Scots Poems From Flashback Poem by Sheena Blackhall

1.Scurries Rule OK!
Scurries skyte aroon the schules
Fleggin bairns an brakkin rules
Pooin on the teachers’ cars
Chorin chips an candy bars

Some fowk caa them rats wi wings
See them lowp like burst bedsprings
Scurries divin doon the road
Niver heed the highway code


2.Ten Scots Owersetts of Early Irish (From English Translation)
Sliabh gCua: Irish, Anon,9thC
Sliabh gCua, bield o wolves
Roch an derk
The win keens roon its glens
Wolves skirl doon its corries
The wud broon deer bells in Autumn, aroon it
The heron skreichs ower its crags


Blackie’s Sang: Irish Anon 8-9thC
The bird has gien a fussle
Frae the tap o its bricht yalla beak
The blackie frae the yalla-tufted bough
Cheeps oot its cry ower Loch Loígh


The Randy: Irish Anon,9th C
I dinna ken fa Edan will lie wi the nicht
Bit I dae ken
That fair Edan winna lie alane


Daith: Irish. Anon 9th C
Whether foreneen or gloaming,
Whether lan or sea
Tho I ken I’ll dee
Ochone, I dinna ken fan.


The Monk’s Tryst: Irish Anon,9thC?
The douce wee bell
That rings on a winny nicht-
I’d rather tryst wi it
Than tryst wi a jaad


On Mael Mhuu, the Poet: Irish, Anon,887
The sweet yird hasnae yet happit
There hisnae yet cam tae the Tours o Tara
(Nor has Ireland in its mony fields
Yet enfaulded) a chiel
Like the pure, kind, Mael Mhuru.

There hasnae ane drunk brave o Daith
There hasnae ane reached the sibness o the Deid
The plooed yird hisnae yet closed
Ower a sheannachie mair winnerfu than he.

Storm: Irish. Anon 8-9thC
Cauld is the nicht in the muckle Muir
The rain dings doon
Nae hauf-meisurs;
A roar bi the caller win
Delichts an skreich ower the bield o the wid

Flood-tide: Irish ‘Finian’ 9th C
Luik afore ye tae the Nor East
At the sea’s glamourie
Hame o craiturs
Hame o selkies
Reamin wi ferlies
It has taen on flood-tide

The Win: Irish Anon 8-9th C
It has brukken us
It has caad us tae smithereens
It has droned us
O King o the Star Bricht Kingdom
The win has etten us up
Like twigs, in the crammosie Lowe o Heiven

Yuletide Cauld: Irish Anon 11thC
Cauld, cauld, jeelin this nicht in braid Moylurg,
The snaw is heicher than a Ben
The deer canna win at its meat.

Aybydaun cauld! The storm has spreid on ilkie side
The plooed brae is a burn, an ilkie ford is a reamin mere

Ilkie teemin loch is a muckle sea
Ilkie mere is a reamin loch
Shelts canna cross the ford o Ross
Nae mair can twa feet win ower

The fishies o Ireland are traivellin
There isnae a stran far the waves dinna clatter
There’s nae a toun left in the lan
Nae a bell is heard, nae a heron skreichs

The wolves o Cuan Wid
Dinna get peace tae sleep in their lair
The Jenny Wren fins nae bield for her nest
On the tap o Lon

Wae faas on the boorich o wee birds
Frae the coorse win, the cauld ice!
The blackie wi its pit-mirk back
Fins nae bank tae its likin
Nae a bield for it, in the wids o Cuan.

Warm is oor pottie on its hyeuk
Hitherin-thitherin the blackie on Leitir Cró
Snaw has blattered the wid here
It’s hard tae sclimm up Ben Bó

The erne o broon Glen Rye
Maun thole the wersh, wud win
Great is its wae an sorra
The ice will steek its beak

It’s daft for ye- takk tent o’t-
Tae rise frae yer bed an bowster
There’s a rowth o ice on ilkie ford
Thon’s the wye I cry ‘Cauld’


3. Three Scots Owersetts made in Trinity College

An 11thC poem in honour of St Colum Cille (521-597)
Ma hairt is trauchelt wi screivin
Ma sherp quill isnae steady
Ma thin-beakit pen powks forrit
A blaik skelp o sheenin derk blue ink

A burn o the wyceness o Blissed God
Rins frae ma fair-broon bonnie haun
On the page it draps its load o ink
Vrocht frae the green-skinnt holly

Ma wee dreepin pen traivels
Aroon the acres o sheenin buiks
Wioot devaul, for the wealth o the great
An ma haun’s fair ferfochan wi screivin


16thC Irish Riddle on the Makkin o Vellum
Ane o ma faes eyndit ma life
Sapped ma warldy virr,
Eftirwards, steeped me watted in watter
Laid me doon in the sun, far I sune tint
The hairs I eased tae hae. An syne
The hard knife edge cuttit me

Fingers faulded me and a birdie’s feather
Screived aa ower ma licht broon physog
Wi draps o delicht

Syne, for the lave, a cheil
Raxxed me ower a boord, booed hide ower me
Paintit me wi gowd, and sae I glimmered
Winnerfu in smith-wark, wire ringed roon.

Say fit I’m caad, eesefu tae men
Mystery’s ma name,
A help tae heroes an Haly, sae I am.

The Screiver: screived in Priscian’s Latin Grammar by an Irish monk at St. Gallen, Switzerland, mid 9thC
A hedge o trees rings me roon
A blackie sings sae doucely
Abeen ma weel-ruled buik
The birds sing far an wide

In a green hap o leafy branches
The gowk sings her bonnie chant
Hain me, Lord, on Judgement Day
Blythely I screive aneth the trees.


4. The Fiddle:
Fa canna be meeved bi music
Is a daud o ice or stane
Fin a fiddlers boos his bowstring
He has me, bluid an bane

Fin first I heard a fiddle
Ma hairt it sae inspired
Ma fingers sterted clackin
Ma feet, they gaed on fire

Fin neist I heard fiddle,
Tears in a een did stert
For it telt o grue an sorra
Fin luvers brakk apairt


5.One Scots owersett of an Irish poem translated by James Stephen

A Glaiss o Beer
The skinnymalinkie She in the howf ower thonner
Near killt me for speirin the len o a glaiss o beer
May Auld Clootie grup the fite faced hoor bi the hair
An threwsh ill mainner ooto her hide fur a year

Thon hauf-baked vratch wi the teuchest jaa ye’ll see
On Vertue’s road, wi a voice that wad roose the deid
Cam skirlin an skreichin the meenit she luikit at me
An haived me ooto the hoose on the back o ma heid!

Gin I socht her maister, he’d gie me a coggie a day
Bit She, wi the beer at haun nae a pick wad arrange!
May she mairry a ghaist gie birth tae a kittlin an may
The Heich King o Glory see that it catches the mange!