10 Scots Poems From The Burnin Buss Poem by Sheena Blackhall

1.Granminnie, as a Bairn
I am the bairn, Lizzie
Ae day I’ll growe tae be yer granminnie

I am weirin ma button up buits
Ma hair’s bane-caimbed tae clear ma heid o flechs
Catched in ma schule ootower Migvie Moss

Ma harns are an iver-raxxin quaich.
Latin & Scots baith ream atween ma lugs
An in ma mou, roch sangs the shepherds’ sing

I am wud’s an unbrukken shelt
Clean connached, ma faither’s pet
Oor ferm hoose sits nearhaun the Pictish stane
Backed bi a Celtic Cross.

Fit’s Time bit a flee’s pech?
I ken Auld Lear an New.
I hae a wyce heid on young shoulders

Sune, ma faither will rin frae the hoose
Lowpin the girse like a bawd
Tae far ma sister Sally stauns there skirlin
Stung bi bees, forced aff the cliff o Reason.

Dae bee stings caa fowk gyte?
She wis ay a thochtie fey….

Ae day I’ll be the bee that feeds ye hinney
Ma grandother, I’ll gie ye luv an lauchter.


2.A Scots Owersett of a poem by Pia Tafdrup
Foo is this a human body?
The craitur wauks on twa shank’s meer
An can makk eese o a star screwdriver
It lauchs an greets lood
It etts meat, sleeps, bit likewise spikks an sings
Philosophises an learns Spanish in its free time
An takks tent o a drap o its ain bluid in a miscroscope
It sens letters, a wechty pruif o its human life
Like the singin o the yuletide sangs it has learned bi hairt
An the maistery o the twinty times table
Even fin its waukened up in the mids o the nicht

The lion trysts wi this craitur in a braid park
Sees twa een, twa lugs an the tint fur
It’s the lion fa fins
Fit’s left ower is the human’s name
That plants sclimm up
Whilst wirms, emerteens an hornygollachs heeze aroon
A skirlin bird whyles launs on it
The bird’s nae dowie
Anely the fowk fa devaul aside the stane.


3.Scots Owersetts frae English translations o Classic Haiku
Naebody cared tippence
That the flooers’ bonnieness dwined
An I saw masel in the warld grown auld
As the rain gaed on faain…..Ono no Komachi,9th C. woman poet

Takk tent o thon warbler-
He’s dichtin his dubby feet
Aa ower the plum flooers….Issa
Fin the bell’s tune dwinnles
The yoam o gean devauls
Gloamin hauf-light…..Basho

The bairn greets at her breist
An the mozzie bites as weel
The mither, sleepin….RanRan

Wydin ben the burnie
In simmer, cairryin ma sheen
Foo blithesome! ...Basho

A win this nicht
An wee waves splyter
The cweets o a blae heron…..Buson

Here an thonner hynie-awa
The soun o rain throw
The young leaves faain….buson

Thon hyne aff Bens
Catched in the
ee-jewels o the dragonflee…Issa

Foo braw the lift is
Fin a lintie
Has bin singin….Issa

Corn hairst in the Faa
Loons skelpin a snake
On a kintra roadie…Shiki

They hae hackit doon
The sauch. Sae the kingfishers
Hae vanished as weel….Shiki


4.The Echt Myndins: a Scots Owersett from 60 Songs of Milarepa,
Castles an steerie touns, they are sic airts
Ye like tae bide in, spokes upon Life’s Gird
Bit mynd, they’ll fa tae stoor as weel’s yersel
Efter yer corp has vanished frae the Yird!

Pride an the thocht o Fame’s fit drives ye on
This path ye traivel, a queer road tae pree;
For mynd, fin ye are seek an like tae dee
It gies nae bield fin Daith’s yett swings ajee!

Kinsmen an friens are fowk ye luv eenoo
An bide wi them, thinkin them best ava
Bit mynd, that ye maun leave them aa ahin
Fin frae the Yird it’s time tae wyve ta ta!

Skiffies, siller, hame an bairns as weel
These are the ferlies that ye haud maist dear
But mynd, fin it comes time tae weir awa
Yer hauns are teem. Ye maun leave aa yer gear!

Smeddum an virr, they may delicht ye noo
An ye micht prize them baith, as wirdly jewels
Bit mynd, fin Daith cams chappin at yer hoose
Yer corp will be fit anely for the mools!

Eenoo, yer hairt an harns, yer banes an braith
Yer flesh an bluid are perfeck, mair or less
Bit mynd ye, at the meenit o yer death
They’ll be as eeseless as a pile o aisse!

Sweet an mooth-watterin deinties bi the score
Ye like tae ett, an think sic treats the best
Bit mynd, fin Daith snips aff yer threid o Life
It’s dryin slivvers in yer mou at laist

Fin I sit doon tae think upon sic things
I canna help bit bless the Buddha’s lear!
Pleisurs an passin ferlies o this warld
Are nocht bit fireflauchts, this tae me is clear

I, Milarepa, sing o these Echt myndins,
At the Guest Hoose in Garakhache o Tsang.
Wi these clear wirds, takk tent, I gie ye warnin
Turn tae the Dharma, an, my frien, think lang!


5. Aesop’s Wren as Listener
This foreneen I’m Aesop’s wren
Fleein up tae the lift
On the backs o ithers’ poems


6. Veesitor
The morn should niver veesit yestreen
I keeked throw a windae
Expeckin ma aunt’s physog,
Reid-faced an floory frae bakin scones

A wumman wi a face like a skelped erse
Glowered back at me,
Steekin the curtains
An waur, the ley far I eesed tae wauk the kye
Wis stappit wi streets caad ‘Leafy Mews’, Stone Lane

7. Mediaeval Breid
Eftir the quake in hynie-aff Nepal
Fin fowk wir stervin in pure poverty
Mrs McGraw baked mediaeval breid
Frae a recipe she googled up for tea


8.Rain
Riddlin the san an seawatter thegither,
A richt doonpish o rain is jeelin weet
Launchin the leaves doon gutters in a swither.

Ye’d think the lift itsel brukk doon tae greet
The clouds turn wechty wi wae’s scunneration,
For rain, like tears, faa fin derk sorras meet.

An yird an flooers are caad tae crockanation
Fin dweeble stems, rain-sypit, canna staun,
Life’s fit alane fur dyeuks, the drookit nation.

I maun allow some shouers maun sloke the lan,
Bit days an wikks o eynless onding dreepin,
Dae little guid for wumman, beast or man.

An sypin moose an bawd wi watter creepin
Abeen their hames, are far ower feart for sleepin.


9.The Nor East Win
A wud- eed shelt gaes fleein by the meen,
The North East Win’s this charger. Nae reprieves
For boaties caad tae smachrie by his sheen.

His braith is cauld. He wheechs aff chitterin leaves.
Trees raxx their tethers, lowsin frichtit doos.
The hairst is flattened, ilkie fermer grieves.

This Win is coorse, aa Natur fears his roose.
Fusslin sae fierce an forcey he’d bumbaze.
The decks o fishin watter-draigglit crews.

The toun maun hunker doon on sic-like days,
Afore this pouerfu Win, wi virr sae strang!
A wheep ye’d think yer skin he near haun flays.

Sic days are dreich, His dirge, a keenin sang.
Sae dowie, fowk are gled tae see the mirk
Safe in their hames, his airy stangs aff flang.

Roon nyakkit neuks, this Win jags like a dirk.
Rattlin the verra reef-tree o the meen,
He shakks the lan, a futterat at its wirk.
Bit brakks afore the micht o granite steen.

10.The Yellowhammer's Nest: John Clare: Owersett in Scots
The Yalla Yeitie’s Nest
Aside the timmer brig a bird flew up,
Flegged by the herd lad as he sliddered doon
Tae reach the dyew-weet brummle—come, let’s boo
Hunt oot its nest—the burn we needna dreid,
Thon’s hardly deep eneuch a bee tae droon,
Sae it sings hermless ower its steeny bed

—Ay here it is, bigged hard teetle the sheuch
Aneth the swatch o girse that spinnles teuch
Its husk seeds heich an slim—it’s roch in plan
Wi sun-fite stibbles an the sair-crined fare
That last year's haist left lyin on the lan
Lined thinly wi the sheltie’s pit-mirk hair.

Five eggies, pen-screived ower wi ink their shells
Screived ower wi inky scrawls, like oorie Ides
As natur's barderie an kintra spells—
They are the yella yeitie’s an she bides
Maist bardie-like far burns an flooery weeds
As swete as Castaly (sae notions growe)
An thon auld mowdie’s humph, like Parnass' knowe
Her dearie cocks abeen, his thochties turn
Ower aa her joys o sang—sae leave thon howe
A blythesome hame o sunsheen, flooers an burn.

Yet in the doucest airts, ills wecht the powe, Aside the timmer brig a bird flew up,
Flegged by the herd lad as he sliddered doon
Tae reach the dyew-weet brummle—come, let’s boo
Hunt oot its nest—the burn we needna dreid,
Thon’s hardly deep eneuch a bee tae droon,
Sae it sings hermless ower its steeny bed

—Ay here it is, bigged hard teetle the sheuch
Aneth the swatch o girse that spinnles teuch
Its husk seeds heich an slim—it’s roch in plan
Wi sun-fite stibbles an the sair-crined fare
That last year's haist left lyin on the lan
Lined thinly wi the sheltie’s pit-mirk hair.

Five eggies, pen-screived ower wi ink their shells
Screived ower wi inky scrawls, like oorie Ides
As natur's barderie an kintra spells—
They are the yella yeitie’s an she bides
Maist bardie-like far burns an flooery weeds
As swete as Castaly (sae notions growe)
An thon auld mowdie’s humph, like Parnass' knowe
Her dearie cocks abeen, his thochties turn
Ower aa her joys o sang—sae leave thon howe
A blythesome hame o sunsheen, flooers an burn.

Yet in the doucest airts, whyles, there comes ill,
A scunnerin weed that connachs ilkie yird;
For snakes are kent, cauld, deid, wioot a wird
Tae watch sic nests an grip the helpless young,
And like as no, the plague becama a guest,
Leavin a hooseless hame, a bladded nest—
An dowie has the yalla yeitie sung
Fin sic like waes hae rived its teenie breist.

A scunnerin weed that connachs ilkie yird;
For snakes are kent, cauld, deid, wioot a wird
Tae watch sic nests an grip the helpless young,
And like as no, the plague becams a guest,
Leavin a hooseless hame, a bladded reest—
An dowie has the yalla yeitie sung
Fin sic like waes hae rived its teenie breist.