Scots Poems From The Prophet Hen From Leeds Poem by Sheena Blackhall

I dinna ken fit's happenin

I dinna ken fit's happenin
The warld's gaen daft eenoo
We're aa locked up like puggies
Ye see in Embro zoo

Like Noah's ark we queue up
Nae twa bi twa, alane
Tae scran fur scraps an bog roll
That hinna aa bin taen

The shoppie shelves are empty
The bairns are aa at hame
Far ower the warld a virus
His changed the human game

A war, bit nae wi sodjers
Focht bi the NHS
An we salute them ane anaa
Heroes in medic's dress


Jist GIE
Hospital, care hame, an hospice
Surgeon, nurse, auxiliary,
In this horrible pandemic
Watchin ower as some fowk dee
Facin risk o bein smittit
Bi an unseen enemy
Heroes aa, we maun salute ye
As ye
Gie an Gie an Gie

Ambulance's paramedic
Front line wirker, an GP
Quaranteenin frae their faimlies
Ye aa chusetae fecht, nae flee
Ye should aa be gaen a medal
Helpin tae reduce the nummers
In each day's obitu'ry
As ye wirk wi patched up armour
Fin ye
Gie an Gie an Gie
We hae seen ye on the TV
Weariet, rubbin tired ee
Haudin hauns wi sinkin patients
As they face mortality
Wi compassion, luve an carin
Still ye
Gie an Gie an Gie

Bidin safe inside oor hooses
Feart o friens' proximity
Staunin weel awa frae ithers
Stockpilin each toiletry
Tae assist oor sufferin kintra
Say, fit eese are ye an me?
Ye've a neebor?
Help wi shoppin.
Help foodbanks feed the needy
Ye've a pooch
An I've anither
We maun
Gie an Gie an Gie


Craigcoilleach, Ballater
Abune the taps o sweyin birks
Abune the river's skinklin puil
Abune the clachan's rikkless lums
I stapped thon sichts in bairnhood's creel

Abune the girse, the rocks, the scree
The wee ben's heathery sided climm
The erne is cerclin in the lift
The bawd gaes breengin on a whim

Abune the cairn, the tang o pine
The hyne aff prods o Lochnagar
Abune the midgies waves ablow
Broon bandies catched in bairnie's jar

Abune the ragged robin's flooer
Reid admiral unsteeks her buik
A bonnie page, wi simmer glents
Twa wings sae brae that ye maun luik

Lang may the bee its nectar sup
Frae thon heich braes wi blossom sweet
Ma skull's a quaich far simmer's braws
Skinkle, fin days are cauld a weet



Nostalgia - Poem by Jeong Ji-Yong (Jeong Ji-yong, often romanticized in literature as Cheong Chi-yong; 1902 -1950, was a Korean poet. Here Owersett into Doric

The airt far a burn, bletherin auld tales,
Daunders on eastwird tae the eyn
o a braid lea
An a piebald bull ox lows
In gloamin's sorrafu tones
o gowden lazieness-

Could it iver be forgot, even in yer dreams?

The airt far aisse growes cauld in a yird brazier
Fin ower teem parks the soun o the nicht win
drives the shelts
An oor auld faither, owercam wi drowsiness,
Pits up his strae bowster-

Could it iver be forgot, even in yer dreams?

The airt far I got drookit
in the thick seggs' dyew,
Raikin fur an arra recklessly shot
In the yearnin o ma Eirde-bred hairt
Fur the lift's sheenin blue-

Could it iver be forgot, even in yer dreams?

The airt far wee sister, derk lug locks
Fleein like nicht waves dauncin in a feys' sea,
An ma wife, nae bonnie bit passable
an aa the year barfit,
Booed their backs tae the sun's tinglin rays an
hairstit lugs o grain-

Could it iver be forgot, even in yer dreams?

The airt far skirpit starnies
gaed their wey in the lift
Tae san castles jist ayont oor ken,
Fin aneath ordnar reefs,
auld craas skreichin by,
Fowk sit, saftly mummlin,
roon the feint firelicht-

Could it iver be forgot, even in yer dreams?


The Deid in Frock Coats: Brazilian poet, Carlos Drummond de Andrade (1902-1987)here owersett intae Doric

In the neuk o the best chaumer wis an album o untholeable photies,
mony meters heich an aybydaun meenits auld,
ower far aabody raxxed
makkin fun o the deid in frock coats.

Syne a wirm stertit tae chaa the ordnar coats,
the pages, the screivins, an even the stoor on the picturs.
The anely thing it didnae chaw wis the aybydaun sab o life that brukk
an brukk frae thon pages.


A Bull Luiks AtA Chiel: Brazilian poet, Carlos Drummond de Andrade (1902-1987)here owersett intae Doric

They're mair delicate even than busses an they rin
an rin frae ae side tae the ither, aywis forgettin
somethin.
Surely they wint I dinna ken fit
basic ingredient, tho they shaw thirsels
as noble or serious, whyles.
Och, unca seerious,
even sorrafu.
Puir things, a bull wid say that they hear
neither the sang o the air nur the secrets o hey;
likewise they seem nae tae see fit's veesible
an common tae each o'us, in space.
An they're dowie,
an in the wake o dowieness they cam tae coorseness.
Aa their feelins bides in their een- an losses itsel
tae a simple lowerin o eelids, tae a shadda.
An since there's little o the Ben aboot them -
naethin in the hair or in the terrible dweeble limbs
bit cauldness an secrecy - it's nae possible fur them
tae sattle thirseles intae makks that are calm, laistin
an necessar.
They hae, mebbe, a kind
o disjaskit grace (ae minute)an wi thon they lat
thirsels forget the problems
an see-throwe innerteemness
that makk them sae puir an sae lackin
fin it cams tae makkin daft an painfu souns:
desire, luve, jealousy
(fit dae we ken?)-souns that skitter an faa in the park
like tribbled stanes an burn the herbs an the watter,
an efter thon it's hard tae keep chawin awa at oor truith.


New Year's Recipe: Brazilian poet, Carlos Drummond de Andrade (1902-1987)here owersett intae Doric

Gin ye wint tae hae a braw New Year
The colour o the wattergaw or the colour o yer peace,
A New Year ayont comparin tae aa the time ye've already lived,
(lived ill mebbe or esselessly)
Gin ye wint tae hae a year
Nae fresh peintit wi aathin back on the richt track,
Bit new in the feelins o camin tae be;
New
Doon tae the hairt o the things ye are least awaur o
(tae stert wi fit's inbye ye)
New, spontaneous, ye dinnafin it tae be sae perfeck,
Bit wi it ye ett, ye wauk,
Ye luve, ye unnerstaun, ye wirk.
Ye dinna need tae drink champagne or ony ither drink,
Ye dinna need tae gae on veesits or receive cairds
Dae plants takk messages?
Dae they sen telegrams?

Ye dinna need
Tae makk a list o guid resolutions
To file in yer bureau drawer.
Ye dinna need tae greet wi regret
Ower gypit things ye've already dane
Or tae hauf believe
That bi the decree o hope
Frae Januar onwird things will cheenge
An aathin will be brichtness, reward,
Justice amang chiels an nations
Freedom wi the smell an taste o mornin breid,
Yer richts bein respeckit, stertin
Wi the sacred richt tae live.

Tae hae a New Year
That deserves thon name
Ye, ma frien, hae tae earn it,
Ye hae tae makk it new, I ken that it's nae easy,
Bit tyauve, experiment, be conscious.
It's inbye ye that the New Year
His aywis bin dormant an wytin.


Square DanceBrazilian poet, Carlos Drummond de Andrade (1902-1987)here owersett intae Doric

João lued Teresa fa lued Raimundo
fa lued Maria fa lued Joaquim
fa lued Lili
fa lued naebody.
João gaed tae the United States,
Teresa gaed tae a convent,
Raimundo deed in a crash,
Maria becam an auld maid,
Joaquim killt hisel an Lili mairried J. Fernandes Pinto
fa hidnae bin in the story.


Speirins o Traivel: by Elizabeth Bishop, owersett into Doric
There are ower mony linns here; the rowth o burns
hash ower faist doon tae the sea,
an the pressure o sae mony clouds on the Ben taps
makks them skail ower the sides in saft slaw-motion,
turnin tae linns unner oor verra een.
—Fur gin thon straiks, thon mile-lang, sheeny, greet merks,
arenae linns yet,
in a faist age or sae, as ages gae here,
they likely will be.
Bit gin the burns an clouds keep traivellin, traivellin,
the Bens luik like the hulls o cowpit boats,
slime-happit an barnacled.

Think o the lang trip hame.
Should we hae bedd at hame an thocht o here?
Far should we be this day?
Is it richt tae be watchin fremmit fowk in a play
in this feyest o theatres?
Fitbairn-ness is it that whyle there's a braith o life
in oor bodies, we're set on rinnin
tae see the sun the ither wey roon?
The wee-est green hummin bird in the warld?
Tae glower at some unkent auld stanewirk,
unkent an ill tae win at,
at ony view,
straicht aff seen an aywis, aywis delichtfu?
Och, maun we dream oor dreams
an hae them, as weel?
An hae we space
fur ae mair fauldit sunset, still rael hett?

Bit certain it wid hae bin a peety
nae tae hae seen the trees alang this road,
raelly strang in their brawness,
nae tae hae seen them wyvin
like prood pantomimists, riggit in pink.
—Nae tae hae hid tae stop fur gas an heard
the dowie, twa-note, widden tune
o different widden clogs
careless clatterin ower
a grease-merked fillin-station fleer.
(In anither kintra the clogs wid aa be testit.
Ilkie pair thonner wid hae identical pitch.)
—A peety nae tae hae heard
the ither, less primitive music o the creashie broon bird
fa sings abune the brukken gasoline pump
in a bamboo kirk o Jesuit baroque:
three tooers, five siller crosses.
—Aye, a peety nae tae hae winnered,
blearie an inconclusive,
on fit link can bide fur centuries
atween the rochest widden sheen
an, cannie an pernickity,
the futtled dreams o widden sheen
an,cannie an pernickity,
the futtled dreams o widden cages.
—Niver tae hae studied history in
the dweeble screivin o sangbirds' cages.
—An niver tae hae hid tae lippen tae rain
sae muckle like politicians' spikk:
twa oors o unstoppin spikk
an syneo a suddenty gowden seelence
fan the traiveller takks a notebuik, screives:

"Is it a wint o imagination that makks us cam
tae imagined airts, nae jist bide at hame?
Or could Pascal hae bin nae aathegither richt
aboot jist sittin quaet in yer chaumer?

Continent, toun, kintra, fowk:
the choyce is niver gran an niver free.
An here, or thonner... Na. Should we hae bedd at hame,
fariver thon micht be? "


Aa Kinds o Fowk:by Alasdair Gray: Here reset in Doric
Gray's final work of public art, a mural made of ceramic tiles, two metres high and twelve metres wide, All Kinds of Folk, at Hillhead Subway in Glasgow

Fiery luvers,bauld explorers
Bonnie fechters, culture scranners
Back green puddocks, clivver hoolets
Eident wirkers, loons an lasses

Birds o Paradise, heid cases
Buikish squirrels, fantoosh princes
Couthie mammies, clivver babbies,
Gallus chies, cantie deils

Feisty weemen, tods, bin raikin
Unicorns dauncin, buskers fiddlin
Dragons, fiery, bankers, wily
Kindly fier, tykes that cheer

Dinna lat daily camin an leavin
Tae earn fit ye need tae keep ye livin
Stop fit ye aince felt fin wee
Hopefu an free.


Ooto a Scottish Kist
A daud o granite, Aiberdonian gray,
Sir Harry Lauder wi his gallus wauk
The haar aff Steenhive, stervin, satty, blae
A plate o Cullen skink, wi fine fish stock
A Quaich o Atholl Brose, nectar tae drink
A maist carnaptious Buchan bubblyjock
A kailyaird maister o the crambo clink,
Coo piefrae Desperate Dan in braw Dundee
A clarty, urban, hairy, mochie, mink
A mod supremo singin in Portree
An Edinbro tattoo o merchin bans
A heeze o midgies hatched bi Loch Maree
A smokie in a shop near Arbroath sans
A Glesga yo yo on a string gaes ping
The Scots diaspora in freemit lans
At ceilidhs watch a dancers' sporran swing
A gallery tae show each Stewart King
Elaine C. Smith star o a cabaret
Lord Byron, casanova, a Gordon gay