenits by.
Some'll hae time tae cam in,
Ithers tae gyang.

The terrorist's already on the tither side
Hyne eneuch awa tae protect him frae herm
An, weel, it's like the picters:
A wummin in a yalla jaiket, she enters
A chiel in derk glesses gyangs oot
Loons in jeans are newsin.
Saxteen meenits by, an fower secunts.

The wee'er ane, he's lucky, mounts his scooter
But the heicher lad wauks in.
Seeventeen meenits an forty secunts.

A quine, she wauks by, a green ribbon in her hair.
Bit a bus o a suddenty, hides her.
Echteen meenits past. The quine's vanished.

Wis she gyte eneuch tae gyang in or wis she nae?
We'll ken fin they bring oot the bodies.
Nineteen meenits by.

Naebody else ettles tae gyang in
On tither haun, a creashie bald chiel leaves
Bit seems tae raik his pooches
At ten secunts tae twenty, he's back tae luik fur his tint gloves.
It's twenty by ane.

Time, foo it dauchles. Surely it's noo.
Nae, nae yet
Ay, noo.
The bomb caas aa tae stoor.


20.In Praise o ma Sister An owersett in Scots a poem bi Wislawa Szymborska

Ma sister disnae screive poems
An I dinna think, o a suddenty, she'll stert screivin poems.
She's the marra o her mither fa didna screive poems
An like her faither fa didna screive poems either.
Aneth ma sister's reef I feel safe:
Ma sister's man wad rather dee than screive poems
An- this is beginnin tae soun like a fand poem¬
Nane o ma kin screive poems either.
There's nae auld poems in ma sister's files
An there arenae ony new anes in her haunbag.
An fin ma sister sikks me tae denner
I ken she disnae ettle tae read me her poems.

Her soups are byordnar weel vrocht
There's nae coffee skailt ower her manuscripts.

There are mony faimlies fur naebody screives poems
Bit far they dae- it's rarely jist ae body
Whyles, barderie splooters doon in linns o generations
Makkin frichtenin birlin puils in mutual feelins.

Ma sister screives a rale gweed spukken prose
An her screivin's keepit for holiday postcairds
The wirds promisin the same ilkie year
That fin she's hame
She'll tell us
Aa
Aa
Aa
Aboot it.


21.Pruifs An owersett in Scots o a poem bi Tadeusz Rozewicz

Daith winna correct
A single line o verse.
She's nae a pruif-reader
She's nae an easy-osy
Wifie editor.

A puir metaphor's aybydaun
A nyaff bard fa's deid
Is a nyaff deid bard.
A scunner scunners eftir daith
A gype keeps up his glekit claik
Frae ayont the mools


22.Lady o Miracles An owersett in Scots o a poem bi Nina Cassian

Since ye wauked oot on me
I'm growin bonnier bi the oor.
I glimmer like a corp in the derk.
Naebody sees foo roon an sherp
Ma een hae gotten,
Foo ma body luiks like a gless urn
Foo I haud up ferlies
In the threidbare cloots o ma hauns
The wye I can staun, though cripplit bi lust.
Na, there's jist thon coorseness cerclin
Ma heid like a bricht, soorin halo.


23.SacrilegeAn owersett in Scots o a poem bi Nina Cassian

I ett the tongue o the stag
The thick stag-tongue that eesed
Tae lick the leaves, the burn;
On it I chawed, joco.

I ett the maet o the stag
The virr-like meat at his thrapple
I ett his hairt an syne
On his antlers, hung ma mac.
Betimes, the huives, neb, skin¬
Aathin un-ettable
Lay skittered on the grun
Ay bleedin on the grun.


24.Deieuner sur I'herbe An owersett in Scots o a poem bi Tu Fu

It's a pleisur tae boord the ferry in the sunlicht
As the late licht mells inno gloamin;
The saft win toozles the river, rimmed wi faem.

We meeve throw the aisles o bamboo
Forrit tae the cweelin watter-lilies.
The young lads drap ice inno drinks
While the quines slice a sonsie lotus reet.

Abeen us, a swatch o cloud spreids, derkenin
Like a watter-merk on silk.
Jot this doon quick afore the rain!

Dinna dowp doon yonner! The cushions war syped wi the shooer.
Already the lassies hae drooked their crammosie skirts.
The dearies murn their bonnie peintit faces, mascara straikit pooder.

The win blatters oor boatie, the moorin-line
Has rubbit a sair in the bark o the dowie sauch tree
The foun o the curtains are patternet wi river faem.
Like a knife in a melon, Autumn havvers Simmer.

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