Matzevot: A Walk On The Face Of Gravestones (16 Poems In Scots) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

1.Catriona and the Old Ladies

Dinna spen time wi Iain the fisherman
They say he bairned the lass frae the B & B

Watch oot for the Dubhloch muir,
Twa fowk deed there last simmer
Sooked doon bi the glaur
An nae a body near them

The Ben’s nae safe tae wauk ower
It snas fin the sun is heich
Can smore ye in a glisk

Thon ferm at the clachan foun
Is hauntit…dinna bide at the chalet yonner
A young loon hanged itsel
In the barn ahin that park

Na, na, takk a room wi us.
Oor scones takk aa the prizes


2.Park Seat

The guff aff Silas Broon, wad caa ye sidewyes
Ay, clean aff yer stot

Ye’d brak a steel caimb tryin tae
Redd up the hudderie heid o this flee-bag o a bodach

Eftir a nicht on the reid-biddy
Or the Strang-bow cider,
He’ll streek hissel oot on the same
Park seat, an pish his breeks atween the metal grids

The evenin starnies dinna care a boddle
Silas wad grumph an snore like a creashie grumphie

Eftir he styters awa wi the crack o dawn
The seat fands better dowps tae test its mettle
Wee bairnies an their mas, dribblin ice cream
Business chiels chawin their denner sannies

A park seat canna be choosy. It has a saft spot for Silas
Aabody else haein better seats tae sit on, o a nicht.


3. Loch Kinord

Five mile East o Ballater, lies a kettle loch
Pine, birk an sauch tree, bog grun an heather
Formed o a glacier, here bedd crannog fowk
Osprey an otter, oot in ony weather

Greylag an Widgeon, back-packers, deer
Pike in the watter, fower faddoms deep
Battles an staunin stanes, clans o yesteryear
Here, Malcolm Ceannmor bigged a huntin seat

Five mile East o Ballater, a victory for the Scots
There, on the heath, in the widlan o Culblean
Strathbogie he wis killt wi his back agin an aik
Bluid is in the peat-bree, on ilkie stick an steen


4. Doll

Dall, dall, will I be a gweed mither?
Will I mairry for luve? Will he lue me foriver?
Noo I am wee I can practise on you
I’ll rock ye an pett ye ma bonnie wee doo

Dall, dall, will ye weir ma ain face
Fin yer flesh an bluid in this clootie toy’s place?
Dall, dall, neth the licht o the meen
Dae ye hae a dall mither wi glaiss steekit een?


5. Return to the Promised Land

Fin Dan wis a loon, thrang wi lego an letters
He niver aince thocht aboot apin his betters

Growin up, aa his saints, his role models an heroes
They warna archangels, nae Einsteins or Neros
Na na, they war astronauts, mercenaries, bikers
An teddy boys, draft dodgers, big fitbaa strikers

An fin he grew dottlit, he sat in a Hame
Hummin Johnny Cash sangs, whylst forgettin his name
For he’d entered the Promised Lan, gotten inside
Tae the desert o dreams far the deid heroes bide


6. Cutty Sark’s Familiars

Greymalkin is his mistress’s best lued
A tortoiseshell roch Tom wi rippit lugs
At witch’s cantrips he can blaw the pipes
An gar the warlocks birl like breengin bugs

Pyewacket is a Himalayan breed
A Kashmir cat, wi fur o lilac grey
Fin Cutty Sark is trauchelt, he will purr
An knead her sairs, an keep her waes at bay

The third is Crippleclaw, an auld sea cat
He steers her on her besom ower the storm
An navigates the thunner, whyle ships droon
Battered wi hail, like hard doon drappin corn

A blue-eed Siamese, Grizell is vauntie
She brings wee deinties, moose, or bird, or vole
An lays them doon upon the witch’s table
An lick’s her paw, as saft’s a harlot’s stole

The fifth is Mouchi, black wi emerant ee
As gleg a guaird as ony witch could wint
Takk tent, for Cutty Sark has servants leal
Five cats wi pouers as eildrich’s ony kent

The witch is swippert, the witch is slee
She gangs wi a glisk o glamourie
Ower the spire oa sleepin kirk
Drappin her elf-derts throw the mirk


7. The Desperate Battle of the Birds: Birth o a pibroch

Eftir-Stang o a Battle

Ower the deid o Clan Chattan an Clan MaKay
The hoodie craas lowp gutsy, takkin their fill,
Powkin the glaissy ee o the bauldest chiel
Fa’s sicht o the warld is fixed foraye an still

Sma care they fur the deid mens’ luvs or hates,
The Tay rins cauld an derk tae slake their drouth
Like a coronach, like a dirge, the win sabs roon
The craas fecht ower the deinties o fresh-killt youth

King Robert’s lang since left the bluidy scene
Fa watched frae a nearhaun touer the clansmens’duel
The warst o kings, maist miserable o men
Crippled an hirplin, chieftain o misrule.

Doon frae the clouds the wheelin buzzards drap
Hal o the Wynd an the few survivors, gaen
Doon the frae the neuks o trees the scurries flap
Ettlin tae stap their wymes wi the newly slain

September’s dreich, fin Autumn teems the trees
The grey seal churns tae faem the Tay’s grey waves,
Salmon an otter greet the sweemin man
The last MacKay, fleein the battle graves

The feastin craas skreich on throwe drappin sleet
In clachans, fite-faced quines wyte for their men
Skulls knelled in twa wi the battle-aixe’s dunt
Nane will sup frae the parritch-pot again.


8. The Borrowed Days

A bigsie coo vowed Merch cud niver kill
Her, wi its win nor sleet
She wis a vauntie vratch, swack shanked
Wi twa douce horns, an udder ticht
Pink mooed, wi creamy flanks an jetty curls
An milk that hit the pail in pearlin pirls
In ony herd, she wis, o kye, the peach

Merch gaed tae April, borraed three mair days
The first day brocht a gurly, weety storm
Drookit the bonnie coo an gart her hoast
The neist day brocht her crochlin tae her knees
Win fever like tae gar her burn an roast

The hinmaist day, blin drift blew ower her corp
A puckle reid-nebbed hoodies stripped her hide
Aa bit the banes, an they said nocht ava
Thon wis her recompense for glekit pride


9. Ossian Hunts the Deer

Fin auld & blin did Ossian
Sikk a young loon tae aid his plan
Tae hunt a deer in heich heathland
Coorse Ossian o the Fèinne

A dug gaed wi them, gleg o sicht
Nine deer its target, fu in wecht
Quo Ossian, ‘It killt bit echt’
Coorse Ossian o the Fèinne

Ossian raxxed his scrawny airm
Doon the dug’s wyme, tae dae it herm
Tore its intimmers, painch, tripe, thairm
Coorse Ossian o the Fèinne

Echt preens tae haud his kyte fell stoot
He’d steeked, sae hunger’d bare nae fruit
Each time he ett, he’d draw ane oot
Coorse Ossian o the Fèinne

The stervin laddie, aa the time
Nibblit the antrin morsel fine
He sat, daft halflin thief, tae dine
Coorse Ossian o the Fèinne

The blin man sensed the guilt he bore
An oot the laddie’s throat he tore
The bonnie heath wis reid wi gore
Coorse Ossian o the Fèinne


10. The Kist

We sailed aff for Australia, the weather it wis fair
And I, a Lewisman by birth an hauf a silkie’s heir

Ma mither’s bluid it kept me safe frae shipwrak or sic skaith
For man that’s born o silkie’s wyme in oceans can draw braith

Noo on oor derk in gurly storm a kist washed up wi it
The hale crew tried it on for size bit anely ane wad fit

A lad frae Liverpool, he leuch an lay atween its sides
A muckle wave washed ower the deck an ryped him for the tides

An fin we reached Australia an unca thing we heard
The lad frae Liverpool had jinked a hingin judge’s wird

Say, fit wis best, the weird he dreed, drooned in a timmer kist
Or thrapplit bi a rinnin noose an bi Auld Boney kissed?


11. Whin

The wannerin whin’s sib tae the breem
Bit airmed wi stobs tae bite an gnaa
It scents the caller air o spring
It flegs the feys frae hoose an haa

The bees bizz roon its yalla gowd
Rypin the nectar hoard awa
Fin set ableeze it lichts a lowe
That flegs the feys frae hoose an haa

The linnet biggs its bield inbye
As dis the yitie, cheepin smaa
Baith bide in whinny harmony
It flegs the feys frae hoose an haa

Langsyne the fermers fed their nowt
Bi bruisin whin throwe winter snaa
An dyed their claith wi’ts yalla flooers
Whin flegs the feys frae hoose an haa
It cleaned the lum, it tilled the grun
Flavoured the whiskey strang an braa
In healin airt it served its pairt
It flegs the feys frae hoose an haa


12. In Praise o Lallans

Aince heids o state war naethin blate
Frae harns an hairt tae jaa
The Mither Tongue wi kingly pride
The Auld Scots leid is braa

Whan Jamie Saxth tae Lunnon gaed
Scots stude in stirkies’ staa
Tho antrin poets screived in’t yet
Lairds socht its faist doonfaa

Bit Hugh MacDiarmid tuik his pen
Moosewabs tae dicht an blaa
Frae Scots as a reid-bluidit spikk
Tae steer the thochts o aa

Three chiels in the Wee Windaes sat
Some forty years awa
An vowed tae gie the leid a heist
Sae better days micht daw

An Lallans kythed, the magazine
O Purves, Philp, John Law
Annand an Niell –yon siccar chiel
Linguistic wapinshaw

Farrow an Morton noo are thrang
Wi wab-links an Sangshaw
Wi Scotsoun’s virr tae gar the spikk
On warld’s stage tae craw

Sae here is tae the forrit breenge
O Lallans, lion’s claw
That raxxes oot tae flee the flag
The auld Scots leid is braa!


13. A Carol fu o Styte
(A nonsense carol: the whetstone was associated with lying. Here, it’s the prize for the best liar: (1350) - from Early English Carols, ed. Greene, pp 289-90. Here owersett in Scots)

Hey, hey, hey hey hey
I’ll hae a whetstane gin I may

I saw a puggie thatch a hoose
I saw a pudden ett a moose
I saw a deid man threid a noose
I’ll hae a whetstone gin I may

I saw a hurcheon shear an shew
I saw anither bake an brew
Scoor the pots as they war new
I’ll hae a whetstone gin I may

I saw a codfish corn saw
I saw a wirm a fussle blaw
I saw a pie birze wi a craw
I’ll hae a whetstone gin I may

I saw a stockfish pu a harra
1 saw anither drive a barra
1 saw a satt fish sheet an arra
I’ll hae a whetstone gin I may

I saw a boar its burdens bind
I saw a puddock oo-skeins wind
I saw a taed did mustard grind
I’ll hae a whetstone gin I may

I saw a soo her kerchiefs wash
A secunt soo did pleat a rash
The third gaed tae the barn tae thrash
I’ll hae a whetstone gin I may

I saw an egg that ett a pie
Gie me a drink, ma moo is dry
I’ll tell a lee richt gleg an fly
I’ll hae a whetstone gin I may


14. The Deevil & the Quine

The Deevil an the Quine is here owersett in Scots. It is a riddle poem from a Devon schoolboy’s notebook in the 15th century, found later across Britain

Will ye hear an unca thing atween the quine an the Deevil?
Thus spak the Deevil tae the quine;
Pit yer faith in me this day
Quine, may I yer luver be
Wyceness I will teach tae ye

Fit is heicher than the tree?
Fit is deeper than the sea?
Fit is sherper than the thorn?
Fit is looder than the horn?
Fit is langer than the wye?
Fit is reider than the day?
Fit is better than the breid?
Fit’s mair sherp than bein deid?
Fit’s mair yalla than the wax?
Fit is safter than the flax?

Heiven is heicher than the tree
Hell is deeper nor the sea
Hunger’s sherper than the thorn
Thunner’s looder than the horn
Luikin’s langer than the wye
Sin is reidder than the day
Communion sanctifees the breid
Pain’s mair strang than bein deid
Sapphire’s yallaer nur wax
Slk is safter than the flax
Noo, fause Deevil, quaet ye be
I will spikk nae mair wi ye


15. Scots versions of Koryô Songs (The Goryeo Gayo) - from the Koryo (Goryeo) Dynasty (c.918-1392)

from Song of the Gong and Chimes

Gin pearlins drapped on the stane
Gin pearlins drapped on the stane
Wad the threid be brukken?
Gin I pairted fae ye fur a thoosan years,
Gin I pairted fae ye fur a thoosan years
Wad ma hairt be cheenged?

from Song of the Green Mountain
Let’s bide, let’s bide,
Let’s bide on the green Ben!
Wi blaeberries an thyme,
Let’s bide on the green Ben!
Reeshlin Reeshlin Reeshlin Reeshlin glen
Skreich birds, skreich birds,
Skreich eftir ye wauken.
I’ve mair sorra than ye
An greet eftir I wauken.
Reeshlin Reeshlin Reeshlin Reeshlin glen

Sijo and Sasol Sijo, from the Koryo (Goryeo) Dynasty (c.918-1392)

from Hwang Chini (1506-1544)
I will brakk the back
o this lang winter nicht,
fauldin it double,
cauld aneth ma spring quilt,
that I micht raxx oot
the nicht, should ma luv return

From Prince Inp’yong (1622-1658)
Dinna mock a pine
wizzened an boued bi the wins.
Flooers in the spring win,
can they haud their glamourie?
Fin win blaws an snaw furls,
Ye will caa fur me


16. Daith o a Hero

Heroes an heroines sweem up in oor lives
Like Primevera, perfeck on her shell

Teet ahin the mask, rowe back the myth
An here’s a paedophile fa beds a bairn
An there’s a gype, fame-hungeret
An there’s anither…weel, we aa hae faats

Ahin the hero-mask, a mortal man
Kiln-crackit Ming, a nightingale that shits


17. Clap-Trap

Tars are drawn tae the doon-toon bars
Orra jaads an bizzims an hoors
Jive an jitterbug, fechts an scars
Shanghai perfume an plastic flooers

Izzy Orts at the Boston docks
A blin man sooks on a broon cigar
The trumpet blares an the daunce fleer rocks
The fag rikk’s thick as the pea-soup haar

Clap an syphilis jynes the mix
O drink an drugs in a midnicht gig
A back street deal fur a junkie’s fix
Then back tae the bar an the matin jig


18.From the World Wide Web: Lullaby singing: Nguyen Lan

Owersett into Scots of a North Vietnamese lullaby
Ma bairn, sleep weel,
Sae yer ma can cairry watter tae wash the elephant’s back

Gin ony body sikks tae see, gyang up tae the Ben
Tae see Lady Trung Trieu ridin the elephants’ gowden backs

Owersett into Scots of a Central Vietnamese lullaby
Bairnie, sleep weel,
Sae yer mither can gyang tae the mart tae buy a clay saucepan,
Gin she gaes tae the suddron mart,
She’ll buy ye a lang, booed sugar cane

Owersett into Scots of a Southern Vietnamese lullaby
Imagine yer walkin on a boord-brig faistened wi nails,
It’s hard as walkin on a shoogly bamboo brig