Scots Poems From Spoiler Alert! Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Ballaterach
Wee Geordie Byron
Ran aboot the braes
Prood as a pertrick
In fancy breeks an claes

Wee Geordie Byron
Ballaterach's tricky vratch
Brakkin ilkie thing in sicht
A slippery deil tae catch

A free reenge bairnie, Geordie
The verra kye are feart
The fleggit pheasants flew awa
Finiver he appeart


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



The Roup.1983, Aultonrea
Aged sax, ma da tuik me tae Aultonrea
An eeran, tae the Esson faimily ferm
Lang sattled in Glen Muick, o auncient stock
Fa poored a cup o tea wi frienly cherm

Thirty years eftir, daith snippt aff the link
Aa gear an trock wis pit aneth the haimmer
A heistit haun, a nod, a lauch, a wink
Things selt bi auction tae the heichest bidder

Lairds, neebors steered aroon, a braw day oot
Bunnets an buits, fowk shilpit, stoot an hippit
Sklaikin an bletherin, keen tae jyne the sale
Buyers frae hyne awa, wi moos ticht grippit

Georgian, Edwardian gear, a Tudor wash staun
A heeze o fermin ferlies on the green
Miss Esson's caunle lantern fur the derk
Signed photie oVictoria the queen
A robin frae the fence post watchin aa
A buzzard cerclin, wings raxxed, owerheid
A tyke gaed paddin roon the staunin fowk
An sniffed aboot the trock that stauns ootspreid

Sae, weel lued speens an pans, ladles an cups
Wi ashets, harras, besoms, picturs braa
Finds ither maisters, a diaspora
Like bairnies grown, a teem nest, tint o aa


Gilderoy McGregor
The cave at the Burn o Vat,
Wis the lair o a noted thief
Gilderoy McGregor
A Heilan cateran chief

Fin a local pair wir merriet
He ran tae spulzie the place

They catched him at the hinnereyn
In saxteen thirty sax
In Embro bi the hangman's noose
His thrapple they did raxx


Music
Bird sang, unscreived
Poors frae the open yett o the feathered hairt
Notts nae subtitles
Notts nae jookery-pokery

Notes hing in the seelence o the air
Pure as the first snaw o winter
Blythe as gean flooers in spring

The singer is airtless
Fulled wi the duende o the meenit
Lug-balm, sowel-sap
Fit could compare wi thon primeval sang?
A struck spunk brierin
In the lowe o the pagan wids


Sclimmin up Rapunzel's Braids
He'd niver seen a braid like it
Burnished gowd, three strandit
Glentin in the sun
The anely wye up tae the touer
Wis ae heich windae
Nae laidder an nae yett tae win inbye

Aa he cud hear wis the vyce, saft an curmurrin
Till he could thole nae mair
Neive ower neive, he sclimmed the hank o hair
His hairt like a haimmer duntin in his breast
Wi a breenge, he lowpt intae the chaumer

There she wis, the spunk that kinnlit his langin
Nae a sonsie quine, bit a wizzent cailleach
Wrunkled, stankin o fish frae her unwashed crutch


Sprauchled oot wi ma Uncle's Kye
Ma uncle's fine milk kye
Lie sprauchled oot in the park
Ringed bi cercles o sharn
Buzzed ower bi flees

I watch their jaas munch sidiewyes
Sisters in simmer thegither
Nae sklaik atween us
Bar a twitch o the lugs
The antrin moo betimes

Ae wechty Friesian stauns on her splayed hooves
Heists her tale like a wattergaw
Skooshes oot a stream o rikkin skitter
Hett frae the lowsed purse o her clarty dowp

I like tae lie in the girse wi ma uncle's kye
Aneth the beeches in Mey
Fin the leaves drap dauncin shaddas atween sun glents
Breets' lang lashed liquid een
Blinkin peacefu unner the sweyin boughs
Naethin else bit the thrummin o teenie flees
Girselowpers' parp, an the cheep o widlan merles
Coos' een hae a leid o their ain
Mysterious, milky, auncient
As peat on the muir. Matrons,
Their bovine thochts mysterious an cannie

The Cattie
Oor cat Lucy is contermaschious
Couthie bit coorse she prowls the night
Humphs a moosie in tae the hoose
Gript in her moo like a toy held ticht

Oor cat Lucy bi day lies streekit
Oot on the bed wi her paas raxxt oot
Dwaumin, her fuskers flichterin airy
Strings, as she snores through her weet snoot

Oor cat Lucy is prood an spunky
Preens her coat till it sheens like sharn
Oor cat Lucy likes corrieneuchin
Purrin fin pettit's her greatest cherm


The Year I didnae Veesit Mumbai
The year I didnae veesit Mumbai
I veesited Birse insteid
Nae Ganesh, Hanuman, Kali
Yowes in a park, weel fed

I didnae sup buffalo lassi
An I didnae catch fevers fey
Bit a heeze o midgies chawed ma shanks
In Birse on a simmer's day


Scots o Poems from Poetry of the Holocaust from Yad Vashem
Scots owersett o A Puir Christian Looks at the Ghetto by Czeslaw Milosz
Bees bigg aroon reid liver,
Emerteens bigg aroon blaik bane.
It's stertit: the teirin, the stampin on silks,
It's stertit: the brakkin o glaiss, timmer, copper, nickel, siller, faem
O gypsum, iron sheets, fiddle strings, trumpets, leaves, baas, crystals.

Wheech! Skyrie flames frae yalla waas
Reams ower breet an human hair.
Bees bigg aroon the hinneycaimb o lungs,
Emerteens bigg aroon fite bane.
Riven is paper, rubber, linen, leather, flax,
Fibre, claes, cellulose, snakeskin, weer.
The reef an the waa drap doon in flame an the lowe grips the founs.

Noo there is anely the yird, sanny, trampit doon,
Wi ae leafless tree.
Slawly, howkin a tunnel, a guairdian mowdie makks his wey,
Wi a wee reid lamp faistened tae his broo.
He touches beeriet corpses, coonts them, hashes on,
He kens human aisse bi its luminous rikk,
The aisse o ilkie cheil bi a different pairt o the spectrum.

Bees bigg aroon a reid trace.
Emerteens bigg aroon the merk left bi ma corpse.
I'm feart, sae feart o the guairdian mowdie.
He his swallt eelids, like a Patriarch
Fa his sat lang in the licht o caunles
Readin the great buik o the species.

Fit'll I tell him, masel, a Jew o the New Testament,
Wytin twa thoosan years fur the secunt camin o Jesus?
Ma brukken corp will deliver me tae his sicht
An he'll coont me amang the helpers o daith:
The uncircumcised.


Scots owersett o A Windae Faces the ither side by Wladyslaw Szlengel.
I hae a windae facin the ither side
It's a braiss, Jewish windae
That luiks oot on the bonnie Krasinski Park
Wi its weet autumn leaves...
A greyish poorple gloamin lift
Wi booin branches
O Aryan trees glowerin intae ma
Jewish windae…
An I'm nae alloued tae staun in the windae,
Richtly sae, fur Jewish insects…mowdies are
vrocht tae be blin.

The young cheils sit in their pits,
Their een sunk in their darg
Far frae thon Jewish windaes
An I, fin evenin faas
Rin tae the derkened windae
Tae win back a warld an blunt the Noo.

Hungert I luik an I luik
An ett a foonert Warsaw,
The hyne aff souns o steer an fustle
The raws o hooses an streets an the lees o palaces…

Ma glower sooks in the Toun Haa wi
Theatre Squar ablow me.
A kindly meen lats me hae
This dewy-eed escape
An ma hungeret ee
Wanners deep as a piercin knife
Intae the saft nicht
O a seelent Warsaw evenin
in the derkened City Squar.
An fin I've sooked in eneuch
Tae laist the morn an mebbe a bittie langer,
I cut masel aff frae the seelent toun
An eildricht wi heistit haun an steekit ee, I fusper,
'Warsaw, spikk fur I awyte ye.'

An o a suddenty the pianies in the toun
Wi seelenced lids
Wauken as ane tae the command,
Wechty, dowie, an trauchelt
An frae a hunner pianies, a Chopin polonaise
Trinkles intae the nicht.
Wi chords caain intae the wechty seelence.
Abune the toun, this festival o soun
Camin frae the pianie keys
As fite as daith.
The eyn… ma hauns drappit
An the notes o the Polonaise are gaen back tae a seelence.
I turn back an think foo awfae
That ma windae faces the ither side.


Scots owersett o the poem Monologue o a Dug by Wislawa Szymborska
There's dugs an dugs. I wis amang the chusen.
I'd gweed papers an wolf's bluid in ma veins.
I bedd upon the heichts inhalin the smells o views:
Leys in sunlicht, spruces efter rain,
an dauds o yird aneth the snaa.
I'd a braw hame an fowk tae serve me
I wis fed, washed, groomed,
an taen fur bonnie wauks.
Respeckfu, tho, an genteel.
They aa kent richt weel fas dug I wis.
Ony orra tyke can hae a maister.
Takk tent, tho — dinna compare.
Ma maister wis a breed apairt.
He'd a braw herd that follaed his ilkie step
an fixed its een on him in fearfu bumbazement.
Fur me they aywis hid smiles,
wi envy sairly happit.
Since anely I hid the richt
tae greet him wi swack lowps,
anely I could spikk cheerie-bye bi wurritin his troosers wi ma teeth.
Anely I wis lat
win scrattin an straikin
wi ma heid laid in his lap.
Anely I could makk on sleep
fin he booed ower me tae fusper somethin
He raged at ithers aften, lood
He gurred, bowfed,
breenged frae waa tae waa.
I jelouse he liked anely me
an naebody else, iver.
Likewise I'd ma darg: wytin, trustin.
Since he wid cam hame quick, an syne vanish.
Fit keepit him doon thonner in the laigh lans, I dinna ken.
I jeloused, tho, it maun be big business,
at least as important
as ma fecht wi the catties
an aathin that meeves fur nae gweed rizzon.
There's yer Weird an yer Weird. Mine cheenged faist.
Ae spring cam
and he wisnae thonner.
A richt stooshie brukk lowse at hame.
Suitcases, bunnles, pyokes rammed intae cars.
The wheels skirled teirin doon the knowe
an fell seelent roon the neuk.
On the terrace skirps an rags fleered,
yalla sarks, airmbands wi blaik emblems
an a heeze o blootered cartons
wi wee banners tummlin oot.
I birled an birled in this furlywin,
mair dumfounert than pit oot.
I felt unfrienly keeks at ma fur.
As gin I wis a dug wioot a maister,
some antrin mongrel
chased doonstairs wi a besom.
Somebody rived ma siller-trimmed collar aff,
somebody kickit ma dish, teem fur days.
Syne some ither body, drivin awa,
raxxed oot frae the car
an shot me twice.
He couldnae even sheet straicht,
since I deed fur a lang time, in pain,
tae the buzz o ill daein flees.
I, the dug o ma maister.


Scots Owersett o A Contribution to Statistics bi Wislawa Szymborska
Ooto a hunner fowk

them fa aywis ken better
-- fifty-twa

dootin ilkie step
-- near aa the lave,

gled tae gie a haun
gin it disnae takk ower lang
-- as heich as forty-nine,

aywis gweed
because they canna be ither
-- fower, weel mebbe five,

able to admire wioot envy
-- eichteen,

tholin dreams
brocht on bi fleein youth
-- saxty, gie or takk a fyew,

noo tae be taen lichtly
-- forty an fower,

bidin in ongaun fleg
o somebody or somethin
-- seeventy-seeven,

could be blythe
-- twinty-somethin taps,

hermless single, sauvage in a steer
-- hauf at least,

coorse
fin forced bi circumstances
-- better nae tae ken
even baapark nummers,

wyce efter the fack
-- jist twa mair
than wyce afore it,

takkin anely ferlies frae life
-- thirty
(I wish I wis wrang) ,

twa fauld in pain,
nae flashlicht in the derk
-- eichty-three
suner or later,

richteous
-- thirty-five, an thon is mony


richteous
an unnerstaunin
-- three,

wirthy o compassion
-- ninety-nine,

mortal
-- a hunner ooto a hunner.
Sae far this nummer still bides uncheenged.


Scots owersett o the poem Ma Mither's Frien bi Lily Brett
ma mither
hid a skweelfrien
she shared the war wi

ma mither
luiked efter her frien
in the ghetto

she laid her oot
as tho she wis deid
an the Gestapo bypassed her

in Auschwitz
she fed her frien snaa
fin she wis birsslin wi typhoid

an fin
the Nazis
teemed Stuthof

they haived
the inmates
ontae boats in the Baltic

an ettled
tae droon
as mony as they could


ma mither
an her frien
survived

in
Bayreuth
efter the war

ma mother's frien
pattit ma chikks
an curled ma curls

an haived hersel
frae the tap
o a bank.


Scots Owersett o the poem Hunger screived in the Bergen-Belsen camp in the winter o 1944 by the ten-year auld Peter Kest.

Hunger
Ma kyte grummles an I mummle quaet tae masel
Tae ett? Nae tae ett?
It's sic a wee nippick o breid efter aa.

Tae drink? Nae tae drink?
Fit is there tae drink? Tell me, ye fowk
Orra watter wi bluid?
A lowe will I sen throw the lan,
Banns will I aim at the heivens
An I'll dream o ma neist meal.


Scots Owersett o Testimony by Dan Pagis
Na na: they fairly wir
human beins: uniforms, buits.
Foo tae explain? They wir vrocht
in the image.

I wis a shadda.
A different Makar vrocht me.

An he in his mercy left naethin o me that wid dee.
An I flew tae him, raise wechtless, blae,
forgiein - I wid even say: apologizin-
rikk tae ower-pouerfu rikk wioot image or likeness.

……………………………………………………………………………………

Bairn Rhymes

Weird
Fit'll ma weird be?
Fa can tell?
Naebody kens
Sand, cloud nor shell

Nae wirds cam frae the scooshlin sea
Fitiver ma road gaun forrit'll be

Fit'll ma weird be?
Fa can tell?
Naebody kens
Sand, cloud nor shell


The Spikkin Tree
I've niver maistered Everest
I've niver chased a whale
I've niver swam wi crocodiles
I've niver catched a gale
I've spukken tae a larick
Fin naebody wis aboot
An at the Burn o Clunie
I conversed wi a troot

The Anti Social Habits o Dugs
Dugs pee on terracotta pots
Dugs pee on bikes an cars
Dugs pee on hikers' rucksacks
Dugs pee on jeely jars
Dugs pee on yer begonias
Dugs pee on birdies' eggs
An if ye staun still ower lang
Dugs try tae hump yer legs

Waddin Gifts
Somethin auld…ma haun in luv
Somethin new…fit lies afore ye
Somethin borraed…ribbon, glove
Something blue…bricht skies be wi ye


The Misfit
There is a misfit in oor class
Wi lugs like cauliflooers
His neb is like a dreepin tap
It's booed wi fechts an cloors

His shanks are bowdie as a brig
That boaties could sail unner
An fin he pus his eebroos doon
It's a sure sign o thunner

There is a misfit in oor class
Wi hair like wisps o strae
He has three teeth, a warty chin
The dug's lugs rise fin he sooks in
His oxters are as blaik as sin
His een are baith agley

There is a misfit in oor class
Wi games his i-pad's stappit
An sae we like tae play wi him
E'en tho he's hallierackit


Coontin Yowes
Ae yowe, twa yowes
Lowpin ower the knowes
Three yowes, fower yowes
Jinkin roon the howes

Five yowes merchin in the bagpipe band
Sax yowes dauncin in the dauncer's staun
Sivven yowes ettin burgers tapped wi cheese
The echth yowe fell intae a swarm o bees


Nine yowes riggit oot tae meet the queen
Ten yowes rinnin aff tae Gretna Green

………………………………………………………………………………

Auld Hornie
Auld Hornie sits in his hoose o flame
Lowp Deevilicks lowp fin yer maister spikks
He birssles the coorse an the ne'er dae weels
Hell makks fowk pye for their life's ill tricks

He's byordnar fond o dominie stew
Lowp Deevilicks lowp fin yer maister spikks
Fas maths gars littlins greet an grue
Hell makks fowk pye for their life's ill tricks

Meenisters miscaain ither religions
Lowp Deevilicks lowp fin yer maister spikks
Are aften fand in the Nether Regions
Hell makks fowk pye for their life's ill tricks

Gin ye terrifee teenie bairns
Lowp Deevilicks lowp fin yer maister spikks
He'll fry yer bihoochie an brakk yer airms
Hell makks fowk pye for their life's ill tricks


Clover
I sooked the clover fin I wis wee
I sooked the tails o girse
I lay on ma back in the park o corn
Wi the speerit o corn, ma nurse

I heard the sang o the whaup's hert brakk
Fleein awa sae quick
I turned aroon like a scuddin cloud
Ma life blawn by like rikk


The Doo as a Towrist Guide
There's the Torry Battery view tae see for sterters
Far the dolphins micht pit on a show tae please

The Duthie Park's the scene, fin the littlins wint ice cream
An Hazleheid sells scones aneth the trees

Ett a rowie bi the graves o St Nicholas, or ma fave's
Tae stravaig aroon St Machar's in the sun
Far the kirk is fu o history ilkie lair is stappt wi mysery
Or wauk doon tae Seaton Park fur bairnie's fun

Ye micht takk in a museum- Gordon Heilanders-come see ‘em
Aa thon sodjers in their trenches in the war
Or the picturs on the waa o oor Art Gallery are braw
Syne nip intae Auld Mither Cameron's bar

Cadonas it is thrang, dodgem cars, the hale jing bang
Bit afore ye leave- please shaw yer gratitude
(Dinna leave it far the gulls bore in aboot like bulls)
Jist a doo sized pie as pyement, if ye could