Scots Poems In Rickmatic Poem by Sheena Blackhall

For Elizabeth Stewart: died Thursday 13th October 2022, aged 83 years.
Fur sax decades she kept the lore
O muckle balladFs tae the fore
Performin on the global stage
As storyteller, singer, sage

Mony will this great singer mourn
In Fetterangus she wis born
Bit ower the waves her name's weel kent,
Gaitherin friens far e're she went

Her fowk wir traivellers, pipers braw
An maisters o the past wir aa
‘The Cruel Mither' gart ye grue
She sang it eildritch, sang it true

The Battle of Harlaw, she telt
Throwe sang, wi feelin deeply felt
North Carolina pyed her fare
In echteen states she toured aince there

This lintie at Cullerlie sang
Far singers, fiddlers, peers are thrang
An maisterclasses she wad gie
Tae students, teacchin balladry

Binorrie, sangs o Dule an Ben
O mony a wide an Lanely Glen
She drew oot frae her bluid an banes
Could makk tears tinkle frae the stanes

Elizabeth Stewart, traivel licht
Ye've jyned the speerits o the nicht
Bit in the lift, aye sheens yer star
A skeelie boat has crossed the bar

The Hale Rickmatic
Fantoosh fichery fooshty flech
Queerieorrals or whigmaleerie
Blootered an contermaschious, dreich
Blythe an kittlesome blae, camsteerie

Knapdarlochs, dubs an widdendreme
Skittery, footery, fantoosh, fey
Futterat oxter erne an tod
Warlock orra coorse an wae

Bosker, breenge, an bubblyjock
Bumbazed, stammygaster fearie
Collieshangie dirl an dule
Duddies eildritch hale clanjamfrey

Galluses an tattiebogle
Spayver, skinklin heelstergowdie
Pammer prig an peesie-weep
Sottar mingin tapsalteerie

Slorach, wattergaw an whaups
Yird an tyauve, an darg, an mowser
Ashet gowan gype an drams
Wirds tae hairten ony screiver


Things Cherished
Haudin ma faither's haun as a wheezy littlin
Watchin a leverock soarin in the lift
Snod bi an ingle, warmin ice-cauld taes
Nursin ma newborn son as he sooked the breist

Rigs o barley sweyin gowd in the win
A fiddler raxxin ooto a lang lament
A time fin the deid wir wardly flesh an bluid
Pure clean snaa drappin ben seelent trees

First readin o Charlotte Bronte or Dickens' novel
A piper playin pibroch ower a burn
The skinklin doonfaa o a Heilan linn
A robin reidbreist cheepin in a buss

Puin the teats o a milk coo's hairy udder
The wye a clarsach souns in an auncient kirk
A gorblie fuffin up its froth o fluff
A Gaelic congregation singin psalms

A simmer's day aside a peaty puil
A mummlit mantra at a Buddhist shrine
A bosie frae a granbairn's ootraxxed airms
Leanin inno the lang broon face o a shelt

Dwaunin on a brae far birk trees showd
Drappin hinnet ontae buttered toast
Lippenin tae Chopin in aneth a gean
An nae a thocht o toun or hoosin scheme

A Nummer Poem
Ae auld aipple, scunnersome, rotten
Twa trauchelt tykes wi greets begrutten
Three tricky tadpoles sweemin wi troots
Fower faist futterats wi snottery snoots
Five finnan haddies in a pyoke o chips
Sax sappy silkies plashin eftir ships
Sivven skreichin scurries skytin ower stanes
Echt erne's pykin a deid coo's banes
Nine nesty newts nippin bandies' taes
Ten teenie gollachs tryin new claes tryin new claes


Graffiti
Is this fit the Schule larns ye?
Tae clart the waas an windaes wi yer nemme?
Are ye feart ye forget fit it is?
Roxy, Jamil, Amelia faiver ye are
Some ither body pyes
Tae clear up yer daft wee gemme


A Nickum's Resolutions
I winna cowp tea leaves ower oor cattie's meat
I winna pit puddocks on Lizzie's seat
I winna drap tae clippins back o the bed
I winna clart bogies on Geordie's ted

I winna use sweir wirds fin veesitors veesit
I will clean ma oxters wi soap frothy watter
I will redd ma claes up…I'll try tae be guid
Bit bein ill trickit maun be in ma bluid


Scots Owersett o Hauf a Hurcheon bi Miroslav Holub
The boddom hauf had bin run ower,
leavin the heid an thrapple
an the front shanks o the hurcheon
A skirl frae a yarked open
jaw. The skirl o the mute is
mair awfu than the seelence efter a flood,
fin even blaik swans float
wyme upwirds.
An even gin some hurcheon doctor wis
tae be fand in a teem trunk or unner the leaves
in a beechwid there'd be nae hope
fur thon wee hauf on Road E12.
In the nemme o logic,
in the nemme o the theory o pain,
in the nemme o the hurcheon god the faither, the son
an the haley ghaist amen,
in the nemme o pliskies an unripe rasps,
in the nemme o tummlin burnies o luve
iver different an iver bluidy,
in the nemme o the reets which ower-growe
the heids o killt foetuses,
in the nemme o satanic brawness,
in the nemme o skin weirin a human luik,
in the nemme o aa haufs
an double helices, or purines
an pyrimidines
we ettled tae rin ower
the hurcheon's heid wi the front wheel.
An it wis like keppin a lunar module
frae a hyne aff planet,
frae a control centre
connacht bi a cataleptic sleep.
An the mission wis eeseless. I warssled oot
an fand a wechty daud o brick.
Hauf the hurcheon cairriet on skirlin. An noo
the skirl turned intae spikk,
vrocht bi
the vaults o oor mools:
Syne daith will cam an it will hae yer een.


Scots Owersett of Web of Life by Chief Seattle
Ilkie pairt o this Eirde is haley tae ma fowk
Ilkie sheenin pine needle, ilkie sanny shore,
Ilkie mist in the derk wids,
Ilkie ley, ilkie thrummin gollach.
Aa are haley in the myndin an kennin o ma fowk.

We ken the sap which rins throw the trees
As we ken the bluid that rins throw oor veins.
We are pairt o the Eirde an it is pairt o us.

The perfumed flooers are oor sisters.
The bear, the deer, the muckle erne, these are oor brithers.
The rocky taps, the sap in the ley,
The body heat o the shelt, an cheils
Aa belang tae the same faimily.

The sheenin watter that meeves in the burns an rivers
Is nae jist watter, bit the bluid o oor forebears.
Gin we sell oor lan, ye maun mynd that it is haley.

Ilkie ghaistly reflection in the caller watters o the lochs
Tell o happenins an myndins in the life o ma fowk.
The watter's mummle is the voyce o ma faither's faither.
The rivers are oor brithers. They slake oor drooth.
They cairry oor canoes an feed oor bairns.
Sae ye maun gie tae the rivers the kindness
Ye wid gie ony brither.

Gin we sell ye oor lan, myndin that the air is preecious tae us,
that the air shares its speerit wi aa the life it supports.
The win that gaed oor granfaither his first braith
likewyse gains his hinmaist soughs

The win as weel gies oor bairns the speerit o life.
Sae gin we sell ye oor lan, ye maun keep it apairt an haley
as an airt far a cheil man can gae tae taste the win
that is swetened bi the ley flooers.

Will ye teach yer bairns fit we hae larnt oor bairns?
That the eirde is oor mither?
Fit befaas the eirde befaas aa the sons o the eirde.
This we ken, the eirde disnae belang tae cheils,
cheils belang tae the eirde.
Aa ferlies are conneckit like the bluid that connecks us aa
Cheils didnae wyve the wab o life, they are jist threids in it.
Fitiver they dae tae the wab, they dae tae thirsels.


Scots Owersett o Weird bi Marin Sorescu
The chucken I bocht last nicht,
Jeeled,
Returned tae life,
Laid the biggest eggie in the warld,
An wis gien the Nobel Prize.

This byordnar eggie
Wis passed frae haun tae haun,
In a fyew wikks hid gaen aa roon the eirde,
An roon the sun
In 365 days.

The hennie wis gaen gweed kens foo muckle hard currency,
Pyed in pails o grain
That she couldnae ettle tae ett

Because she wis socht aawye,
Gaed lectures, gaed interviews,
Wis filmed

Verra aften reporters wintit
That I should pose as weel
Aside her.
An sae, haein served art
Aa ma life,
Aa o a suddenty I've gotten fame
As a chukken breeder.


Scots Owersett o With Only One Life bi Marin Sorescu
Haud wi baith hauns
The tray o ilkie day
An pass in turn
Alang this coonter.
There is eneuch sun
Fur aabody.
There is eneuch lift,
An there is meen eneuch.
The eirde gies aff the guff
O luck, o blytheness, o glory,
That kittles yer neb
Temptin-like.
Sae dinna be grippy,
Live efter yer ain hairt.
The prices are lauchable.
Fur instance, wi anely ae life
Ye can win
The bonniest wumman,
An a biscuit forbye.


Scots Owersett o Superstition bi Marin Sorescu
Ma cattie washes
wi her left paw,
there'll be anither war.

Fur I hae taen tent
that finiver she washes
wi her left paw
international tension growes
maist affa.

Foo can she alane keep her ee
on aa the five continents?
Could it be
that in her pupils
that Pythia noo bides
fa has the pouer
tae foretell
the hale o history
wioot a full-stop or comma?

It's eneuch tae makk me skirl
fin I think that masel
an the Heiven wi its sowels I hae
shoudered
in the hinmaist resort
depen
on the fancies o a cattie.

Gyang an catch moosies,
dinna stert
mair warld wars,
damned
lazybanes!


Scots Owerset o Wife of the Husband by Micere Githae Mugo(Kenya)
His snores
Proteck the sleepin hame
Bit the day's
Wecht
An the morn's
Wecht
Wye wechty ower
The booed mither as she

Swypes the hoose
Steeks the pen
Redds up the hairth
Beeries the reid charcoals
An at the hinnereyn sikks
Her restless bed

His snores
Walcam her tae bed
Fower oors tae daybrakk
His snores roose her frae bed
Sax sherp
Wauken
O wife o the cheil!

Slicin the Neeps
Feedin the kye ower winter
Wis a coorse cauld darg
Hey tae be cut frae the rucks
Silage shiftit bi spaad

Neeps wir pit throwe the slicer, drapped aneth
(Young beasts hinna full formed teeth)
It stood in a neuk, aside the besom an harra
Its rowth o slices ye loadit intae a barra

Try daein thon wi a gale howlin roon the biggin
Rain lashin the reef wi the soun o a thoosan wheeps
Bit beasts maun be fed an wattered an beddit in strae
An sattled doon wi a swatch o cauld sliced neeps

Eftir, ye thawed yer dirlin neives in watter
Washin awa the dubs an the orra sotter


The Twal Days o Christmas
On the first day o Christmas the postie brocht tae me
A commode for my granny

On the secunt day o Christmas the postie brocht tae me
Twa face lifts,
A commode for my granny

On the third day o Christmas the postie brocht tae me
Three hame helps,
Twa face lifts,
A commode for my granny

On the fowerth day o Christmas the postie brocht tae me
fower treble gins
Three hame helps,
Twa face lifts,
A commode for my granny

On the fifth day of Christmas the postie brocht tae me
five ingin rings
fower treble gins
Three hame helps,
Twa face lifts,
A commode for my granny

On the saxth day o Christmas the postie brocht tae me
sax bubblyjocks
five ingin rings
fower treble gins
Three hame helps,
Twa face lifts,
A commode for my granny

On the siventh day o Christmas the postie brocht tae me
siven mealie puddens
sax bubblyjocks
five ingin rings
fower treble gins
Three hame helps,
Twa face lifts,
A commode for my granny

On the echth day o Christmas the postie brocht tae me
echt pizza slices
siven mealie puddens
sax bubblyjocks
five ingin rings
fower treble gins
Three hame helps,
Twa face lifts,
A commode for my granny

On the ninth day o Christmas the postie brocht tae me
nine burgers twerkin
echt pizza slices
siven mealie puddens
sax bubblyjocks
five ingin rings
fower treble gins
Three hame helps,
Twa face lifts,
A commode for my granny

On the tenth day o Christmas the postie brocht tae me
ten fried Mars Bars
nine burgers twerkin
echt pizza slices
siven mealie puddens
sax bubblyjocks
five ingin rings
fower treble gins
Three hame helps,
Twa face lifts,
A commode for my granny

On the eleventh day o Christmas the postie brocht tae me
eleven drooths aa stottin
ten fried Mars Bars
nine burgers twerkin
echt pizza slices
siven mealie puddens
sax bubblyjocks
five ingin rings
fower treble gins
Three hame helps,
Twa face lifts,
A commode for my granny

On the twalfth day o Christmas the postie brocht tae me
Twal Alka seltzers
eleven drooths aa stottin
ten fried Mars Bars
nine burgers twerkin
echt pizza slices
siven mealie puddens
sax bubblyjocks
five ingin rings
Fower treble gins
Three hame helps,
Twa face lifts,
A commode for my granny


I Ken it's True
I ken it's true
Because I read it on Facebook
Because Twitter said it
Because ma uncle's frien's sister telt me
Because I feel it in ma banes
Because it wis screived in ma starnies
Because a blaik cat wauked afore me twice last wikk


Lat Nicht
Lat nicht cam saft on moosie's paws
Wi starlicht glentin bricht as tears
An fin the meen sheens in the derk
May rest be sainfu, free o fears

An may the tod, an hoolet tae
Quick daith bring tae the auld an dane
The sleep that niver eyns is kind
Fin life's a quaich that's nearly teem