Scots Poems O The Fower Dragons Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Doric Owersett of the anon. ballad Mad Maudlin's Search
Chorus,
Still I sing bonny loons, bonny gyte loons
Fur Bedlam loons are bonny
For they aa gae nyaakit an they live bi the air
An siller or drink hae nae ony,

Fur tae see Gyte Tam o Bedlam,
Ten thoosan miles she's daunderin.
Daft Maudlin gaes on clarty taes,
Tae save her sheen frae bladdin

I gaed doon tae Auld Nick's kitchie
Tae brakk ma fast ae mornin
An thonner I got sowels birsslin hett
Aa on the spit a-birlin.

Thonner I tuik a cauldron
Far byled ten thoosan doxies
Tho fu o flame I supped the same
Tae the health o aa sic vratchies.

Ma stick has murderet giants
Ma pyoke a lang knife cairries
Tae cut mince pies frae bairnies' hochs
Wi which tae feed the fairies.

Nae gypsy, jawd or hussy
Shall win ma gyte Tam frae me
I'll greet aa nicht, wi starnies fecht
Sic a tuilzie shall becam me.


The Herrin
A shoal o herrin soomed in the waves
O the cauldrife, North Sea tide
Bit ane o them socht a different life
A herrin, stappt wi pride

He left the shoal, he heidit sooth
He crossed the warld's equator
He wis chased bi coorse Atlantic sharks
He raced wi yacht an freighter

Electric eels an sting rays soomed
In the waves roon Africa
Tae the Indian Ocean the herrin gaed
Sic winnerfu things he saw!

Devilfish, sail fish, sawfish lowped
An jinked roon the herrin's tail
Swordfish, bluefish, mudfish as weel
Weathered mony's the gale

Tae the Java Sea the herrin slippt
The Coral Sea, the Pacific
Alang wi walrus, porpoise, seal
An the blue whale maist terrific

Syne ontae the cauld Siberian sea
Far the michty icebergs staun
Ontae the Arctic ocean,
Tae Greenlan an Icelan

An eftir seein the hale warld roon
Hame tae the grey North Sea
The herrin soomed wi a flick o his fins
A fish o the first degree

The shoal o herrin offered him food
Takk it awa, quo he
Fur I hae tastit the treats o the Deep
Far sweter than ye can gie

Cam, bide wi us, the herrin shoal
Prigged o their wannerin frien
I'll bide masel quo the vauntie fish
I'm better aff alane

A wyce auld herrin spakk tae him
Gin ye dinna ett, ye'll dee
Aabody needs friens an a settled hame
It's a heich cost, liberty

An afore ye could wink, a fishin boat
Catched the hale jing bang in a net
The shoal, the herrin, his pride as weel
His biggest adventure yet.

He wis bocht bi a common wirkin chiel
Fa didna ken o his traivels
He biled him up wi a pich o satt
Sae bigsie thocht unraivels

Blin Drift
I opened the yett yestreen tae blin drift furlin
Like shrouds rugged frae a corp
The indraucht o win like a knife

The gairden vanished, smored
As if snaa floodit the warld
Beeryin aathin ooto human sicht

An far wis the cockie wee robin
That bides in the rowan tree
Back o the hoose kitchie?

Cars wir skytin sidiewyes ower the road
Their windaes blint bi the onding

Fite tappit buses slawed, cannie
On onchauncy roads
Schules wir shut, or opened verra late
Tae the delicht o littlins

Snaa mannies appeared frae naewye,
Like a dose o shingles
(Some o them waukin an hoastin)
The adult warld chittered an devauled
Bit bairns in skyrie jaikets an furry buits
Skirled an launched an sliddered doon the braes


The Wee Reid Poem
Frae ten year auld tae fifty
The wee reid flag cam doon
Five days o cramps an heidaches
O bluid on breeks an goun

Peels, hett baths, maens an girnin
The joys a wumman kens
The anely respite pregnancy
Each month, until it eyns

An like Eve's rypit aipple
Grown auld, it crines awa
Aa dried up like a walnut
Hung eeseless in its staa

In the Zone
Dinna roar at the weeds.
Fin the evenin blots oot the stars
Sing saftly tae yer begonias
An the herbs, growin in jars

Dinna fleg the robin, bi stampin aboot
Skitter wee crumbs fur the craitur
Staun still an he'll cam nearhaun ye
Caa him Roddy, or Rory, or wee fluffbaa
Be kind tae yer citrus fruit

Staun in the gairden, wi its scentit pleisurs
Alang wi the dahlias an the hollyhocks,
Tell them foo bonnie they are
Tell them the bees think they're beezers


The Tarland Bee
A Tarland bee's a busy bee
It niver gaes on strike
Ye'll see it fleein roon Cromar
Ower gairden, park, an dyke

It niver girns, or mochs aboot
Frae daybreak until mirk
The anely thing it lives tae dee
Is wirk, wirk, work

Ye'll see it in the Drummy wids
On flooers, gaitherin pollen
An fin it's dry, nae drams it takks
Bit nectar, swete an slokin

It feeds the larvae, queen an drones
It cleans the skepp, makks wax
A Tarland bee is self employed
(Sae dinna tell the tax)


The Stane o Scone
A tale is screived inbye the Haly Buik
O the cauld stane far Jacob laid his heid
He dreamt he saw a laidder on the Eird
Raxxin tae Heiven, far angels proceed

It's said this stane o Jacob's crossed the seas
Wi Jeremiah ower tae Ireland's realm
Syne ontae Scotland, far oor Scottish Kings
Wir crooned, wi pomp an pouer at the helm

Frae Scone Abbey bi Edward, Englan's king
The stane wis reived, tae Westminster wis taen
A Coronation Cheer wis speecial vrocht
Tae sit on fin heich regal richts wir gaen

In 1914, Suffragettes protestit
Fur Wumman's Richts an targetit the stane
Cracked it wi a bomb an spylt the Cheer
A thunnercrack, an syne the deed wis daen

In 1950, early Xmas day,
Three Glesga students wheeched the stane awa
Neist year at Arbroath Abbey, twis returned
Far Bruce wis named oor lawfu king sae braw

In 1996 again it meeved
Frae Westminster tae Embro's auncient toun
This stane, fower hunner million years o age
That Jacob laid his dreamin heid upon


Jist Speirin
Hae ye iver newsed wi a shelt?
Fit gars yer shanks turn tae jeely?
Did ye iver hae a hurl on a jumbo?
Fa's yer favourite poet/singer/peinter?
Wid ye caa a violin a fiddle?
Dae ye weir mochles in winter?
Foo aften dae ye ett macaroni?
Fit gars ye blush?
Fit gies ye the dry boak?
Fit gies ye flegs/ scunners ye?
Fit think ye o houghmagandie?
Fit gies ye widdendreams?
Dae ye walcam/dreid veesitors?
Are claes important tae ye?
Hae ye bin kissed on a boat?
Are ye giftit?
Fit are yer failins?
Can ye skate backwyes?
Fit did ye hide frae yer mither?
Dae ye like tae veesit kirkyairds?
Are ye a tea or a coffee body?
Fit's yer best-likit airt in the warld?
Nae bein ill-faschent
Jist speirin

The Soutar of Selkirk
There aince wis a soutar in Selkirk
Fa rose ilkie day afore dawn
He wis skeely, hard wirkin an cannie
Vrocht the best sheen ye'd iver pit on

Ae grey, mochy mornin a buyer
Saw the sheen, chuse the best pair ava
They fitted him, sae he pyed siller
Bit anely tuik ae shee awa

Noo this made the Soutar uneasy
Syne he saw yirdy wirms in the purse
O the stranger, due back the neist mornin
Could ye think o onything wirse?

The stranger cam back as he'd promised
An he pyed gweed gowd coins fur the shee
The Soutar decided tae follae
Tae see fit neist the stranger micht dee

The stranger gaed straicht tae the kirkyaird
An intae an auld grave he dwined
The Soutar socht neebors tae help him
Tae howk an see fit they micht find

A skeleton lay in the deid mools
Wi the braw new-made sheen on its feet
Faith, a deid man his nae need o fit gear
Said the Soutar an reived them, the cheat

Back at his wirkshop he cleaned them.
A skirl cam afore the cock craaed
His wife ran tae see fit the din wis
Jist a puckle o tools on the sward

A heeze o them gaed tae the kirkyaird
An howked far the stranger'd bin laid
He wis weirin the sheen that he'd pyed fur
In his richt haun A bunnet! they said

Thon bunnet belanged tae the Soutar
Bit that wis the last that wis seen
O the Soutar fa swickit the stranger
An nane iver kent far he'd gaen


Fite Shelt
There's a fite shelt that's vrocht o quartz
On Mormond Hill sae fair
The Laird o Strichen, it's averred's
The lad fa pit it there

His name wis Captain Fraser.
Fin fechtin gainst the Dutch
His shelt wis shot aneth him
In the battlefield stramash

Sergeant Henderson, he steppit up,
His ain mount handit ower
A sniper shot an killt him
In the bluid-lust o the oor

An sae the Captain orders gaed
That a fite shelt be vrocht
Sae that the sergeant's sacrifice
Should niver be forgot

An sae on Strichen's Mormond Hill
It's there fur aa tae see
The braw fite shelt, o glitterin quartz
Fur ae cheil's bravery



Fit Like?
Granny wis the worsit an the needles,
The rochlin lauch an the swig frae the fusky miniature
She wis the knife an the tattie parins
An the luve like warm hinney in the hairt

Da wis twa braid shoulders, a bield, a herbour
He wis the tang o peat an thyme frae Dinnet muir
The wyce saumon in the caller well
A Druid weirin a bunnet, a seeker o truith

My aunt wis corn an poppies, bricht yoked eggs
The joy o seein a new born warsslin cauf
Cream. Fresh straaberries frae a ferm gairden
A bosie, teem, swicked o a bairn tae hug

Ithers, less likit, are
Yestreen's clarty washin
Orra flees raikin the midden heid
The skreich o a speedin mororbike
As welcome as midgies
As a sneeze in yer face
As an uncharged phone
As a daud o dug keech
As a reet canal treatment
As a weet Sabbath in the isles


Fower Dragons
Langsyne in China fower dragons bedd,
The Blaik, the Yalla, the Pearl, the Lang
They played in the clouds, luiked doon on lan
An saw that matters on Eirde wir wrang

The paddy parks hid aa dried up
The drucht hid strippit the trees o leaves
Fowk brunt incense an mummlit prayers
Fur watter, doon on their baney knees

Tae the Jade Emperor the dragons gaed
The Michty Ruler sent them awa
‘I'm nae consarned aboot fermin fowk
I carena a snuff aboot them ava'

The dragons luiked at the Eastern sea
Thegither they sooked its watters up
An skitteret it ower the lan like rain
That fowk an their crops wir quick tae sup

The Jade Emperor he raged an roared
He ordered the God o the Bens aroon
Tae bring a Ben fur each dragon
Tae catch the dragons an preen them doon

Bit the dragons cheenged intae rivers great
The Heilongjang in China's North
The yalla river in China's mids
The muckle Yangtze in China's Sooth

The Pearl flowed in the tropical Sooth
Fower dragon rivers o grace an truth
Keepin watter tae feed the rice
Fower dragon rivers that stoppit drooth


Cardoness Castle Sea of the Family McCulloch
On a rocky knowe abune the Watter o Fleet
This castle's kent nine hunner years o waes
A touer sax storeys heich, waas echt fit thick
A turnpike stair, a prison pit fur faes

The second laird wis a rigwiddie deil
Twice outlawed, a carnaptious kinno man
The third laird, Ninian, reived his mither's gear
The gallas stopped McCulloch's coorse randan

The fourth Cardoness laird wis unca puir
The castle reef wis heather frae the muir
Bit things improved, his eldest dochter wed
Puirtith noo he didnae hae tae fear

It wis a winter waddin an the laird
Hostit a feast on the Blaik loch, nearby
Twis frozen ower. He chuse the Sabbath day
Nae guests turned up. Sae aa the less tae pye

Laird, kin an servants dined atap the loch,
The ice cracked, aa fell in the loch an drooned
The neist laird at the castle wis a reiver
The Isle o Man he stole frae aa around

He rugged puir Marion Peebles frae her bed
The widaw o a Gordon he hid wranged
He left her on the midden tap, tae dee
Her sufferins an daith thraws wir prolonged

Godfrey his son and heir killed John Gordon
Fur this they tried him up in Embro toun
An fur his coorseness, guilty wis the cry
The Maiden hacked his body frae his croun

The wids aroon haud murderous history
A curse fell on the castle lairds, erstwhile
A ghaistly leddy's seen tae wauk the haa
The speerit o a chiel hanged near the jyle

Belyin deids langsyne an bluidy fechts
Wee birdies cheep an flit frae tree tae tree
An naethin o the past is here tae fleg
Naethin disturbs their airy mistrelsy


Doric Owersett of a poem bi Gearóid Mac Lochlainn
There they are, glowerin at me, wide-eed,
like I'm a kinno daftie
jist rowed ooto lingo-lan,
makkin them aa misfittit.
an foo gled they are fin it's ower,
gled the ‘English' poet is up neist
wi a fyew jokes tae smeeth ower
the slicht hitch in the evenin.
An here he is
wi his spikk o ‘café culture' an‘Seamus.'
Here he is tae pruve tae them
they are gleg, braid-mindit an cultured;
that they get the hang o this poetry maitter
that taps an tails the evenin.
Here he is noo.
An there's me in the neuk,
alane, disjaskit,
glowerin wide-eed wi jealousy
bleezin on the reid wine o ma poetry,
ma ‘Irish' poetry
that naebody unnerstauns.

Doric Owersett of Cathal Ó Searcaigh's 'Do Isaac Rosenberg' / 'For Isaac Rosenberg
I niver saw fresh-faced sodjers flang like straa sheaths
in the growthy parks o war; smelt a daithly guff
risin as a plague frae the rottin flooer o youth,

niver wore the bluid-syped glaur o a battlegrun,
tint ma harns in the soun o explosions, nur felt the hett sting
o a bullet, like a wasp sookin oot the wud hinney o ma life.

Na, dinna be misfittit, Isaac Rosenberg, bi me makkin eese o yer nemme,
I fa am shieldit bi ma poems in this bield o luve
fin the reid skaith o war still pysins the hairt o Europe.

Fur ma sowel wis blythe frae the closeness o thon winnerfu corp.
Ma jo at ma side; ilkie pairt, ilkie muscle, ilkie heidlan,
ilkie pikk o him frae his croon ae the grun - aa sae braw.


Fences & A Chimney SweepBy Moyshe Nadir, translated from Yiddish by Ollie Elkus Here owersett intae Doric. From the Yiddish Book Center's Steven Spielberg Digital Yiddish Library.

Fences
Gin the generations hae vrocht fences -
fa wis supposed tae plant gairdens?
Fences o stane an o thorn,
fences o fleg an scorn.
An naebody plantit ony gairdens.
Aroon ilkie tribe - a fence,
aroon ilkie hairt, a fence,
aroon ilkie leid, a fence
aroon ilkie life - a fence,
owergrown wi moss an scaled bluid -
an fan wis a body supposed tae bake breid?
Here me oot, ye fence bigger
an pu doon yer fences.
Ane isnae fremmit tae anither,
sae gin I gie ye cotton,
ye gie me leather.
Ae haun is sib tae aa hauns
brithers, foriver an iver!
This is caller as a burn o the Bens:
A fence is fur fowk fa hae means.
Fur us - nemmely, fur me an fur ye
aa the yetts in the fence are askew,
the yetts that ye yersel makk,
an lat nae even yersel inbye!


A Lum Swyper
An gin ye need tae swype a lum - swype it!
Far's the affront, an fit aboot this is sae wrang?
Gin ye wint tae kinnle a lowe ye maun
see, that the rikk as weel needs some wey tae gae!
An gin ye need tae dicht yer snoot, weel dicht it
Lauchs the bairns, lauchs the vratches, lauchs the gype;
bit ye, fa wummles the while in blaik breeks
fur thon ye are rewardit wi bricht flame.
It is maist likely yer weird,
that they fa swype the lum clart thirsels frae it;
bit gin ye need tae swype a lum - they swype it!
Syne creep throwe the lum tae the sun!