Scots Poems From The Abbot O Unreason Poem by Sheena Blackhall

The Warlock's Tattiebogle
The warlock's tattiebogle
Has hoolet's een tae see
Howked frae the bird at midnicht
Torn frae a cursed yew tree

The warlock's tattiebogle
Its heid's a blichtit neep
Its jaiket's frae a hangit chiel
Its pouers are strang an deep

The warlock's tattiebogle
Its hat is ripped wi teirs
Its strae's pued frae a grave yaird
A murderer's breeks it weirs

The warlock's tattiebogle
It wauks fin yer asleep
It sooks the braith frae bairnies
An leaves their fowk tae greet


Twa Auld Wives
Twa auld wives on Union Street, wytin fur a bus
‘Fit d'ye think o the bus gates? '
‘Naethin tae dae wi us'
‘Car drivers dinna like them,
Some takk ill wi fit's new…'
‘Watch oot on the pavement!
A cycle near killt thon doo!
‘Fit dae ye think on thon muckle sign
That spells oot Aiberdeen? '
‘It's fur fowk fa are turnin dottlit
Nae help if they're in the Green.'

Champing
Fur a cheenge frae the horrors o campin
Rent a nicht in a kirk, an gae champin
Nae midgies tae nip ye, jist ghaisties tae fleg ye
Wi an ensuite that's better than glampin


Fit Wye Nae?
Hae ye seen a weather forecast
Doric- nae fur comedy?
I hinna.
Fit wye nae?

Are there nurseries here in Grampian
Far bairns spikk Doric fin they play?
Nae that ye or I hae heard tell o
Fit wye nae?

Is there CPD far dominies
Larn o Doric, spakk the day?
Tae shine a licht on Doric culture
Fit wye nae?

Polish bairns hae special schules
Tae gie their heirskip a hooray
Doric gaitherins arenae reg'lar
Fit wye nae?

Gaelic's skeely at promotion
Winnin grants, publicity
Government fundin fur the Doric's
Nae furthcomin.
Fit wye nae?

It's the spik o mony thoosans
At the table, it's plate's teem
Ulster Scots wins rowth o siller
Doric disnae.
Fit wye nae?

Kyrielle o the Gordon Heilanders' Pipe Band
a band o pipers merched ae day
the drummers drummed, tunes blythe or wae
I felt the music lift ma feet
I daunced richt swippert ben the street

aa throw the toun o Aiberdeen
frae Holburn Junction tae the Green
laments tae gar a glaiss ee greet
I daunced richt swippert ben the street


The Dee Spikks Oot
Ma name means goddess.The Roman name is Deva
I'm aulder than the Romans, ma tongue is liquid, siller
The Celts flang metal wark, timmer carvins, whyles fowk
Intae ma waters, rituals tae keep me douce

I bubble up frae the derk o the Braeriach Plateau
Born in the Cairngorm Bens, the walls o Dee

As a littlin, a burnie, I tummle frae a cliff
Drap intae An Garbh Choire, the roch corrie

Syne a tributary ooto the Puils o Dee in the Lairig Ghru
Jynes me. I traivel sooth atween Ben Macdui an Cairn Toul

Tapsalteerie I tummle ower the Chest of Dee
On ma wye tae the Fite Brig, the Geldie Burn,

I turn tae the east. At the Linn o Dee
I slidder ben a rocky gorge, clear as hinney
An armada o leaves lies lichtly on ma skin

Ither watters mell wi me, the Luibeg, the Derry, the Quoich
The Clunie jynes me at Braemar.

Noo I'm growthy an swack, swalled wi Muick an Gairn
At Ballater campers steep their feet in ma shallas
Lupins growe ooto ma shores an salmon lowp
Ae wikk I raise up roarin frae ma bed in a muckle storm,
Hauf drooned the clachan

The Tanar jynes me at Abyne, I'm calm
Until I thunner up at Potarch, brakkin in smithereens
Oh, I hae haud mony stories, keep ma secrets close
Withoot a secunt thocht I smash on boulders
I can droon a body in the blink o an Dee

The Feugh rowes in at Banchory. Luvers boo ower its brig
At the clashin waves, watchin the salmon lowp

Rinnin ben ma banks is the Caledonian pine wids
Birk wids an heather muirs. At nicht I'm fu o starnies
A keekin glaiss, ma puils. At fords ye'll hear the blether o ma pebbles

Syne, at the hinnereyn, I reach the toon,
The muckle steery toon o Aiberdeen
Spirkit wi ile, skirled ower bi scurries,
Slidderin roon the dowps o muckle ships
I cowp ma waters inno the cauld Nor Sea
Trachelt, ferfochan, foonert, I gie up the ghaists
O heather, castles, peat, tae the satty deeps


Auld
At nicht I turn cannie in bed,
Sleep lichtly, ache wi leg cramps
Bite ma lips wi pain. The muscle's ticht
A cloud wauchts ower the meen.
I rise tae pee fower times afore daylicht

Ma tongue powks in the holes
O five tint teeth. Skin tags
Sproot like taedsteels ower ma skin
I'm telt I guff (I hae nae sense o smell)

Twice ilkie day I meisur oot ma peels
Diabetes, high bluid pressure, an the lave
Three monthly B12 jabs
Tae boost ma battery, stavin aff the grave
Whyles, I've tummlit sprauchlin in the street
Unlike wee bairnies, auld fowk dinna stot
Ma pen wis skeely screivin aince, langsyne
Noo ma copperplate is like tae blot


The Triolet o an Impoverished Performer
fin I wis skint, fowk gied me flooers
reward fur me performin
like pyin me wi heavy shooers
fin I wis skint fowk gied me flooers
(nae groceries, jist overtures
o gifties braw bit deein)
fin I wis skint fowk gied me flooers
reward fur me performin


The Abbot o Unreason
Frae Halloween tae Caunlemass
The Abbot o Unreason
Ruled ower high jinks an blythseome ploys
In the cauld Yuletide Sizzon

Wi masks an mummers, jugglers tae
Masked man in the meen, wi stars
Feels in blue velvet, kettledrums
Fifes played roon howffs an bars

Wi some rigged oot like fearsome Turks,
Young knichts in claes o gowd
St Andra's flag in blue an fite
Guns, squibs blawin richt lood.

Wi trumpeters an bagpipers,
An fowk in yalla an green
An Morris dancers, minstrels swete
Tambor an tambourine
Syne wid come giants, great an sma
An Hobby-horses, licht
Ploomen wi ribbons green an fite
The Abbot, a braw-like sicht

Rings on ilkie finger he wore
He cairriet a bishop's cromack
An he wis dressed in claith o gowd
Wi gowd chynes ower his stammack
A strae man follaed on a cairt
A priest an sawbanes jynin
An maist wore bells aroon their cweets
Fake dragons by them rinnin

An aa the fowk aroon them lauch
An clap thon merry pageants
An syne there's feastin, drinkin, daunce
Nae tribbled bi toun serjeants

There's custards, cheeses, ale an breid
Aa methods o flim-flammery
There's houghmagandie, fechtin, jests
An muckle joukery-pokerie

There's players, beggars, traivellers
There's bawdy sangs, an tummlers
An aa tae cheer the Winter months
In spite o soor-faced grumblers!

Associations 1
aiblich-humfybackit-brig
Brontosaurus-muckle wecht
beggar-siller-speirin-prig
contermaschious- wint a fecht?

stammygaster-fair dumfounert
dottlet-gie yer neb a dicht
trauchelt-fair ferfochan-scunnert
starnie-heiven-meenshine-licht

merriematazie -roon an roon
eichteen futterats on a dyke
drummers dirdin roon the toun
ficher-tcyavin-fash an fyke


The Auld Fowks' Hame
Devaul at the front yett
Press the bell an wyte
Weir yer anti-covid mask
The nurse'll lat ye in.

The lichts are on aa day,
Like gloamin time, sae cosy
The heatin's a hett dwaum
The merchandise dwines easy

There's a faint guff o pee
There is a rowth o zimmers
Cerclin like cowboy waggons
Bit nae a fear o ony steer

Daith causes a minor stooshie
Curtains hap the corp
The body's wheeched awa upon a trolly
The unnertakkers are baith faist an skeely

Puckles o fowk are sleepin
Heids sidiewyes they slump like thrappled chuckens
Aabody weirs bauchles ower their bunions

Time fur tay an pieces,
The rattle o speens in cups

The veesitors hae gaen
Back tae their ain consarns
The consarns o the leevin
Slawly, the fees o the Hame ett up
Fit's left o ony inheritance

The option is tae dae the darg thirsels
The sleepless nichts, the Altzheimers, the hippens

The parents they leave ahin
Are in Daith's wytin room

Auld Annie's in her cheer, her heid draps doon
Time fur her peels, teeth in a joog, her goun.

Scots Owersett of The Hidden Singer by Wendell Berry
The gods growe smaaer fur their luve o praise.
Abune, aneth them aa's a speerit that needs naethin
bit its ain haleness, its health an oors.
It has vrocht aathin bi dividin itsel.
It'll be hale again.
Tae its delicht we cam thegether -
the seer an the seen, the etter an the etten,
the luver an the lued.
In oor jynin it kens itsel. It is wi us syne,
nae as the gods fas names rise tap in uneirdly lowe,
bit as a wee birdie happit in the leaves
fa sings quaet an wytes, an sings.