Ganesh's Daughter (Scots Poems) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

The Spikk o the Nor East Leid
The Romans focht at Bennachie gainst Calcagus chief o a clan
His name hid reets in Celtic lore, a legendary brave swordsman
Eumenius in the third century, caad North East tribesmen the Picti
Bit verra sune the leid cheenged ower tae Gaelic, roon the Don an Dee

Lothian's Northumbrian dialect, entered the touns o the Nor East
Wi Scots an Gaelic, side bi side, an Latin spukken bi the priest
Syne Barbour screived his poem, The Brus, a braw langamachie
An Dunbar, telt o Aiberdeen an Margaret Tudor veesitin

John Skinner he penned Tullochgorum, Doric wis fand in mony's a buik
Whyle Willie Alexander screived his Johnny Gibb of Gushetneuk
A heeze o bards in Doric follaed: Charles Murray, Flora Garry, Rorie
Violet Jacob, J.C. Milne, aa in the auld wirds, couthie, bonnie

Spukken bi fermer, fisher. Baillie, orra loun, an traivellin cyaard
Jack Aitken gaed a heist tae Scots editin DOST, a michty darg
An Dauvit Murison, Brocher born, he drave the gaitherin o wirds on
Researchin place nemmes, fairs an marts, fur scholar, reader, learnèd don

A Doric Dictionar Kynoch penned.Ye'll see wirds on First Bus gaun by
Buchan Claik bi Buchan an Toulmin- hoards o wirds baith gleg an spry
An RGU pit online lists o wirds like hornygollach jist fur fowk tae savour
Ah Doric is a feisty tongue: an here are wirds tae shaw its flavour:

Knapdarlach, contermaschious, smarrach, clyack, strushil, braa
Hudderie-heidit, maasie, baggerel, barritchfu, hoodie craa
As lang as I've a tongue tae spikk, I'll praise the wirds o my kintrie
The leid that Burns's faither spakk, an Fergusson's: sae swete tae pree


David Toulmin's Heirskip: Sings to the tune Drumdelgie
John Reid wis born in Rathen, far his faither wirked the lan
He gart John stop his larnin afore he wis a man
At fowerteen years he left the skweel, his first fee for tae earn
An thon began his slavery, the hard darg o a ferm

At thirty fower, he cheenged his name, a screiver he'd becam
Noo kent as David Toulman, takkin fame wioot a qualm
Nine buiks he screived, a rowth o tales, a diary noo in prent
Nae stranger tae the media, his screivens grew weel kent

His life is celebrated, an tae keep his heirskip gaun
The Elphinstane's ain Institute wi the Leopard magazine ran
An annual competition in the leids o the Nor East
In Doric, English, or a mix o wirds that kittle the breast

His faimily gied their sponsorship, tae gie the darg a heeze
Tae bring the entries scalin in frae fowk o a aa degrees
Sae mony thochtfu stories poorin in frae ilkie neuk
Noo puckles brocht thegither in the pages o a buik

The entries cam frae Buckie, Peterheid an Aiberdeen
Fray Morayshire, Lumphanan, frae the fish an fermin scene
Some screived aboot the dowie side an waes o life an daith
O immigrants, o wartime days, wi skill that catched yer braith

An sae the blawin seeds o David Toulmin's wirdies seed the loam
The Buchan Claik, its saut an glaur, brier tae a harvest home
Straw intae gold the likes o Rumplestiltskin niver spun
An sae we praise the cheil amang's, his laurels sairly won

Birse Kirk
Mey, an a sycamore spreids its muckle airms
Sweyin her greenery, in the skinklin sun
Like a granmither, walcamin bairns

A bawd in the nearhaun park, lowps
Blythe ben the plooed rigs
An cheepers amang the leaves
Gie it laldy, wee Pavarottis

The sleepers in the kirkyaird
Lie roon their graves o their lairds
Neebors in daith as in life

An aunt an uncle lie thonner
Their reets entwined thegither
Throw years o merriage,
In fine an stormy weathers.

Ae thing they niver stinted on,
Wis luve, tae the bairns that cairriet on their name
An ilkie inabooter, that cam tae their Birse hame
Like catties tae cream, or bees tae a hinneycaimb


As the Crow Flees
Heich up in a birk tree a craa an his mate
Wir watchin a bus stop, wis't early or late?

They'd noticed that humans in their craa domain
Wore squars on their beaks
Wis't tae haud oot the rain?

Thon peetifu craiturs need buses, quo he
Fin we traivel we open oor wings an jist flee


Sax Cushie Doos
Sax cushies wir sattled an haein a news
Abune Gregg the bakers, admirin the views
They wir restin their taes an discussin their waes
Their chilblains, blin lumps an their cauld weather blues

Fur cushies are cursed wi afflictions o feet
Through frostbite an perils o thrang Union Street
They cripple alang like a pensioner gang
On the scran fur a treat far the traffic is strang


A Bairn Should be Lued
A bairn should be lued
Like a souter lues shee leather
Like a baker lues dough
Like a fermer lues his parks
A bairn should be lued
Like an oasis in the mids o the Sahara

A bairn should be washed
Like rain washes the stoor frae the druchty lan
Like a linn baptisin a puil, doucely
Like smirr weetin fogg at the peat bog's side
A bairn should be pettit
Like a horseman caimbin a shelt
Like the win straikin the corn
Like the shepherd clappin his tyke
Like a quine, kissin a rose

A bairn's path should be
Spreid wi gowden hosannas
Smeeth as a loch at midnicht
Starnies should shine on the road upcamin

This advice frae a mither
Fa larned these truiths ower late


Owersett intae Scots o I wash the sark, bi Anna Swir
Fur the hinmaist time I was the sark
O ma faither fa deed
The sark yoams o swyte. I mynd
Thon swyte frae ma bairntime
Sae mony years
I washed his sark an his semmit
I dried them
At an iron stove in the workshop
He wid pit them on nae ironed

Frae amang aa the bodies in the warld
Breet, human, anely ane swytit thon swyte
I breath it in
Fur the hinmaist time. Washin thon sark
I dicht it awa
Foraye
Noo
Anely peintins survive him
That guff o iles


Fower Scots Owersetts o Poems bi John Clare

1.The Nest o the Cushie Doo
Stravaigin the nerra path neath simple trees
O some auld busse or widlan I hae aft
Bin stertled pleisantly frae dwaumin weys
Bi frichtened doo that, o a sudden, alaft
Sprang ben the mony boughs wi clatterin noise
Till free frae sic haudbacks abune its heid
They skelped their clappin wings fur verra Joy
An in a thochtfu mood I've whyles bin led
Tae sclim thon twig-encercled trunk an there
On some fyew bits o sticks twa fite eggs lie
As left bi accident forelorn an bare
Nearly wioot a nest, yet by an by
Two birds in gowden down will leave the shells
An hiss an snap at win-blawn leaves that shakk
Aroon their hame far green alaneness dwalls
Till fledged an syne the young adventurers takk
The auld anes feartie flichts frae aik tae aik
Lippenin tae pleisant reeshlins o the shade
Nur stertled bi the widman's hollow strake
Till Autumn's pleisant veesions dwine an shift
Syne they in baulder flocks will swype an flee
An brave the desert o a Winter lift


2.The Hurcheon
The hurcheon bides aneth the rotten hedge
An makks a great roon nest o girse and sage
Or in a busse or in a hollow tree
An mony a body boos an say they see
Him rowe an plug his prickles fu o crabs
An creep awa an far the magpie dabs
His wing at dubby dyke an auncient reet
He makks a nest an staps it fu o fruit
On the hedge boddom hunts fur crabs an sloes
An fussles like girselowper as he gaes
He raise up like a bowl or makkless hog
Fin traivellers hunt it wi their bowfin dogs
I've seen it in their camps they caa it swete
Tho blaik an wersh an gey coorse tastin meat

Bit they fa hunt the park fur rotten meat
An wash in dubby grun an caa it swete
An ett fit tykes refuse far ere they dwall
Care little either fur the taste or smell
They say He milks the kye an fin they lie
Nibbles their fleshy paps an sooks them dry
Bit they fa've seen the sma heid like a hog
Rowed up tae meet the savage o a dug
Wi moo scarce big eneuch tae haud a straa
Will ne'er believfit naebody iver saa
bit still they hunt the hedges aa aboot
An shepherd tykes are trained tae hunt them oot
They haive wi brutal force the stick an stane
An naebody cares an still the strife gaes on


3, Simmer Gloamin
The puddock, fearful, lowps across the path
An teenie moosie leaves its hole at eve
Tiptaes wi timid dreid aneath the swath
Ma reeshlin steps awhile their joys deceive
Till past and syne the cricket sings mair strang
An girselowpers in blythesome moods still weir
The short night trauchelt wi its fretfu sang
Up frae the mowdie-hillock lowps the bawd
Swicked o its chusen bed an frae the bank
The yalla yeitie flichters in short flegs
Frae aff its nest hid in the girse sae rank
And draps again fin nae mair soun it hears
Sae natur's human link brings eynless thrall
Proud man still seems the enemy o aa


4. Ballad
O maen nae mair luve, maen nae mair
Nur murn fur eirdly treisure
Fa feels a shipwrack on the shore
Or meets despair wi pleisure

Lat nae oor wints oor tribbles pruve
Tho it is cauldrife weather
Nur singly strive wi fit oor luve
Can better thole thegether
Yer luve is pruved, thy wirth is such
It canna fail tae bless me
Gin I lose thee, I'd nae be rich
Nor puir gin I possess ye

…………………………………..

A Footerie Fash
Faa, faddom, fadge & faem
Faimly, fairfaa, fairin, fain

Fairly, fairmer, faither, fan
Fand & fankle fantoosh, funn

Fardel, fareweel, fashed & fashious
Fyauch an fearful, fause & feckless

Februar, fecht, feeroch & feenish
Fegs, feint, ferlie, fell & fleerich

Fey & fidgin-fain an ficher
Fier an fitbaa, flaff & flauchter

Flech an flee, fleg, fegs & flichterin
Flichtermoose, flooer, flittin, flitterin

Flang, foraye, forbye & flyte
Foggy-bummer, fooner, flype

Forebears, foremaist, fower, foreneen
Ferfochen, forgie fowerteen

Forhouied, forrit an forjaskit
Fou & fud, fool, frienly, fremmit

F's a soun ye aften hear
Maist aften eesed tae makk a sweir


Caa o the Wild:
On Monday, a phaisie veesited
His feathers, as sheeny's silk
Wi gowden een an a regal step
An mainners mild as milk

On Tuesday a rubbit lowpit in
Her lugs cocked heich in the air
Her fuskers jinked, she wis set tae rin
Tae flee at the wee-est scare

OnWednesday a pertrick cried inbye
Snappin the seeds, rael mirky

A squirrel sat on the bough abune
A contermaschious birky

On Thursday a roe wi horns like lums
Cam steppin abune the lawn
An a cocky mertrick, rigged in broon
Jouked in wi a soor luik on

On Friday, a snochrin brock sniffed roon
Fur leavins, fine an tasty
Bit bide awa frae the strippit vratch
Fur his bite is unca nesty

On Setterday a sparrahawk,
An a tod baith drapped in raikin
On Sunday naebody cam ava
The gairden wis forsaken!


In the Nursery
Ma hauns are as green as a zombie
Frae the bottle-green dye in the class
Cause the watter for bairnies tae splosh in
Luiks like terminal gangrene alas

We canna use play dough tae soss in
Since ane o the craiturs his wirms
An the jigsaw's bin haived tae the heivens
Wi twa o them nae takkin turns

Ye'd think that a tyke hid attacked me
A bite in ma shank frae a quine
Niver get in the wye o a littlin
Wi her birse up abune ninety nine

The winter's the Sizzen fur snotters
Wi stringles frae nostril tae moo
An they'll dicht their wee snoots on yer ganzie
Whyle their hippens are hingin wi poo

Fin they're roosed, they will daunce like a dervish
Eneuch tae weir holes in a rug

An sharin's a wird that's a stranger
They'd rather skelp friens on the lug

Bit fin they are asleep or begrutten
An the snotters are dichtit awa
In yer bosie they'll lie like wee angels
As they are, fin they're anely jist twa


Balvaird Castle scheduled monument: Perth & Kinross
Owner- Brady Brim-DeForest

A mediaeval touer hoose
Heich in the Ochil Hills it's fand
Named fur the tounship o the Bard
Sir Andra Murray ained the land

Sooth lay a gairden filled wi flooers
A pleisunt orchard raised wi care
An stables. Here the laird rade oot
On his best shelt tae takk the air

Recumbent statue in the keep
(Wis't Lady Margaret Barclay?) lay
An dis her ghaist wauk ben the stanes
Myndin upon her waddin day?

The Ochil Hills are roon an steep
Streetched frae the Tay tae Stirlin toun
Twa thoosan peaks, deep steeped in myth
Green as a eildritch fairy's goun

The burns are scentit swete wi moss,
Heather an birk an sauch are there,
Corbies an jaikies reest in trees
Fine bield for ony lairdie's lair

The whaup flees ower the Ochil Hills
A lanesome cry, that's sair lamentin
The win gaes ripplin ben the girse
Like clarsach wi bird music blendin


The Ash Tree of Ettrick Forest, St Mary's Kirkyard, Selkirk,
This ash tree is a relict
O auncient Ettrick wid
The Norsemen caad it Tree o Life
It grows auld graves amid

Its winged seeds drap like birdies
Amang the seelent deid
Its ash leaves hap their lairs,
Each ootraxxed limb an heid

It owerluiks a bonnie loch
James Hogg, the bard, explored
His gransire Will o Phawhope
Spakk wi the seelie horde

An dae thon eildritch craiturs
Daunce yet aneth its the boughs
Is thon Ash Tree their tryst-neuk
Their bield on Selkirk's howes?


The Holm Oak
Twa hunner year auld, in County Down
Auld Homer, an aik tree growes
At the Fairy Glen in Kilbroney Park
There's glamourie in its boughs
It inspired the buik o Narnia
At the fete caad Fiddler's Green
Fowk gaither tae daunce an sklaik an sing
It's the hub o the culture scene

Charles Dickens thocht it winnerfu
It's even met the Queen
Auld Homer, castin his Irish cherm
As strang as the best potcheen


Oak Józef
In Poland stauns a muckle aik
In the province o Podkarpackie
Sax hunner an fifty years it's bedd
In this neuk, baith stoot an cannie

Fin Nazis scoored the lan fur Jews
Twa brithers fan this tree
They hid in the foun o the hollow wid
An keepit their liberty

They escaped frae the Fryszstak ghetto,
Or a nearhaun labor camp,
An niver jyned the sorrafu sowels
Gart tae coorse Treblinka tramp

This aik should hae gotten the croix de guerre
Or at least the Victoria Cross
Fur savin twa frae the killin machine
That wis the Holocaust


The Ding Dong Tree
The Ding Dong Tree at Prestonpans
Wis up fur bairnies' ploys
It's nae verra auld this copper beech
It's the best o playgrun toys

The Ding Dong Tree at Prestonpans
Wis used fur pig an tag
An littlins sheltered aneth its airms
Wi their sannies an schulebag
Fin it gangs tae the fields o Paradise
A wee copper beech is wytin
Tae takk its place, a saplin braw
Baith blythesome an excitin!