Scots Poems From Robin Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Loch Lomond
Loch Lomond has a wave wioot a win
A fish wioot a fin an a floatin island

The loch wis howked oot bi glaciers
At the eyn o the hinmaist ice age 10,000 years syne

Fowk first cam tae this airt 5,000 years back
Durin the Neolithic time
At Balmaha, at Luss, at Inchlonaig.
Biggin crannogs an isles tae bide in

Loch Lomond has a wave wioot a win
A fish wioot a fin an a floatin island

A freshwatter loch, it's hame tae 22 isles
It's a portal frae Lowlands tae Heilans

It's kent as a ribbon loch
At its deepest pynt its canyons drap
Tae a depth o 620ft o pit mirk derk

Pilot whales, porpoises, dolphins
Whyles a humpback whale,
Veesit thon inky airt

Loch Lomond has a wave wioot a win
A fish wioot a fin an a floatin island

A heeze o blaik an fite eider dyeuks
Dive deep tae gaither mussels frae its foun

This airt's a Shangri la fur trees an flooers
Pine, spruce, larick, birk, aik, aisse an hazel,
Mosses, ferns, bluebells, primroses, garlic

It is a bield fur mony different craturs
Osprey, gowden erne, swan or wee dipper

Roe an reid deer reenge the watterfront
Reid squirrels, brocks, pine martens, pipistrelle bats
Midgies in spades, troot, salmon, pike an perch
Beavers, an Heilan coos, the antrin tourist

Loch Lomond has a wave wioot a win
A fish wioot a fin an a floatin island


Saugh Saugh
Saugh, saugh aside the Dee
Foo are yer branches murnin?
Is't fur the leaves that are faan an gaen
An nivermair returnin?

Saugh, saugh aside the Dee
Like a cailleach's hair doon drappin
Saftly ye wyve abune the waves
That roon yer reets are lappin

Saugh, saugh, aside the Dee
Foo are yer branches murnin?
Is't fur the leaves that are faan an gaen
An nivermair returnin?



Lollipop
A sweetie that's a lollipop's
A baa upon a stick.
A crossin that's a lollipop
Can stop the traffic quick.
Sae if there's nae a zebra
Or a mannie green an flashin,
Look oot fur the lollipop
That stops the traffic hashin.
An if there's nae a frienly face
Far road an pavement meet,
Look left, look richt, look left again
Afore ye cross the street.

Forget-me-not
A pictur aften cams tae me unsocht
The verra kernel o simplicity
A teeny-weeny sma forget me not

Aside the skinklin Dee, a floral knot
O moose-lugged petals, natur's heraldry
Brichtenin the girse, in its weel hid birth spot

Fantoosh laird's gairdens meeve me nae a jot
Unlike this flooer, lued bi free masonry
Set in its sonsie Heilan Camelot

Its gowden ee's a sunny yalla dot
Bairns lue it fur its flooery glamourie
Butterflees jyne it in its hidden plot

An fin ma een steek, in daith's closin shot
Micht my last pictur be forget me not


The Cailleach
Fit wye are ye paiddlin in the burn
Cailleach as auld's the Bens?
There's a bairn that bides inbye ma skin
Fa kens each neuk o the glens

Fit wye are ye sae disjaskit noo
Are yer banes sair? Or yer hairt?
I murn that ma race is gey near run
Doonhill frae the verra stert.


The Wee Wife fae Dunoon
There wis a wee wife frae Dunoon
Fa's stammache an dowp wir sae roon
There wisna a chair frae Pitsligo tae Ayr
Big eneuch sae that she could sit doon


The Marathon
A tattie an an ingin
Ran on a marathon
A rinner bean beat baith o them
First equal wi a scone
Robin Redbreast's Testament
"Gude day, now, bonnie Robin,
How lang hae ye been here? "
"Oh, I have been a bird about this bush
This mair than twenty year.

But now I am the sickest bird
That ever sat on brier:
And I wad mak my testament,
Gudeman, if ye wad hear.

"Gae tak' this bonnie neb o' mine,
That picks upon the corn:
And gie't to the Duke of Hamilton,
To be a hunting horn

Gae tak' thae bonnie feathers o' mine
The feathers o' my neb,
And gie to the Lady o' Hamilton
To fill a feather bed.

"Gae tak this gude richt leg o' mine,
And mend the brig o' Tay
It will be a post and pillar gude,
It will neither bow nor sway.

And tak' this other leg o' mine,
And mend the brig o' Weir;
It will be a post and pillar gude,
It will neither bow nor steer.

"Gae tak thae bonnie feathers o' mine,
The feathers o' my tail;
And gie to the lads o' Hamilton
To be a barn-flail.

And Tak' they bonnie feathers o' mine,
The feathers o' my breast;
And gie to ony bonnie lad
That'll bring me to a priest."

Now in there cam my Lady Wren,
Wi mony a sigh and groan:
"O what care I for a' the lads
If my wee lad be gone? "

The Robin Turn'd him round about,
E'en like a little king;
"Gae pack ye out at my chamber-door,
Ye little cutty-queen."
Anonymous


Doric Owersett o The Names of the Hare: Anonymous 1200-1300
The cheil the bawd has met
will niver be the better o't
except he pit doon on the lan
fit he cairries in his haun-
be it stick or be it bow-
an bliss him wi his elbuck
an cam oot wi this litany
wi devotion an sincerity
tae reeze oot the vertues o the bawd
Syne the cheil will better fare.

'The bawd, caa him scutard,
muckle-loon, Knicht Templar,
the O'Bawd, the lowper,
the vratch, the racer.

Dunt-the-fit, fite-face,
guff-in-sheugh, keech-dowp

The win mount, the knife,
the flee-er, the chitterer,
the ill-met, the slivverer.

The faist-dock, the dyew-flirt,
the girse-biter, the goibert,
the latchy-hame, the dish-the-stoor.

The glowerer, the wid-cattie,
the near blin, the furze cattie,
the sleekit ane, the blae-eed,
the waa-eed, the glisk-aside
an likewyse the hedge-lowper.

The stibble-stag, the lang lugs,
the stook-deer, the gleg shanks,
the wud ane, the skipper,
the grip-the-grun, the sneaker,
the race-the-win, the skiver,
the birze-the-bawd, the hedge-squatter,
the dyew-haimmer, the dyew-lowper,
the sit-ticht, the girse-breenger,
the jig-fit, the yird-dowper,
the licht-fit, the fern-dowper,
the kail-stag, the herb-etter.

The slidder-alang, the sitter-quaet,
the preen-dock, the ring-the-knowe,
the sudden stert,
the shakk-the-hairt,
the stammach-fite,
the lamms-in-flicht.

The gobshite, the gum-sooker,
the fleg-the-cheil, the faith-brakker,
the sniff-the-grun, the baldy skull,
(his chief nemme is nikkum)

The stag sprootin a suede horn,
the craitur bidin in the corn,
the craitur tholin aa men's scorn,
the craitur naebody daurs tae nemme.

Fin ye hae got aa this said
syne the bawd's smeddum's bin laid.
Syne ye micht gae farin furth-
east an west an sooth an north,
fariver ye wint tae gae-
bit anely gin yer skeely tae.
An noo, Maister Bawd, gweed day yersel.
God guide ye tae a cairry on
wi me: cam tae me deid
in either ingin broth or breid.


Doric Owersett o I saw a peacock with a fiery tail (Anglo Saxon Riddle from the Exeter Book before 1,000, anonymous)
I saw a Peacock wi dowp in flames
I saw a bleezin comet drap doon hail
I saw a cloud wi ivy cercled roon
I saw a hefty aik creep on the grun
I saw an emmett swallae up a whale
I saw an angeret sea ream ower wi ale
I saw a Venice Glaiss saxteen fit deep
I saw a wall full wi men`s tears that greet
I saw their een aa in a lowe o flame
I saw a hoose as big's the meen an heicher
I saw the sun even in the mids o nicht
I saw the cheil that saw this unca sicht.


Doric Owersett o The Maiden's Song Anon 16th Century
Fin I wis in ma mither's bouer
I had aa that I wid nott

The bailie takketh the bell awa
The lily, the rose, the rose an aa

The siller fite, reid is the lid
The robes they bide in fauld

The bailie takketh the bell awa
The lily, the rose, the rose an aa

An throwe the glaiss windae sheens the sun
Foo should I love an I sae young?

The bailie takketh the bell awa
The lily, the rose, the rose an aa
The bailie takketh the bell awa


Doric Owersett of an Anonymous poem (16th century)
Fa screived it? Fa kens?
The nemmes drappt frae the pages,
Tint an niver
Tae return tae far
The een o the reader
Micht iver see them.
I am naebody
Makkin the aybydan sae
I can live foraye.
Doric Owersett o The Navajo Poem: The War God's Horse Song
I am Aybydaun an Peacefu.
I staun fur ma shelt.

Fin the Eirde has had eneuch tae drink
Ye maun race ower the heivens
Cairrying the wattergaw in yer mane an tail,
An spreid it ower the lift
Sae that depairtit sowels
Micht cross on it intae the neist warld.
Aa sowels will traivel ower the wattergaw trail.


Doric Owersett o The Wicked who would do me harm
Told by Isabella Chisholm, a Highland traiveller

The coorse ane fa wid dae me hairm
May he takk a skaith in the thrapple
Globularly, spirally, circularly,
Orra, pellety, horny-grim.

Be it harder than the stane,
Be it blaiker than the coal,
Be it faister than the dyeuk,
Be it wechtier than the leid.
Be it fiercer, fiercer, sherper, wersher, mair malignant,
Than the hard, wound-shakkin holly,
Be it soorer than the sained, sheenin, wersh, satt satt,
Sivven sivven times.

Sweengin thither,
Up an doon thonner,
Hyterin forrit,
Warsslin upwirds.
Drivellin ootwirds,
Snocherin inwirds,
Aft hashin oot,
Seldom camin in.
A tooshtie the portion o each haun,
A fit in the foun o ilkie pillar,
A shank the prop o ilkie jamb,
A flux drivin an ruggin him

A dysentery o bluid frae hairt, frae marra, frae banes,
Frae the liver, frae the lug, frae the lungs,
An a searchin o veins, o thrapple, an o kidneys,
Tae ma scorners an back-biters.

In the nemme o the God o micht,
Fa sained me frae ilkie coorseness
An fa shieldit me wi virr,
Frae the net o ma brakkers
An destroyers.


Yowes skull on the Muir
I saw a yowe's skull on the muir
Ae mochy, fyauchy day
It's een wir teem, twa sichtless holes,
Howked in a heid sae blae?

Fit myndins seeped oot wi its harns
O reengin on the bens?
Fit smaa bumbazements, hummle joys
Follaed it throwe lane glens

A craitur's life ooto oor ken
Wis't missed amang its kin?
Lyin unmurned upon the yird
Wirms wummlin neth its skin.


Burn Watter
Takk aff a dram o burn watter
Sweel it aroon yer mou
It tastes o the fower sizzens
O peat an wee flooers o the ben

Lat it slidder doon yer thrapple
Cauldrife an pure as sna
It is the bairn o the rain
An the winnerfu wattergaw


Nightsang
My toun's a port, a herbour fur the warld
Tae trade an commerce, its affairs are thirled
At nicht my toun bides waukened, niver sleeps
As hulls o cruisers, ile ships leave the deeps
Tae berth in Aiberdeen, far neon lichts
Walcome the sailor, tae its souns an sichts

Alang the beach, the tides sweesh back an fore
Wee nippy partans rin across the shore
An meenlicht bobs in cups o waves that rowe
Like an armada, siller on each prow
My toun's a port, a herbour fur the warld
Tae trade an commerce, its affairs are thirled


Washin
Washin, like prayer flags daunces
Catched bi the wins that blaw
The bairn's goun is jiggin

It's sark is fite as snaw

The scurries think it unca
That washin disnae flee
It flaps its wings wi smeddum
Bit it's tethered constantly