Scots Poems From The Hanged Cheil Poem by Sheena Blackhall

The Hanged Cheil
We'd barely bin a month in oor new hame
Lang eneuch tae ken the neebor's son
Tae see, an winner foo he wauked alane

He sat himsel tap o the girsy hill
Dreich chiel, he seemed tae be the fae o fun
Makkin o dowieness his greatest skill

Ae day a skirl raise throwe the hoosin scheme
A mither's skirl, fa's fand her nest undone
Her laddie deid, a sicht best left unseen

We larnt he'd bin engaged, the waddin booked
The flat new mortgaged, the lease had begun
She'd cheenged her mind, an aa their ties unhooked

He'd climmed intae the laft, knottit a noose
Wi towe an lat it throw the trap door run
Tied it aroon his thrapple, this recluse

Lowped doon tae teem air, swingin ower the drap
Leavin this warld, oor neebor's auldest son
A jilted luver, the noose stopped his sap

They say she heard the creak, luiked up tae see
The sicht nae mither wid forget, forgie
The quine fa tipped her laddie ower the edge
Fa bruk his hairt an their betrothal pledge


The Scythe Spikks Oot
The silk haired girse
Sweys swippert as ballet dauncers

Faist as simmer lichtnin
I swype them doon

Like madame la guillotine
Wheech, I slice clean as a fussle
I bring rest tae the corn
Cut aff in its gowden glamourie
In the hauns o ma maister, Daith
Hale generations vanish
Aneth ma blade

Deeside as Cuisine
Aiberdeen scurrie breists in brine
Finzean fudge
Abyne troot wi byled Birse piz
Ballater salmon on a bed o blaeberries
Balmoral butteries wi royal jeely
Inver poached grouse in cranberry sauce
Braemar wud Ben thyme salad

At the Hinmaist Trump
Will breets rise ooto the stoor, as weel as fowk?
Will herds o kye an bison, nowt an yowes
Rise bullerin an snortin, grumphin an baain
Ooto the yirdy mools, frae killin hoose an howes?

Will the wids be riven asunder
Tae lat lowse millenia o tod an hoolet
Brock an deer an bear, in the steer o rikk an thunner?

Will the lift be blaik wi birdies
Shag an wirms, whaup an yalla yeitie?
Will moosies poor in trillians ooto the grun
Wi kittlins, chukkens, futterats, an scurrie?

Will the air be chokit wi midgies
Glegs, gollachs, the urban an the rural
Bees, wasps an sic like winged smush
Risin like Lazarus, pairt o a miracle?

Hale galaxies wid be nott
Tae hoose the sodjers frae countless wars
Ilkie battle iver focht
As mony as heivens stars
Dinosaurs, wooly mammoths, saber toothed tigers
Fit a stramash, fit a stooshie, fit a melee!
Teemin ooto the seas an continents
Muckle whales, an dodoes o rareity!

Faither
Faither smelt o leather, heather, peat
Mornins he wid dunk his heid in the sink
Soapin his lugs, his bald pate, neck an oxters
A razor scraped aff stibble blaik as ink

Airmed wi a screwdriver, he mendit fuses
Whyles he tuik his shotgun frae its case
Cleaned an iled the barrels shone like jewels
As gweed's a keekin glaiss its metal face

He drave us tae the Bens roon Ballater
Oor picnics taen in hyne aff secret glens
Tae reenge the muirs an watch the ernes furl
Heich in the lift, that the lane sclimmer kens

He teemed the moose traps, kept the watter rinnin
Stude on a shoogly laidder, papered waas
Squashed wyvers fin I skirled tae see them creep
I wis his princess, he'd aye fecht my cause

He niver feenished larnin, readin buiks
An wound the clocks tae keep things punctual
His nails wir clean, held perfect fite hauf meens
Turned blaik as pairt o Daith's coorse ritual


I Gie Thanks
Fur the lowe that lowps reid-hett in the hairth
Fur the burn that breenges bonnily unner the brig
Fur the threips o birdies that greet the brakk o day
Fur the bawd that bides on the emerant green lea-rig

Fur the cat that purrs an dwaums in a sunny neuk
Fur the dyew that draps frae the trimmlin rose's lip
Fur the teenie emerteen on a swatch o girse
Fur the derksome loch far the drouthy reid deer sip

Fur the poppy brichtenin the simmer sheugh
Fur the meen that sails ben the silken oors o nicht
Fur the snail that slidders alang an auncient waa
Fur the hairst moose chitterin, cooryin ooto sicht

Fur the lammie's baa an the dubby yowe's roch bleat
Fur the oceans teemin wi tribes o glimmerin fish
Fur the puddock hirplin ower the peat bog's bree
Fur the sheltie shiftin flees wi a horsey swish

Fur the fite faced hoolet huntin the starnie howe
Fur the snaa that fitens the breist o Lochnagar
Fur the wattergaw, the mist an the hurlygush
Fur the gowden barley brierin roon Cromar
Fur the salmon slidderin doon a Heilan linn
Fur the erne that furls roon the touerin ben
Fur aa things Natur has vrocht an freely gien
Tae sweeten life in the warld o mortal men

Fin the Muse cams tae Veesit
Fin the Muse cams tae veesit
Fling doon the tattie parer
Kick the cattie ooto the cheer
Steek the buik an clear the brod
Lock oot ony incamers
The Muse winnae allow fur ony stramash
Bit His ane
He's nae smaa ding
A pouerfu incamer
He disnae wyte fur invites
Takk my advice
Sheet the person frae Porlock!

Wyin the Hairt
Tae Auncient Egyptians the hairt
Wis the body's michtiest organ
The ticket tae the Efterlife
The passport intae Heiven

The "wyin o the hairt" wis the tellin ritual
First aff sowels o the deid traivelled thegither
Tae the Haa o Maat, led bi the god Anubis
Tae wye each hairt agin the wecht o a feather.

Gin yer hairt wis wechty wi guilt
Ye wir deleted foriver, tae Naethin-ness
The god Thoth screived the verdict in his buik
Yer hairt wis etten bi Ammit, a "gobbler" goddess.
Sae fur ilkie ill ye dae, makk siccar that ye
Dae twa gweed deeds, think on Eternity

Cosmic Consciousness
I tell Mormon cold callers I'm nae here
Big questions hurt ma harns an sae I lat
Fey repons gar them shift, makk sure they steer

I see the speeritual in starnie-licht
The win that shakks the corn, in things new born.
The hoolet's wing beats in the pulse o nicht.

An whyles I disappear intae the day
Mell wi the wids, becam the Aa-in-ane
A drap o watter in the lochan's spray.

Fur aathin's linked, the stane, the flooer, the tree
The tinklin bell, the thunner soun we hear
Impermanence in perpetuity
Daith is a cheenge that's ordnar, nae tae fear

Ballater Brig
The brig o Ballater kens mony Sizzens
Its colours reenge frae peat, tae skinklin snaa
It aye stauns stinch ben blin drift an mishanter
It bides the same, throw history's cheengin times

Its colours reenge frae peat, tae skinklin snaa
Luvers tryst bi meenlicht on its arch
It bides the same, throw history's cheengin times
Green Coyles o Muick are in its wattery sichts

Luvers tryst bi meenlicht on its arch
Derk Lochnagar luiks ower it frae the clouds
Green Coyles o Muick are in its wattery sichts
Aneth, bairns paiddle far the salmon lowp

Derk Lochnagar luiks ower it frae the clouds
The brig o Ballater kens mony Sizzens
Aneth, bairns paiddle far the salmon lowp
It aye stauns stinch ben blin drift an mishanter

Doric Owersett o Ooka Makoto / 大岡信- III Flame's Song
Fin Man cams teetle me
he skreichs in fleg
bit I dinna ken
whether I'm hett or cauld
because I dinna bide in the same airt fur even a meenit
an the me o a meenit ago is nae mair

I aywis depairt bi burnin
I staun agin derkness
yet it is tae derkness
that I maun gae back

Mankind is feart o me
because I'm aathegither selfless:
fur rizzons unkent tae me
I eidently bring masel tae trees, paper, an human flesh
tae touch, straik an owercam them aa
an I will
dee wi their aisse
the skreichs o fowk touchin me
shaw tae me
foo the frienly feelins I haud fur them
mystifee them

Doric Owersett o The Greatest Love bi Anna Swirszcynska
She is saxty. She is livin
the greatest luve o her life.
She wauks airm-in-airm with her dearie
her hair blaws in the win.
Her dearie tells her
'Ye hae hair like pearls.'
Her bairns tell her:
'Auld gype.'

Doric Owersett o "Five minutes after the air raid" by Miroslav Holub
In Pilsen,
twinty-sax Station Road,
she sclimmed tae the third fleer
up stairs that wir aa that wis left
o the hale hoose,
she opened her yett
full on tae the lift,
stude glowerin ower the edge.
Fur this wis the airt
the warld eyndit.
Syne
she luikit up cannily
lest somebody chore
Sirius
or Aldebaran
frae her kitchie,
gaed back doonstairs an sattled hersel
tae wyte
fur the hoose tae rise again
an fur her man tae rise frae the aisse
an fur her bairn's hauns an feet tae be stuck back intae place.
In the mornin they fand her
still as stane
spurgies pykin her hauns.

Doric Owersett o I lost my identity card bi Yehuda Amichai
I tint ma identity caird.
I hae tae screive oot ma curriculum vitae
aa ower again fur mony offices, ae copy tae God
an ane tae the deil. I mind
the photie taen thirty-three years back
at a win-scoored neuk in the Negev.
Ma een wir prophets syne, bit ma body hid nae idea
fit wis happenin tae it or far it belanged.
Ye aften say, Thon is the airt,
This happened richt here, bit it's nae the airt,
ye jist think sae an live in error,
an error fas eternity is greater
than the eternity o truith.
As the years gae by, ma life keeps fullin up wi nemmes
like abandoned graveyairds
or like a daft history class
or a telephone buik in a fremmit toun.
An daith is fin somebody keeps cryin fur ye
an cryin fur ye
an ye nae langer turn roon tae see
fa it is