4 Poems By John Clare, Owersett Into Scots Poem by Sheena Blackhall

1: Moosie's Nest
Amang the hey, I fand girse in a baa
An powked it as I passed an gaed awa;
An fin I luiked I jealoused somethin steered,
An turned again an hoped tae catch the bird —
Fin syne an auld moose breenged oot frae the aets
Wi aa her littlins hingin at her teats;
She luiked sae fey, sae eildtrich like tae me,
I ran an winnert fit the thing cud be,
An pushed the thrissle-weed back far I stude;
Syne the moose hashed ayont the skreichin brood.
The young anes squalloched, as I gaed awa
Amang the hey, she fand her girssy baa.
The watter ower the pebbles scarce cud rin
An braid auld cesspuils glimmered in the sun.

2: Emmonsail's Muir in Yuletide
I lue tae see the auld muir's wizzenet brake
Mellin its crinin leaves wi breem an ling,
While the auld heron frae the lanely loch
Sterts slaw an flaps its lang, disjaskit wing,
An antrin craa in idle meevment swing
On the hauf-rottit aisse-tree's tapmost twig,
Aside fas trunk the gangrel makks his bed.
Up flees the breengin widcock frae the brig
Far the blaik bog gaes trimmlin neath the tread;
The mavis wheeples in the fusslin thorn
An fur the hawe roon parks it quickly flees,
An blate juffits, near twinty in a heeze,
Flit doon the hedgeraas in the cauldrife plain
An hing on teenie twigs an stert again.

3: The Crofter
Leal as the kirk clock haun the oor pursues
He dads aboot his darg an reads the news,
An at the smiddy door an oor will staun
Tae spikk o 'Lunnon' as a fremmit lan.
Frae yont his craftie door in peace or strife
He ne'er gaed fifty miles in aa his life.
His kennin wi auld notions is still jyned
Is twinty years ahin the merch o mind.
He views new lear wi a suspicious ee
An thinks tae be sae wyce is blasphemy
On steam's almichty tales he winnerin luiks
As Blaik Airt taen frae auld blaikletter buiks.
Life gied him comfort bit denied him wealth,
He warks in quaet an enjoys his health,
He smokes a pipe at nicht an sups his beer
Rins up nae tabs on tavern boords tae clear.
He gaes tae merket aa the year aboot
An bides an oor an bides nae langer oot.
Even at St. Thomas tide auld Rover's bark
Hails Dapple's trot an hour afore it's derk.
He is a simple-spukken plain auld man
Fas gweed intents takk mistakks in their plan.
Aft sentimental an wi waesome vein
He luiks on trifles an bemaens their pain
An thinks the angler wud, an loodly storms
Wi virr o spikkin ower murdered wirms.
An hunters coorse, he prigs wi speeches sad
Peety's petition fur the tod an bawd,
Yet feels self-satisfaction in his waes
Fur war's deid thoosans o his butchered faes.
He's leal tae notions closest tae his breist
An entire swallaes mistakks in the neist.
He thinks it sin tae sing, yet nae tae say
A sang…a michty difference in his wye.
An mony a meevin tale in auncient rhymes
He his fur Yuletide an sic blythesome times,
Fin 'Otterburn, ' his maisterpiece o sang,
Is said sae earnest nane can think it lang.
Twis the auld preacher's wye fa sud be richt,
Fur the deid preacher wis his hairt's delicht,
An while at kirk he aften shakks his heid
Tae think fit sermons the auld preacher made,
Doonricht an orthodox that aa the lan
Fa hid their lugs tae hear micht unnerstan,
Bit noo sic michty larnin he his heard
He thinks it Greek or Latin, fremmit wird,
Yet ilkie Sabbath tae the kirk rich t braa
In rain or snaa he niver bides awaa.
Aa wirds o reverence can still steer his frame
Laigh boos his heid fin he hears Jesus' name,
An still he thinks it blasphemy as weel
Sic names wioot a capital tae spell.
In an auld neukit press aside the waa
His buiks are laid, tho gweed, in nummer smaa,
His Bible first in place; frae wirth an age
Fas grandsire's name taps aff the title page,
An blank leaves aince, noo stappt wi kindred claims,
Shawin a warld's epitome o names.
Parents an bairnies an granbairns aa
Myndin's affections in the lists recaa.
An prayer-buik neist, weelwor n tho strangly bun,
Pruves him a kirkman orthodox an soun.
The 'Pilgrim's Progress' an the 'Daith o Abel'
Are seldom missin frae his Sabbath table,
An prime auld Tusser in his hamely trim,
The first o bards in aa the warld wi him,
An anely poet which his leisur kens;
Verse deals in fancy, prose he thinks mair plain
Thon are the buiks he reads an reads again
An wikkly hunts the almanacks fur rain.
Here an nae farrer larnin's channels ran;
Still, neebors prize him as a clivver man.
His biggin is a hummle place o rest
Wi ae smaa room tae welcome ilkie guest,
An thon heich poplar pyntin up abune
His ain haun plantit fin an idle loon,
It shades his lum e'en while the singin win
Thrums sangs o shelter tae his blythesome mind.
Inbye his hoose the greatest ears o corn
He iver fand, his pictur frames adorn:
Bauld Granby's heid, De Grosse's gran defeat;
He rubs his hauns an shaws foo Rodney beat.
An frae the rafters upon towes, entwine
Beanstakks wechtit wi pods frae eyn tae eyn,
Fas nummers wioot coontin micht be seen
Screived on the almanack ahin the screen.
Aroon the neuk up upon worsit strung
Snail shells in wreaths abune the press wir hung.
Myndins o nochtie ongauns noo awakks
An thinner keeps them fur his bairnies' sakes,
Fa fin as loons raiked ilkie weety lane,
Tracked ilkie wid a chittered claes again,
Roamin aboot on rapture's easy wing
Tae hunt thon verra snail shells in the spring.
An syne he lives, ower blythesome tae be puir
While strife ne'er dauchles at sae bare a door.
Laigh in the sheltered glen ye'll fin his bield,
He hears storm ower the Bens an disna yield;
Winter an spring, afore it's derk, darg stops,
Rests wi the lammie, wi the leverock's up,
Content tae turn his haun tae each day's ploy
An care ne'er cams tae rype a single joy.
Time, scarcely noticed, turns his hair tae grey,
Yet leaves him blythesome as a bairn at play.

4. Sklaik
She hashes oot an scarcely preens her claes
Tae hear the news an tell the news she gaes;
She spikks o slorachs, merks each ragged goun,
Hersel the foolest jaad in aa the toun.
She stauns wi eager virr at gossip's tale,
An doons the news as boozers doon their ale.
Excuse is ready at the biggest lee
She anely heard it, spreids it liberally.
The verra cat luiks up, kens her physog
An breenges tae the chair that it'll hog;
Fin aince sat doon she niver gaes awa,
Till tales are dane an spikk, nae mair tae craa.
She gaes frae hoose tae hoose the clachan ower,
Her sklaikin reaches ilkie body's door.