Three Cats Flying 20 Poems In Scots Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Two Scots owersetts from American Negro Poetry
1.Turn tae ma Yalla Leaves (William Stanley Braithwaite b.1878)

Turn tae me ma yalla leaves I am better satisfeed
Something dings me tae ma knees
That wis niver born, nor deid

Let me be a reid-hett flame
On a winny Autumn morn
I, fa niver had a name
Nor frae breathin picture born

Frae the margin let me faa
Far the hynest stars drap doon
An the Void ingaithers aa
Inbye Naethiness tae droon

Let me dream ma dream entire
Wizzent as an Autumn leaf
Let me hae ma vain desire
Vain as it is brief


2.The Harlem Dauncer: Claude McKay: born Jamaica 1889
Young laddies lauched an clapped wi soople jaads
An watched her rare, hauf-nyaakit body swey
Her voice wis douce as flutes that fowk applaud
Flutes played bi Negroes on a picnic day

She sang an daunced sae graceful-like an calm
The licht gauze hingin lowse aboot her skin
Tae me she seemed a proudly-sweyin palm
Grow bonnier, storm-tossed by music's win

Upon her darksome nape, blaik curls twined
Drapped on her briest. On her their gowd fowk spent
The boozy bigsy loons, an even the quines
Fixed on her wi their een in bumbazement
Bit luikin on her fausely-face I kent
Her hairt wis hyne frae thon fey place


3.The Teddy (Overheard on the bus)
I'm no a violent person. Bit see if she'd done thou
Tae my son, hingin up the phone,
Wastin his credit…I'd hae kicked her doon the stairs

How many das buy their bairn a teddy?
How many das bother nooadays?
An a teddy's better than naethin, so it is.
Mean tae say, it shows the laddie cares....


4.Barin Three Broon Teeth
Like a wersh lemon
Februar sun sits soor on granite was
Hauns are berriet in pooches
Mithers weir mochles
Pushing their buggies
By cut-price shoppie windaes
Mega sales an boordit up store fronts.

Tae the Green Man's Beep
Fowk stride ower the cassies
Like shears snippin throw claith

The timmer door o a howf
Is scarifeed bi the Sizzens
Bi dug pish an pyocherin punters

Throwe crancreuch cauld
The chitterin snaadraps shakk
A chiel wi a neb like a straaberry
Steps smilin onno the bus
Face like a lantern
Barin three broon teeth


5. Sarcophagus (for Bishop William Elphinstone: 1431-1514)
A Glesga baimie, (son o a prelate
Fa brukk the vow o bidin celibate)
This lad wis schuled an raised wi quaet care
Fa's weird it wis tae sclimm up pouer's stair

Tae Glesga, Paris, Orleans he gaed
Fur lear, an syne a Bishop he wis made
In Scotland's parliament his wirth an sense
Wis kent bi aa...his influence, immense

A diplomat, fa naethin left tae chaunce
He wis despatched wi secrecy tae France
As Lord Heich Chancellor, this clivver chiel
Wi Maximilian sat doon tae deal

Made Keeper o the Scottish Privy seal
A Papal bull rewardit William's zeal
King's College wis begun. King James agreed
That funds should drive the projeck on wi speed

Fin Flodden cut the flooer o Scotlan doon
(a bluid lettin o Commons Lords an Croun)
InWilliam's care the infant King wis left
An elder statesman, wi a bairn bereft

Centuries passed. A sculptor wis employed
A great sarcophagus, baith heich an wide
Tae bigg, in honour o this Elphinstane
Tae show King's College valued his great name

The wirk began in Venice. War drum beats
Fleggit the warld. Brocht daith tae Europe's streets
The sculptor's wark wis hidden in the cool
0 a canal, till peace returned tae rule

Syne hame it cam frae Venice tae the toun
Far auncient Kings sits dwaumin neth its croun
This great sarcophagus, aneth the sky
Tholes win an rain far strangers daunder by


6. Myndin Day Fur The War Deid: Scots owersett o a Poem bi Yehuda Amichai

Myndin day fur the war deid. Add noo
the wae o aa yer losses tae their grue, even o a wumman fa's left ye.
Mell sorra wi sorrow, like time-savin history,
that biggs holiday an sacrifeece an murnin
on ae day fur easy, handy myndin.

Ach, sweet warld steeped, like breid,
in sweet milk fur the feariesome teethless God.
'Ahin aa thon some great blythness is happit.'
Nae eese tae greet inbye an tae skirl ootbye.
Ahin aa thon a muckle blytheness is happit.

Myndin day. Wersh satt is tricked oot
as a wee quine wi flooers.
The streets are tethered aff wi towes,
fur the merchin thegither o the leevin an the deid
Bairns wi a wae that's nae their ain merch slawly,
like steppin ower brukken glaiss.

The flautist's moo will bide like thon fur mony days.
A deid sodjer sweems abeen wee heids
wi the sweemin meevements o the deid,
wi the auncient mistakk the deid hae
aboot the airt o the livin watter.

A flag losses contack wi reality an flees aff.
A shoppie windae is decked oot wi
dresses o bonnie weemen, in blue an fite.
An aathin in three leids:
Hebrew, Arabic, an Daith.
A michty an royal breet is deein
aa throwe the nicht aneth the jasmine
tree wi an ongaun glower at the warld.
A chiel faas laddie deed in the war wauks in the street
like a wumman wi a deid bairn in her wame.
'Ahin aa thon a muckle blytheness is happit.'


7.An Thon is yer Glamourie: Scots owersett o a Poem bi Yehuda Amichai

I've yokit thegither ma braid seelence an ma wee ootspikk
Like a coo an a cuddy. I've bin throwe laigh an heich
I've bin in Jerusalem, in Rome, an mayhap in Mecca anon
Bit noo God's hidin, an Man greets, 'Far hae ye gaen? '
An thon is yer Glamourie

Aneth the warld, God raxxes stretched on his back
Aywis repairin, aywis ferlies turn blaik
I wintit tae see him aa, bit I see nae mair
Than the soles o his feet an I'm dowier than afore
An than is his Glamourie

Even the trees gaed oot aince tae chuse a king
A thoosan-fauld I've gaen ma life ae mair fling
At the eyn o the street, some chiel wyles wi a hiss:
This ane, an this ane, an this ane, an this ane, an this
An thon is yer Glamourie

Mebbe like an auncient statue that's tint its airms
Oor life, wioot deeds an heroes hauds greater cherms
Rug aff ma t-shirt, luv, this wis ma hinmaist fecht
I focht wi the knights, the electric ran ooto pech
An thon is ma Glamourie

Rest yer hains, it ran wi me aa the wye
It's trauchelt noo, it needs tae be lowsed fur the day
I see ye staun bi the open fridge-door licht
Frae heid tae tae, frae anither warld, than sicht
An thon is ma Glamourie
An than is his Glamourie
An than is yer Glamourie


8. An Owerset o The Laxdaela Saga, The Death o Kjartan
Noo Kjartan rode sooth doon the glen aside anither twa
Thorarin stoot wi An the Black, three fiers baith brave an braw

Thorkell, a chiel at Goat-peak's tap, in Swinedale, frae its heicht
Luiked wi his herd ower shelts an yowes on twa groups like tae fecht

Kjartan an his friens rade on, unseen, the hidden foe
The men o Laugar lay in wyte tae gie them their daith-blow
On Goat-peak's tap the herd spakk oot
'Gweed maister, we should steer
An warn Kjartan an his friens that danger's draain near'

Thorkell he gart the herd be quate quo ' Aa man dree their weird
Set oot bi fate...forbye, ' quo he, 'There's nocht tae he afeard

Jist watch Kjartan, skeely, fierce show aff his warrior's skill
Agin the men that wyte for him unseen, ahin Goat-gill'

Kjartan he lowped aff his steed tae Osvif' s sons he's gaen
'Oh staun ye by thon muckle stane. Wyte there, till aa be dane.'

He flang his spear at Thorolf's shield. It flew as faist's the win
An pierced the airm that held it heich richt throwe the flesh an skin

Syne Thorolf drapped the shield an turned aside frae battle's rage
The sons o Thorhalla focht on Thorarin tac engage.

Noo Osvif's sons an Gudluag raise, Kjartan for tae fecht
Bit An steppt up tae guaird his fier an strove wi virr an micht

Bolli an Fitbiter stude back. Kjartan focht sae weel
Time an again, his sword he bent an strauchtened neth his heel

Osvif's an An's twa sons war hurt. Kjartan bore nae woun
Fin Osvif' s sons they turned on An. Gralloched, he drappit doon

Kjartan cuttit Gudluag' s shank clean aff, abune tbe knee
An sent him on the laigh road hame, a corp upon the lea

Aa fower sons o Osvif fell on Kjartan, bit sae brave
A hero, he held aa at bay tho unca near the grave

Kjartan tae his kinsman spakk, 'Bolli, ye left yer hame
Yet staun ye quaet an takk nae side, chuse noo, in honour's name.'

Bolli made on he didna hear. Ospak he priggit sair
'Oh ye hae vowed tae help oor fecht steer noo, oor lot tae share

Kjartan's haun has held us doon even on maitters slicht'
Quo Ospak, 'Gin ye turn yer back, ye tae, maun ken his micht.'

Sae Bolli jyned wi Fitbiter. His foster-brither, faced.
Kjartan quo 'Ye've chosen ill. I wadna be disgraced

Bi slayin ye. I'd rather dee masel. I'll nae jink daith.'
Kjartan flang his weapons doon tae face his mortal skaith

Syne Bolli cuttit Kjartan low an held him as he deed
An rued straicht aff the bitter blow that skaled Kjartan 's bluid

The sons o Osvif, Bolli sent intae the kintraside
Bit wi Thorarin an the slain he chose tae watch an bide

Tae Laugar, Osvif's sons rade aff tae noise the victory tale
Gudrun delichtit in the news, like sun, ahint a gale

They bun up Thorolf' s hurtit airm. It healed, bit tint its virr
Kjartan's corp cam hame tae Tongue, an Bolli, tae Laugaur

Gudrun rade oot tae meet Balli, an speirt fit wis the time
On hearin it wis nearhaun noon, she cried, the fickle quine

'This foreneen's wark for baith o us in different wyes wis gweed
I've vrocht twal ells o hamespun oo. Ye've skaled Kjartan's bluid.'

Aneth the grun war Osvif' s sons hid in a lair o yird
Thorhalla's lads rade tae the West tae bring the Priest the wird.

At Herdholt, a hale wikk in state, Kjartan's body lay
Syne Thorstein Egilson bore him aff, tae his last hame o clay

At Burg the kirk wis hung in white, new consecrated grun
Kjartan's grave lies ower there, his mortal days ootrun


9. Fareweel Scots owerset o a swatch frae Girselowper Music, bi Szabo Lorine

Fit's adee? Ma dearie, dinna greet. Fit
I felt wis: moultin. There's bin a meltin

o the threids in ma weird, an noo I'm wuvven
bi a hunner spaces an times (in the auld days ane) ,
dingin-doon-an-biggin. Cooshie-doos curmur up yonner,
hae sung fower days abeen me; bit I'd tak grue
o tellin ye fearie wars hae raged here as weel.

Even tae masel it's hard tae believe this is true,
although ma senses raxx oot ilkie meenit.
Yer pain is new, luiks throwe me, speirs far I bide.
In a million airts ilkie inch o me!

Fit is it syne? Luv, electricity?
I'm in the derk yet. Mebbe gowd-gas-atom,
mebbe hett-ray-nucleus. Licht on Saturn, space-livin licht.
It's unca fey. Bit that
the Aybydan is anely a Poet's harns I's warrant seems true. –
Are ye gaun? I feel nicht's touch.


10. Blue Jotter: Scots owerset o poems bi Danyill Kharms
Aince there lived a reid-heidit cheil wioot een an lugs
He'd nae hair either, sae he wis caad reid-heidit
bi wye o generalization He couldna spikk, as he'd nae mou.
The same wi his snoot.
Even airms an shanks, he jist didna hae ony.
Nor wyme, nor dowp, nor rig-bane
An nae intimmers.. He didna hae onythin!
Sae it's nae clear ava fa is bein spukken aboot
In fack, let's nae spikk aboot him onymair.


11. A Romance: Scots owerset o poems bi Danyill Kharms
He luiks at me wi the een o a gyte chiel
It's yer hoose an yett I ken sae wee! .
He gies me a kiss wi his crammosie mou
Oor forebears gaed tae war in scales o steel.

He brocht me a boorich o crammosie carnations –
It's yer stinch face I ken sae weel.
He socht in return fur ae lane kiss -
Oor forebears gaed tae war in scales o steel


He touched me wi his fmger weirin a derk ring –
It is yer dark ring I ken sae weel.
Thegither we rummelt doon on a Turkish divan –
Oor forebears gaed tae war in scales o steel.

He luiks at me wi the een o a gyte chiel
Dwine awa, ye starnies, an dwine, ye meen!
He gies me a kiss wi his crammosie mou –
Oor forebears gaed tae war in scales o steel.


12. The Halfin Herd
The halflin herd maun tramp the braes
Watchin the yowes wi cannie een
Whilst richer loons can play an laze
Wi cattypult an weel-airned steen
Niver a myowt or gim he'll gie
He traivels wi a staff in haun
His knicky tams aneth his knee
He is the backbeen o the lan

The wealthy lads micht growe tae ken
Great enterprise an sic like ploys
The herd, a princelin amang men
He has the pick o richer joys

The starns at nicht are his tae see
Nae general or emperor he
The hardy, hummle halflin herd
The wirthy son o girse an yird.


13. Groundswell
Mull o Kintyre. A boatie rows
Bairnies fishin on mackerel days
A hotterel o waves. Wee chikks on fire
Wi satt-sea watter an ocean sprays


14. Twa Wirkers
Foo'd ye like tae be a maid
Nurse the bairn frae morn tae nicht
Dicht its dowp an weet its mou
Keep it happit, snod an ticht?

Foo' d ye like tae glean the park
Boo yer back for ithers' leavins
Tackle coarse an thankless wirk
Trauchlin twa-fauld ower the gleanins?

15. Rottenrow: Bairn Play, Glesga
Fitbaa on the pavement.
Peint upon the waa
Dinna cowp the buggie or the bairn'll faa

Chrisopher an Kayleigh, Alexander, Kate
Playin dirty doctors roon the auld schule gate

The schule, the schule, it means hee-haw
I'm gonna be a pop star an show youse aa

Fa let the denner spyle? Fa's pa's in the jyle?
Fa's pottie's aff the byle? Bonnie Mary Baxter
Fa's ma's left the hoose? Aa the bailiffs find's a moose
Double gin an orange juice, Bonnie Mary Baxter


16. November Wid, Finzean
The cauld creepit inno the wid
Wi the chunnerin cauld in its shawl
An the aik an the chitterin birk
Watched the ghaist o the year grown auld
Turn the hairt o the burn tae ice
An the moss on the brae tae steen
An the corbie faa like a hound o Hell
Tae dine on the yowie' s een


17. The Glesga Sparkie
I wirk in a wee electrical shop, in the hairt o Glesga toun
Wi wires an batteries, nuts an screws, repairs, aa clamourin roon

Fin I steek ma een I ettle tae hear the doos in a kintra wid
Far the caller breeze it reeshles the trees as the flooers raxx up, unbid

I wirk in a wee electrical shop mangst a soss an a stoory kirn
An the wecht o the wirk it grinds me doon as steen grinds corn in the quern


18. The Bosie
The bairn is faain asleep in her airms
There's naewye tae set her doon
The sister's nocht bit a bairn herself
Singin a pop star croon
In a fair jurmummle o heids an hair
Rowed up in a touselt bosie
The eldest' s trailin the youngest up
Her breist warmth keeps her cosie

An ma's awa fur a gad-aboot
Tae blether or shop or booze
Or tae tell the warld aboot her man Dan
An the tale o her latest bruise


19. Andra wi a Comic
Cauld sausage roll that's three days auld fur denner
Milk in the bottle weirin a fooshty luik
Andra's readin a comic. (Desperate Dan wi a plook)
The bairn's in a washin basket. A teet in its mou tae sook


20. Audun and the White Bear: from the Morkinsinna
A thoosan years ago there lived
A man caad Audun wi his ma
In Iceland, by the Western fjords
The jewelled warld o frost an snaa

Frae Norway ae late summer cam
The captain o a tradin ship
Aa winter Audun wirked for him
Sae he could jyne the hamewird trip

In spring, the ice began tae crack
Tae his auld mither Audun gied
His savins, sae she wadna sterve
Tae keep her clad an safe frae need

The days grow lang, I maun awa
Three years tae traivel an explore
Quo Audun, as he kissed his ma
An steppit lichtsome tae the shore

Noo Audun wi the captain sailed
Tae Greenlan far he met a bear
An sic a bonnie beast it wis
He bargained for it then an there

Sae fine a bear as this, he thocht
Is wastit in this Greenlan den
Twid mak a wondrous giftie for
The King o Denmark, Guid King Sven

His fur was fite as ony pearl
His een war green's the Polar sea
He wis fu strang in pouer an micht
The beariest bear in history.

An fin he roared, the walrus shook
The whales aneth the bergs tuik flicht
The Northern Lichts grew fite wi fear
The verra meen switched aff her licht

The bear wis settled on the ship
An aff they sailed, an unca crew
He catched them fish frae ower the deck
His muckle paw struck faist an true

The captain drappit anchor syne
On Norway's coast, near Norway's king
Harald, the great Norwegian lord
As fierce as erne on the wing

Fin Harald heard o this great bear
Hopin tae saften Audun' s hairt
He brocht the Icelander tae court
Tae see if frae the bear he'd pairt.

The bear is bound for Denmark's shore
Yer enemies, as weel I ken
Bit I hae taen a sacred vow
Tae gie the bear tae Guid King Sven


King Harald smiled, waved Audun aff
Slackent his haud upon his sword
Promise me on her hamewird trip
Ye'll tell me o the Dane's reward

The bear an Audun trauchelt on
Near like tae sterve through lack o meat
Until a rich man, Auki, met
Them puir an beggin on the street

Fin Audun telt his sorry tale
Ae hauf o thon bear Auki bocht
Bit made him promise on his life
He'd share hauf the reward he socht

They reached the castle o the King
Fit brings ye hear, Auki ma frien?
Oh I hae cam tae claim ma share
0 any treisur here owergien.

King Sven turned Auki aff unthankt
For greed an guile can win nae grace
Bit upon Audun an the bear
He showed a smilin kindly face

Ye'll be my courtly cup-bearer
The bear will be my greatest prize
An sae the months passed merrily
Frae even-tide tae reid sumise

Bit fan three years war ower an gaen
Syne Audun raise tae sail awa
Tae Iceland an his mither's hame
The lan o jewelled frost an snaa

King Sven wis laith tae see him leave
Bit tae the herbour steppit doon
An as a thanks for Audun' s bear
He gied the Icelander a boon

A ship stap fu wi rowth o gear
A siller pyoke. A gowden ring
Tae gie as a reward for guid
Taen frae the finger o the king

Tae Norway Audun sailed wi speed
Tae Harald's haa throw storm an floe
An on the great Norwegian lord
Thon precious ring he did bestow

For Harald micht hae killt Audun
An taen the bonnie bear for nocht
He weel deserved the Danish ring
Honour is won, can ne'er be bocht

An as did Sven, King Harald heaped
On Audun, treisurs rare an gran
As he set aff for Iceland's fjords
An aulder an a richer man

Oh Iceland's fjords are deep an green
Audun has aa he wants an mair
Bit fin the starnies full the sky
Aa nicht, he's dreamin o his bear.