Scots Poems From The Thunderbolt Carline Poem by Sheena Blackhall

The Maid O Ocram: Scots Owerset o a Poem by John Clare (Irish traditional song: The Lass of Aughrum/ Scots trad Lord Gregory)

Blythe wis the Maid o Ocram
As lady e'er micht be
Afore she set her virtue doon
Tae lue Lord Gregory.

Braw wis the Maid o Ocram
An sheenin like the sun
Afore her bouer key turned on twa
Far bride bed lay fur nane.

An late at nicht she socht her luve-
The snaw slept on her skin-
Rise up, quo she, ye fause young cheil,
An lat yer true luve in.

An fain wid he hae lowsed the key
Aa fur his dearie's sake,
Bit Lord Gregory wis faist asleep,
His mither wide awake.

An up she flang the windae sash,
An oot her heid pit she:
An fa is that fa chaps sae late
An cries sae lood tae me?

It is the Maid o Ocram,
Yer ain hairt's neisto kin;
For ye hae sworn, Lord Gregory,
Tae cam an lat me in.

O bide nae sae, ye ken me weel,
Hash doon ma wey tae win.
The win blaws ben ma yalla hair,
The snaw sleeps on my skin.—

Gin ye be the Maid o Ocram,
As much I doot ye be,
Syne tell me o three tokens
That passed tween thee an me.-


O dinna spikk o tokens
That ye dae wint tae brakk;
Jeeled are thon lips ye've kissed sae warm,
An aa ower cauld tae spakk.

Ye ken fin in ma faither's bouer
Ye left yer plaid fur mine,
Tho yers wis nocht bit siller twist
An mine the gowden twine.-

Gin ye're the lass o Ocram,
As I takk ye nae tae be,
The secunt token ye maun tell
Fit passed tween ye an me.—

O ken ye nae, O ken ye nae
Twis in ma faither's park,
Ye led me oot a mile ower far
An coorted in the derk?

Fan ye did cheenge yer ring fur mine
Ma yieldin hairt tae win,
Tho mine wis o the beaten gowd
Yers bit o burnished tin,
Tho mine wis aa true luve wioot,
Yers bit fause luve wi'in?

O speir o nae mair tokens
Fur faist the snaw dis faa.
It's wrang tae tcyauve an spikk in vain,
Ye mean tae brakk them aa—

Gin ye are the Maid o Ocram,
As I takk ye nae tae be,
Ye maun tell o the third token
That passed tween ye an me.-
Twis fin ye ryped ma maidenheid;
Thon sorra's wirst o aa.—

Be aff, ye leein craitur,
This meenit frae ma haa,
Or ye an yer curst bairnie
Shall in the deep sea faa;
Fur I hae nane on eirde as yet
That may me faither caa.-

O may nane close ma deein feet,
An may nane close ma hauns,
An may nane bind ma yalla hair
As daith fur aa demands?

Ye neednae use nae force at aa,
Yer hairt disnae beat true;
Ye've hid yer wish agin ma will
An ye shall hae it noo.

An may nane close ma deein feet,
An may nane close ma hauns,
An will nane dae the hinmaist deeds
That daith fur aa demands? —

Yer sister, she may close yer feet,
Yer brither close yer hauns,
Yer mither, she may rowe yer wyme
In daith's fit waddin bans;
Yer faither, he may tie yer hair
An lay ye in the sans.-

Ma sister, she will greet in vain,
Ma brither ride an rin,
Ma mither, she will brakk her hairt;
Afore the risin sun
Ma faither will be luikin oot-
Bit finn me they will nane.

I gae to lay ma waes tae rest,
Nane shall ken far I'm gane.
God maun be frien an faither baith,
Lord Gregory will be nane.-

Lord Gregory sterted up frae sleep
An thocht he heard a voyce
Skirled unca dreidfu in his lug,
Nae aince bit twice an thrice.

Lord Gregory tae his mither cried:
O mither dear, quo he,
I've dreamt the Maid o Ocram
She wis floatin on the sea.

Lie quaet, ma loon, the mither spakk,
Tis bit a teenie space
An hauf an oor his scarcely passed
Since she did pass this place.—

O cruel, cruel mither,
Fan she did pass sae nigh
Foo could ye lat me sleep sae soun
Or lat her wanner free?
Noo gin she's tint ma hairt maun brakk-
I'll seek her till I dee

He socht her east, he socht her wast,
He socht ben park an plain;
He socht her far she micht hae bin
Bit fand her nae again.

I canna bann ye, mither,
Tho thine's the wyte, quo he
I canna bann ye, mither,
Tho ye've dane herm tae me.

Bit I dae bann yer pride that aye
Sae vauntily aspires;
Fur ma luve wis a braw knicht's heir,
An ma faither wis a squire's.

An I will sell ma park an haa;
An gin ye wad again
Ye winna wed fur titles twice
That made ye aince sae vain.

Sae gin ye will wed, wed fur luve,
As I wis fain tae dae;
Ye've gaen tae me a brukken hairt,
An I'll gie nocht tae ye.

Yer pride his wranged yer ain hairt's bluid;
Fur she wis mine bi grace,
An noo ma leddy luve is gane
Nane else shall takk her place.

I'll sell ma park an sell ma haa
An sink ma titles tae.
Yer pride's dane wrang eneuch as noo
Tae leave it mair tae dae.

She aineth nane that ained them aa
An wid hae graced them weel;
Nane else shall take the richt she missed
Nur in ma hairt shall dwall.—

An syne he tuik an brunt his will
Afore his mither's face,
An syne hetore the hale in twa,
Fin tears fell doon apace-
Bit in his mither's vauntie luik
Ye nocht bit froons micht trace.

An syne he sat him doon tae grieve,
Bit couldnae sit fur pain.
An syne he laid him on the bed
An ne'er won up again.


Heard at Granny's Knee
There's mair wyes o skinnin a cat than rubbin its nose in butter
A hairy man's a happy man, a hairy wife's a witch
Mornin'll be here in teem breeks
She'd be nane the waur o a skelp
Yer as much eese as a Bennachie futterat
Mony a meikle maks a muckle
Fit's afore ye ye'll nae get by
A nod's as gweed's a wink tae a blin horse
She wis lowpin like a hen on a hett girdle
Yer a lang time deid
Yer aye ahin like the coo's tail
Ye makk a better door than a windae
Dinna clype an dinna skyte an dinna tell a lee

Amo amas I lued a lass an she wis tall an slender
Amas amat she caad me flat an dang me ower the fender
Ee Davie I niver Badd U Rug Geordie's Hair (Edinburgh)




Owersett in Doric o ‘Passages' bi Antonio Machado
1875 -1939,Antonio Machado was a Spanish poet and one of the leading figures of the Spanish literary movement known as the Generation of '98.

In the blae, the blaik heeze o birdies
Caain, flichterin, reistinon the jeeled poplar.
On the nyaakit poplar
Dowie corbies, unmeevin an seelent
Like cauld derk notes, screived on Februar's stave.

The blae benn, the river, the heich
Copper wands o slim poplars,
An fite o almonds on the knowe,
O snaa in flooer, butterflee on the bough!
Wi the braid beans' scent the win
Blaws ower the lan's bricht alaneness.

A fite flash snakess ben leiden cloud.
The bairn's ee bumbazed, an the froonin broo
- the chaumer is derk - o the mither! …
O balcony steeked agin the storm!
The win an hail ring on the bricht glaiss.

The wattergaw an the balcony.
Seeven strings o the sun's lyre trimmle in dwaum.
A toy drum gies seeven chaps - watter an glaiss -.
Acacias wi gowdfinches. Storks on the bell-touers.
In the plaza the rain his washed the stoory myrtle.
Fa pit thon lauchin vergin quines in the muckle quad
An abune, hosannah! in the brukken cloud,
The palm o gowd an the blae serene?

Atween chakk knowes an grey craigs
The train etts the steel trail.
The raw o glimmrin windaes
Haud a twin cameo profile
Repeatit throwe the siller glaiss.
Fa is it that his stobbed time's hairt?

Fa set, atween thon stanes like cinner,
Tae shaw the hinny o dwaum,
Thon gowden breem, thon blaee rosemaries?
Fa peintit the poorple bens an the yalla, sunset lift?
The hermitage, the bee skepps, the split o the river
The eynless rowin watter deep in stanes,
The feint green o new parks,
Aa o it, even the fite an pink aneth the almond trees!

In the seelence it gaes on, trimmlin, Pythagoras' lyre,
Wattergaw in the licht, the licht that fills ma teem stereoscope.
They've blinn't ma een thon cinners o the Heraclitean lowe.
Warld fur a meenit is transparent, teem, sounless, blin.




Doric Owersett o Waesbi Osip Mandelstam (1891-1938)
Osip Emilyevich Mandelstam was a Russian and Soviet poet. He was the husband of Nadezhda Mandelstam and one of the foremost members of the Acmeist school of poets.

I hae studied the Science o waa-gaun,
In nicht's sorras, fin a wumman's hair faas doon.
The kye chaw, there's the wytin pure,
In the hinmaist oors o vigil in the toon,
An I revere nicht's ritual cock-craain,
Fin reiddened een lift sorra's wecht an chuse
Tae glower hyne aff, an a wumman's greetin
Is melled wi the singin o the Muse.
Fa kens, fin the wird ‘waa-gaun' is spukken
Fit kinno waa-gaun is at haun,
Or o fit thon cock-craa is a token,
Fin a lowe on the Acropolis lichts the grun,
An foo at the dawn o a new life,
Fin the coo chaws latchy in its staa,
The cock, the bringer in o the new life,
Flichters his wings on the toun waa?
I like the boredom o birlin,
The shuttle meeves back an forrit,
The spinnle thrums. Luik, barfit Delia's rinnin
Tae meet ye, like swansdoon on the road!
Foo threidbare the leid o the gemme o blytheness,
Foo skimpit the foun o oor life!
Aathin wis, an is repeatit again:
It's the flash o kennin brings delicht.
Sae be it: on an ashet o clean earthenware,
Like a flattened squirrel's hide, a makk
Forms a wee, see-throw body, far
A quine's physog boos tae glower at the wax's weird.
Nae fur us tae prophesee, Erebus, Brither o Nicht:
Wax is fur weemen: Bronze is fur chiels.
Oor weird is anely gien in fecht,
Tae dee bi divination is gien tae them.




Doric Owersett ofThe Reengeby Eugenio Montale
Eugenio Montale1896 - 1981)was an Italian poet, prose writer, editor and translator, and recipient of the 1975 Nobel Prize in Literature..

The reenge o myndin is worn:
A leather suitcase that his cairriet
The labels frae ower mony hotels.
Noo there bides some sticker I daurnae teir aff.
We maun think o the porters,
The door cheil at nicht, the taxi-drivers.
The reenge o yer myndin
His shawn me ye yersel afore ye left.
There wir nemmes o puckles o kintras,
Dates an bidin an at the eyn a teem fite page,
Bit wi raws o dots…as gin tae suggest, gin it wir possible:
‘Tae be ongaun'.

The reenge o oor myndin canna be pictured
As cut in twa bi a knife.
It's a single sheet wi merks o stamps, scrats,
An a fyew skirps o bluid,
It wisnae passport, nae even a recommendation.
Tae be o eese, even tae hope, wid hae still meant life.


Sawney Bean Describes his Culinery Tastes
Alexander "Sawney" Bean was said to be the head of a 45-member clan in Scotland in the 16th century that murdered and cannibalized over 1000 people in the span of 25 years.

Me an ma family: The ultimate carnivores
Cannibalism's an acquired taste


Senga, the wife, likes a fine porterhouse steak
Cut frae a cook, the creashier the better

I'd rather hae a daud o filet mignon
Nice an swete, frae a lord
Fa's bin pickelt in brandy
Or a T-bone steak frae a baker

Ma eldest, Jamie prefers a juicy sirloin
Frae a leddy, douce an plump

The bairns snap up the orrals,
Harns, kidneys, tongue, neck, liver

The babbies sook the knuckle banes
It sooths them fin they're teethin

Ferm servants are scrawny,
Nae much substance thonner
Eneuch fur an Hors d'oeuvre
A cheat-the-belly

Spinners an wyvers taste o beer an veg
Blacksmiths an meenisters are better fed
They hae flesh on their banes
Stappit wi flavour, rinnin wi reid bluid

Sodjers an tars are shilpit
Thin pickins, whyles diseased
Wi VD sairs an scurvie, TB, cankers

Maist tender are the halflins,
Swack, disease-free, soople
Washed doon wi wine,
A gran amuse bouche

We haive auld fowk in the sea tae sweem wi the fishes
Girssly an teuch they're like tae brakk yer teeth
An soor as unripe plooms
Fyauch!Wi use their skulls as drinkin bowls


In the Gairden
Blackie stots ower girse, powks fur a wirm
A bumbee gaithers nectar frae a flooer
Spurgiescause a steer, they cheep an girn
Gallus craws skreich lood at ilkie oor
Doos curmuran blether in the tree
A craw cocks on a lamppost, blaik an dour
Ower fower lawns a dug bowfs nestily
Frae dockens ten blaik eemocks treetle aff
An ettercap wyves moosewabs bonnily
A kittlin chases birdies, the wee nyaff
A hairy oobit wummles frae a leaf
Scurries skelloch heich, syne flichter aff
An aa the while the washin on the line
Wallop an skelp, aneth the hett sunshine
Jenny-lang-legs wauchts on skinny shanks
Gowans dwaun alang the simmer day
A rubbit pammersoot on furry flanks
An aa the while a mavis threips her lay
A pyot cams stravaigin like a laird
Hornygollachs creep roon rowan spray
A forkietale rins sleekit ower the yird
A heeze o pee the beds bleeze ooto like gowd
A stirlin cercles like a fleein gird
An aa the while, the wanderin willies showd
The gairden craiturs dinna staun in queues
The sun plays teetie-bo ahin a cloud
Aa's blythe in June. The girse is thrang wi steer
The hinneypot that's Mither Natur's sphere