Scots Poems From Terzarima Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Embro's Trams
Auld Reekie toun has a famous castle
Nae langer dae its chanties rassle
Better than charabangs an prams
Noo Embro toun is rinnin trams

Oor parliament's near Holyrood
Far mony a queen in Embro stude
Takkin sedan chairs, gigs an drams
They didna ken the joys o trams

In closes, pends, the antrin neuk
The ghaist o Walter Scott steps oot
Wi Burke an Hare, kent fur ill scams
Wid killers be convoyed on trams?

Hear, fowk frae Troon an Gretna Green
Glesga, Dundee an Aiberdeen
Yer taxes helped (did ye hae qualms?)
Tae gie oor Capital its trams

Noo Edinburgh fowk are vauntie
Each Edinburgher an his auntie
He disna traivel like us bams
He wheechs aroon in genteel trams!


Craiturs
There wis an ambidextrous ant fa juggled for a leevin
Fa wed a brosie brock an set up hame in Kinlochleven

There wis a contermaschious coo fa stude as an MP
She wis beaten bi a dowie dyeuk, (a Tory, an Wee Free)

There wis an Ecclefechan eel fa tied itsel in knots
Fin spikkin tae a fyauchie fish wi Glesga glottal stops

There wis a gallus gollach wi a pair o tartan trews
Fin he saw a Heilen chucken he wid aywis stop tae news

There wis an Isla Islander, a jinkin jeelyfish
For brakkfest she enjoyed a daud o kale upon a dish

There wis a lowpin lobster wi nesty snappin cleuks
Fa liked tae fleg the midgies heezin roon aboot sea neuks

There wis a michty moose fa daunced a polkie in Dunoon
Wi a newt o sonsie hurdies, they near caad the toun clock doon

There wis a mochy ostrich fa bedd in Embro zoo
She shared a scone an cuppie wi a ringle-eed pea-doo

At Troon there wis a quail fa hid the orra trick o spittin
An a rotten fa liked roller skatin roon Rosythe while knittin

There wis a teenie troot fa dreamt o cheengin tae a silkie
Awa near Ullapool far mists are mizzlin an milkie

There wis a veecious vulture, he wis jist an orra vratch
Till a wasp stung his bihoochie, noo he his a baldie patch

There wis a xylophone, far Willie Wagtail made a stooshie
While a yokie yalla, yeitie keepit time on a bazouki

There wis a zig-zag zebra (a puir genetic fluke)
An thon's the beastie alphabet, for aa fa care tae look!


Owersett of Twa poems by John Clare

1.The Flood
On Lolham Brigs, in wud an lanesome mood
I've seen the Yuletide floods their pliskies play
Ower ilkie arch that trimmled far I stude
Booed ower its waas tae watch the splooterin spray
As their auld stations wid be washed agley
Dunt cam the ice agin the jambs an syne
A judder jarred the arches…yet aince mair
It breisted bosky waves an stude richt fine
Tae wyte the on-ding, thrawn like as afore

Fite faem broon tappit wi the roosty yird
Aa washed frae new-plooed lans wad flee aneth
Syne roon a thoosan eddies flee like girds
Birl tae the ither side far they draw braith
Ae meenit swallaed syne, like life in daith
Fa's wrackit merks flee on the flood sae braw
Faister than shaddas that in storms doonfaa
Straes treetle, birl, an steady aa fur nocht
The brig's stinch arches sheet them quick awa
The feather daunces, flichters, freedom socht
Derts ben the deepest dangers, aye afloat
As gin wee feys hae wheeched it ooto sicht
An daunced it ower the waves as pleisur's boat
Licht hairtit as a thocht in pearlin may
Trees uprived busses, fence upretted rails
Wechtit wi seggs in latchy meevements gae
Like watter kelpies, tint, each wynds a trails
Till near the arches, syne as in affricht
It dives, it reels, it trimmles ooto sicht

Waves dwaum lowp back an ram stam byle again
Like breengin bogles risin in aneth
Fin at the tap, unfurl a hudderie mane
Ae meenit raxxin a mair siccar braith
Syne divin heidlang doon an doon an on
An ilke ane byles in the steps o last
An ither bogles rise fin they are gaen
Brier their torn waves- lowp forrit an are passed
The cauld air cams tae jeel an worrit me
Frae bank tae bank the watte-war is spreid
Fey birds like spindrift ower the howlin sea
Hing far the wud dyeuks hashed on by an fled
On roars the flood aye tcyauvin tae be free
Like tribble, wannerin tae Eternity


Moose's Nest
I fand a baa o girse amangst the hey
An powked it as I passed an daunert by
An fin I looked I thocht a ferlie steered
An turned again in hopes tae see a bird
Fin oot an auld moose treetlit frae the wheats
Wi aa her littlins hingin frae her teats
She looked sae unca an sae fey tae me
I ran an winnert fit this thing could be
An pairtit knapwid divots far I stude
The moose syne flew aff frae her skreichin brood
The littlins squeaked as I gaed on ma wye
She fand her nest again amang the hey
The watter ower the stanes could scarce be fun
An braid auld stankpuils glimmered in the sun


Three Scots Owersetts of poems translated into English of the Poet Hoàng Hung (1942-) , Vietnamese, born in Bac Ninh Province

1.A Cheil Gaun Hame
He is hame frae THON
His wife greets aa nicht, his bairns are dumfounert aa day
Hame frae THON
Fin he wauks throw the yett, his friens' physogs are aisse-like
Hame frae THON
He feels yokie, at the back o his heid
In the mids o a boorich o fowk
As if somebody's watchin

Ae year eftir, he chokes o a suddenty at a pairty
Twa years eftir he swytes frae his widdendremes
Three years eftir, he peeties a lizard
Years eftir, he's taen a the tig o sittin alane in the derk

Whyles bi day he feels the glower o fremmit een
Whyles bi nicht an aimless vyce speires questions
He lowps Aa a touch tae his shouder

2.The Daftie
Cairryin a brukken brick on her heid
She wauks an sings
Gloamin cams gradual at the eyn o the street
She wauks an sings
Bitticks o a calmin sang
Brakk ma hairt

Ochone, the wudness o tile an brick
Please sing an sing again
O aa the brukken smush
Ye cairry in her heid

3.Far Dae the Stairs Lead Us?
Far dae the stairs lead us?
The peint is poorple; pairt o the brick waa shaws throw the stucco
Far dae the stairs lead us?
The coffee's rikk an a bumshayvelt shoppie

The hoose fell doon langsyne
Leavin anely its stairs
Murnin the feet that hid steppit up an up
Up tae catch the treelips o fite rikk
Up tae catch flocks o wud birdies
Catch glamouries, catch lichtheidedness
Catch the resshlin soun o the toun's life

The hoose fell doon langsyne
Leavin anely the stairs
Far dae the stairs lead us?
The haar in the lift, nae wings in flicht
The stairs o a suddenty stop
The anely wye is back
Frae the mids o the street
A lanely bairn keeks up


Scots Owersett of an English translation of a poem by Nguyen Khoa Diem (1942) Vietnamese

A Kintra Airt
Gyaun back, a sickle meen
In the eynless gloamin fug o the lea
The puddocks sang ripens in the hett girse
Rice is saft as a luver's shooder


Spring- this same spring
That lowses birdies in the perfumed girse o hame
Crossin a lane a herd o buffalo wi strippit wymes
Drum their horns at the sickle meen

Wytin evidently, a thochtie jittery
Eichteen kintra quines fa miss their sodjer laddies affa sair
Warm thisels wi thochts o them

Syne the strang win blaws
At the clachan's wellie an riverbank
The pure singin o quines
Risin like crystal tae the sickle meen

Scots Owersett of an English translation of a poem by Y Nhi (1944)

Sang Lyric
I am a Khuyen
Lyin happit in the ooie girse
Its singin bides in yer sang

I'm a spunk
Lyin quaet in the aisse-bowl
Its lowe fleers in yer fingers

I'm a boatie
Cowped aneth a raw o pins
Its sea
Flowed hyne awa frae ye

Aywis I'm haived back
Aywis in ma dwaumin I see
The lowe
The singin
The sea

Legend o the Three Deid an the Three Leevin
The legend o the three leevin an the three deid cams frae France. The plot o 'the legend' is plain: three corpses (three kirk bodies) meet wi three leevin (a duke, a count, an a prince) . The latter are terrifeed bi this tryst. The deid spikk tae the three rich fowk, garrin them takk tent: 'Such as I was you are, and such as I am you will be. Wealth, honor and power are of no value at the hour of your death.' In the Master of the Book of Reasons, peintit at the eyn o the 15th century, they are ridin shelts an set tae gyang huntin. Their frichtenet tykes cercle them. The deid dinna seem tae be memmers o the clergy, bit raiher the doubles o the three leevin. 'The legend' wis aften peintit al fresco in kirks to gyang wi a daunce o death.

Three Deid, Three Leevin
Sic as I wis, frien, tho ye be
Sic as I am's the weird ye'll dree
Wealth an honour, pith an pouer
In daith, nae comfort gie

Financier, wi rowth o gowd
Ye rule the lives o mony
There are nae pooches in a shroud
The mools are far frae bonnie

Sic as I wis, frien, tho ye be
Sic as I am's the weird ye'll dree
Wealth an honour, pith an pouer
In daith, nae comfort gie

Media mogul, bigsy, braw
Aa fowk prig fur scraps o fame
Frae ye tae toss frae yer great paw
The grave cares nocht for name

Sic as I wis, frien, tho ye be
Sic as I am's the weird ye'll dree
Wealth an honour, pith an pouer
In daith, nae comfort gie

Fin yer sax fit deep in yird
Member o the parliament
In the glaur ye'll spak nae wird
Pouer an influence aa spent

Owerset Poem: Paris at Nicht

Déjeuner Du Matin
Il a mis le café
Dans la tasse de café
Il a mis le lait
Dans la tasse de café
Il a mis le sucre
Dans le café au lait
Avec la petite cuiller
Il a tourné
Il a bu le café au lait
Et il a reposé la tasse
Sans me parler
Il a allumé
Une cigarette
Il a fait des ronds
Avec la fumée
Il a mis les cendres
Dans le cendrier
Sans me parler
Sans me regarder
Il s'est levé
Il a mis
Son chapeau sur sa tête
Il a mis
Son manteau de pluie
Parce qu'il pleuvait
Et il est parti
Sous la pluie
Sans une parole
Sans me regarder
Et moi j'ai pris
Ma tête dans ma main
Et j'ai pleuré.

Jacques Prevert
Brakkfaist
He poored the coffee
Inno the cup
He poored the milk
Inno the cup
He teemed in the sugar
Tae the coffee an milk
He steered it
Wi a teaspeen
He supped the coffee
An pit back the cup
Wioot spikkin tae me
He kinnlit a fag
He blew a puckle rings
Wi the rikk
He dunted the aisse
Inno the aissetray
Wioot spikkin tae me
Wioot luikin at me
He raise up
He pit his bunnet on his heid
He pit on
His raincoat
Because it wis a doonpish
He gaed oot
Inno the weet
Wioot a wird
Wioot luikin at me
See me?
I tuik my heid
In ma hauns
An I grat



Makkin the Tattiebogle
Colin Massie, frae Glen Dye's banks
On the Warlock Stane he held his pranks
Nearhaun Potarch, far the kelpie bides
Fa droons the gype that on her back rides
Here, Janet, the witch frae Sundayswells
An Margret Davidson cast their spells
Wi Helen Rogie o Findtrack fame
Fa stobbit a dallie tae bring fowk pain
Wi Margret Ogg fa bewitched men's kye
An Janet Lucas gley-eed an sly
Fa practised her airts in Lumphanan's kirk
Wi Isobel Ogg, as tanned's a Turk
They cud cheenge tae a bawd, or a futterat faist
An this is the cantrip they likit best:
Rugg a neep frae a park, unseen
Howk oot holes fur its mou an een
Frae the heid o a hoolet staned tae daith
Pyke oot een fur the craitur's sicht
Noo, the craa-man needs a mou o its ain
Cut the lips frae a bairn bi smallpox slain
Plunked in the neep they'll sune takk reet
Heist the heid on a pole that's blaik as seet
A tattiebogle ye'll hae that spikks
An gey far ben wi the Deevil's tricks
Makk a hole in the cross wi a jaiket gray
Wi breeks an buits, aa stappit wi strae
Frae the gibbet, howk a murderer's hairt
Cut aff his hauns afore he's lairt
Pit the hairt in the jaiket, the hauns on the pole
The tattiebogle's the Deevil's soul
Frae sivven corpses as deid as mutton
Pyke an ee frae each for a jaiket button
Frae a mappie, a coo, a snake, a deer
A salmon, a brock an a wild cat drear
Tae gar him lowp, daunce heich three times
Roon the tattiebogle, an spikk these lines:
A laird, a lord, a lily, a leaf
A piper a drummer a hummer a thief
Bit staun weel back, makk set tae flee
Fur the deil kens fit fey weird ye'll dree!

Letter tae a Lochan

Dear Loch Builg,
Ye haud ma faither's luv in yer jeelin watters
There is nae gravesteen here,
Nae foggy inscription in the lappin waves

The lift is rikk,
Risin ooto the smoored aisse o the Bens' cauldron

Ma faither larned me here tae skim the stanes
Kerplunk, skippin abune the lochan till they drooned
Yer ripples circlin roon them, syne at peace
Like steppin stanes they war, tae the Aybydan

Mony's the stormy meen sleeps in yer hairt
As fite as lithium.
Yer harns hae bin aa raivelled bi the win
Cercled bi heather, glorious in purple
A secret kept bi keepers, ernes an deer

The crack o a stikk ahin me,
Raises the ghaist o ma faither in its wake.

He bred the heath in me, the coontless starnies
Lochan, ma faither's dearie
His best likit
He is the win that boos tae kiss yer broo


Clean Sweep
Ae day I ma mither rippit aa her photies
The faimly's past, like it wis nochtie dirt
Like she wintit tae dicht awa the hale kiboodle..
Bairntime, merriege, waddins, holidays
Like chakk-stoor frae the blackboord o her life

The Tide o Time wis creepin tae her taes
Mebbe she wintit the san tae swallae her up
Mebbe she wintit tae blaw awa like rikk,
A caunle meltin doon its seelent thrapple.

Daith, the moose-trap, seeks nae extra gear


Granite
Granite. It's fit this toon is bigg't on
Granite laists wi its steely sheen
Hewn frae the quarry, ‘twis gey sair won
The grey foundation o Aiberdeen

Granite's the thing that draws ye back
It shapes the landscape, it spikks o place
Granite's the stane that winna brakk
It pits the grit in the North East race
Granite glint fires an inner langin
The wannerlust tae gyang hyne awa
Bit ay there's the need tae be belangin
Back, far the Northern breezes blaw

The blocks that biggit oor past, oor hame
That shapes oor future's the granite stane


Aa Things Scottish
Here's tae roastit bubblyjock, tae morphine an lawnmowers
Tae bowlin greens, Gleneagles, an the Aviemore snaa-blawers

Here's tae photocopiers, tae Bovril, Gretna Green
Tae Glenmorangie, Arisaig, Tae Glamis an Aiberdeen

Here's tae Dolly, marmalade, Glen Lyon, Embro Toun
Tae gas masks an tae insulan, the Reekie Linn an Troon

Here's tae penicillin, an the Northern Lichts, ablaze
The Clyde, the Wallace monument an Tobermory's braes
Here's tae tar an overdraft, tae Forres, Wick an Skye
Balmoral, Ballachulish far the midgies fing on by

Here's tae anaesthesia, thermometers, the bus
Crieff Hydro, an Glenfinnan Stirlin Castle…aa o us


Weety Oot: County Mayo
It's weety oot. Skin's watterproof
A coo's weirin a pail
Like a fez on its dubby snoot

A yowe wi dreepin l; ugs
Glowers ben the smirr
Hooses like haciendas, skyrie-harled
Hug roadsides like tidemerks

It's Tuesday. Mayo's teem
The car-less tarmac rins mids girse an breem

The Roads Untaen
It's far ower late tae traivel the roads nae taen
The roads ower fearie, ower roch that I micht hae gaen

I hae blawn ben life like a fooshunless toosht o strae
Heelstergowdie, contermaschiously

Noo I'm a shoogly leaf tit-tittin a shakkin twig
I'll niver see Tir nan Og, or cross its brig


Civic Cows
Angus, Hamish, Faquhar, Campbell
Cooncil-ained bi Dundee toon
Heilian coos…pyed fur bi taxes
Jist like gweed roads. A towrist boon


Owersett in Scots: Poem by Pablo Neruda

Ode tae the Claes
Ilkie morning ye wyte
Claes, ower ma cheer
Fur ma vauntieness
Ma luv
Ma hope
Ma corp
Tae full ye
I hae scarce
Waukent up
I say ta ta tae the watter
An enter yer sleeves
Ma shanks luik fur
The teemness o yer legs
An noo enfaulded
Bi yer unweariet leal-ness
I gae oot tae walk for maet
I meeve inno barderie
I teet throwe windaes
At ferlies
Chiels, weemen,
daeins an tcyauuves
Keep makkin me fit I am
Gaun agin me
Makkin eese o ma hauns
Unsteekin ma een
Pittin taste in ma mou
An syne
Claes
I makk ye fit ye are
Pushin oot yer elbucks
Raxxin yer seams
An sae yer life swalls
The marra o ma life
Ye flap
An skelp in the win
As though ye war ma soul
At coorse times
Ye hug
Ma beens
Teem, at nicht
The derk sleep
Fowk wi their ghaisties
Yer wings an mine
I spear
Whether ae day
A bullet
Frae a fae
Will merk ye wi ma bluid
an syne
ye will dee wi me
or mebbe
it winna be
sae dramatic
bit simple
an ye'll dwine gradual
claes
wi me, wi ma corp
an thegither
we'll enter
the yird
at the thocht o this
ilkie day
I greet ye
Wi reveraunce an syne
Ye enfauld me an I forget ye
Because we are ane
An will gae on facin
The win thegither, the nicht
The streets or the warssle
Ae corp
Mebbe, mebbe, ae day unmeevin