Scots Poems: The Young Wife Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Ma Granny's Haunbag
Ma granny's got a haunbag
It's bin seen frae Ooter Space
It's like the Tardis, wee ootside
Bit inbye, fit a place!

There's a memory list tae mynd her
O the things that she'll forget
There's a Covid jab appyntment
There's the crumbs frae a baguette
There's her i-pad, there's her diary
There are peels fur antrin ills
There are biros, there's a rubber
There's a cheque book jist for bills
There's her glaisses, an her glaisse's case
Ten face masks tae fecht bugs
There's twa instant coffee sachets
There's a baggie wi lugplugs
There's her diabetic pyokie
(it's a scunner, growin auld)
There's haun sanitizer bottles
Paper tissues for a cauld

There is perfume fur her oxters
(it's kent as a ‘Glesga shooer')
There's her keys, there's preens, a moothie
An a purse, wi zip secure

The purse hauds cash an cairdies
Photies, postage stamps, bus pass
A caird fur her pyed funeral
Fin she's howkin up the girse
There's a caird fur tv licence
There's a caird tae tap up phone
There's three cairds fur supermairkets
There's a mirror, there's a caimb
There's a tweezers fur her fuskers
(grannies whyles can grow a beard)
There are sheers tae clip her taenails
Grannies' taenails can be weird

I've keeked in ma granny's haunbag
At the foun it's affa dark
Is it hidin Jack the Ripper?
Is it hidin Jaws the shark?

Dis it haud a Jolly Roger?
Dis she sail the ocean wide
As a pirate seekin treisur
Wi a cutless at her side?
Dis ma granny keep a cauldron
At the boddom o her bag?
Is ma granny on the TV
As a mannie dressed in drag?

Is she wi the secret service?
Is thon code that's in her jottins?
Fur I canna read her writins
They are like a hennnie's scrattins

Dis ma granny weir a spacesuit
As a first class astronaut?
Dis she flee roon Mars an Saturn
In her fantoosh Sabbath hat?

Weel, that's aa ma granny cairries
Nae much winner she's skweejee
Wechtit doon wi ae sair shouder
Humphin aa thon smacherie!

For I aften luik at granny
Catch a twinkle in her ee
An I ken she's up tae something
Bit fitiver could it be?

Ma Toun
In ma toun
The nor win blaws ben its streets
Like a sea god's beard
Rain gars its granite shine
Its siller biggins skinkle

Fin I traivel awa,
I fauld it up like a map
An pit it in ma pooch

I takk it oot an staun it
On a bedside table
‘Dinna fash, ' I tell it
‘I winna be lang awa'

She's ay reinventin herself
Flattenin thingies
Addin thingies on

She canna rejig her rivers nor the sea.
Haud yer wheesht
The sea tells the cooncil
Yer plans cairry nae wecht here

The Best in Nature's Buik
Carl doddies, wanderin willies
Dykes an creamy kye
Ices meltin, wasps cerclin
Aik leaves hingin dry

Sunbrunt littlins play wi daddies
Rowan berries reid
Thrissles bloomin, skylich yalla
Bulls o Charolais breed
Nettles fiery, lammies sonsie
Hinneysuckle bonnie
Windferms birlin, buzzards furlin
Ferny fronds sae shady

Mither o pearl, the cheengefu lift
Whyles it's sun, whyles weety
Clover, plottin hett in girse
Puils shrink. Thon's a peety

Trees upreetit bi a gale
That cowpit ower sae mony
Gowden strae lies in the park
Plottin hett, shelts whinney

Dee & Don, ferm an Ben
It's a richt Royal neuk
O aa the picturs in Scotia
The best in Nature's Buik

Sweemers
Sweemers bob swack as seals
Airms brakk the watter
Like boaties' rudders

Puckles dae the butterflee,
Like partan's cleuks
Strikkin the waves wi a clash

Sun draps its siller nets
Ower the puil makkin diamonds
That float like wyvers' wabs

A lassie's hair, like dulse
Skails doon her shouders

A littlin skelps the watter
Garrin it lowp like raindrops
Stottin aff a reef on a day o thunner an storm

Mam, can I pee in the puil? a bairnickie speirs
A yalla cloud sypes frae his teeny dookers


The Hame Festival
The hame festival shines a spotlicht
On the North-East o Scotland's airt
It celebrates new wyes and culture
Fit makks incomers chose tae takk pairt

A programme o music an sang,
Daunce, poetry, wauks, storytellin
Performances, films an displays,
Public talks that are braw an compellin

Oor area's diverse wi new bluid
Comin here tae mix in wi the Doric
Sae visit the festival noo
It's braw, wi bezazz, it's euphoric


Breathes there the Man with Soul so dead
Come an worship at the altar
O thon skeelie screiver Walter
Teller o hairt grippin tales
Some write tadpoles, he wrote whales

Marmion, Guy Mannering
The Antiquary, Kenilworth
Writer's block wisnae his problem
Niver had o wirds a dearth

Antiques Roadshow filmed a programme
There, at Abbotsford, Scott's hame
Here, the Lay of the Last Minstrel
Added tae Auld Wattie's fame

Big Screen moguls flashed their siller
Rob Roy, à la Hollywood
Ivanhoe, box office winner
Wi its tales o Robin Hood

Wattie Scott, War journalist
Screived o the Field o Waterloo
Larnt o Demonology
An witchcraft that wid gar ye grue

Maister o the Horror Story
Wanderin Willie's Tale is thrang
Wi the eildritch an the oorie
Stappit wi the coorse, the wrang

P.R. man fur Caledonia
Fand the Scots Regalia
Fin King George cam north tae Embro
Scott claithed him like a tartan baa

Veesit Scotland, he's a treisur
Waverley, reels tourists in
Bi the station and the story
Tae Heart of Mid-Lothian

Crufts? Thank Scott fur Dandie Dinmounts
Stinch an hudderie, like himself!
Minstrel o the Scottish Border
Penned the supernatural



Self Speirins
Fit dae I mynd o wae?
Granminnie, cauld in her kist

Fit dae I mynd o fleg?
The Dee closing ower ma heid like a lid

Fit dae I mynd o jealousy?
Watchin ma pairtener, ower an ower,
Flirtin wi ithers
Like bein roastit slawly on a spit

Fit dae I mynd o luve?
Ma faither's lullabies
Sung ben ma bairntime

Fit dae I mynd o blitheness?
A clachan atween twa bens
A burn rinnin swete as a nut


Faimily Pet
Monty the family tyke
Had a hairy bihoochie
He wis an auld warrior
Survivor o canine tulzies

He sprauchled in the sun
On the cassies, on the girse, on the basse
His teeth wir lowse an guffin
Betimes he scrattit at flechs

Cats wir terrified o him
Even Alsations an greyhounds
Trimmlit at his oncam

He attacked frae aneth like a submarine
His wee short shanks propelled him forrit
Like a dug torpedo
He guairdit the hoose like a Tartar
His motto, Nemo me impune lacessit
His tartan collar, regimental, brave

"In defeat, unbeatable; in victory, unbearable."

We sained his sairs post fecht
Dichtit awa the bluid
Neist day a muckle Afghan,
Hirplin, three legit, crossed the street
Another casualty o Monty's wars


Scottish Owersett of Destiny by Marin Sorescu (Romanian)
The chucken I bocht yestreen
Jeeled,
Returned tae life,
Laid the biggest egg in the warld,
An wis gaen the Nobel Prize.

Thon byordnar egg
Passed frae haun tae haun
An hid gaen roon the warld
An roun the sun
In 365 days.

The chukken got gweed kens foo muckle siller,
Gaithered in pails o grain
That she couldnae manage tae ett

Because she wis invited aawye,
Gaed lectures, gaed interviews,
Wis photied.

Verra aften reporters insistit
That I should pose as weel
Aside her.
An sae, haein served Art
Ben ma life,
Aa o a suddenty I'm famous
As a chukken breeder.


Owersett in Scots o the River Merchant's Wife: A Letter bi Li Po (China)
Fin ma hair wis still cut straicht ben ma broo
I played aboot the front yett, puin flooers.
Ye cam by on bamboo stilts, playin sheltie,
Ye wauked aroon ma seat, playin wi blae plooms.
An we gaed on bidin in the clachan o Chōkan:
Twa wee fowk, wioot dislike or suspicion.
At fowerteen I married ye, Ma Lord.
I niver lauched, bein blate.
Booin ma head, I luikit at the waa.
Cried tae a thoosan times, I niver luikit back.

At fifteen I stoppit glowerin
I socht ma stoor tae be melled wi yers
Foraye an foraye, an foraye.
Foo should I sclimm the luik oot?

At saxteen ye depairtit
Ye gaed intae hyne aff Ku-tō-en, bi the river o furlin eddies,
An ye hae bin gaen five months.
The puggies makk waefu souns owerheid.

Ye trailed yer feet fin ye gaed oot.
Bi noo, the fogg is grown, the different fogg,
Ower deep tae dicht them awa!
The leaves faa early this autumn, in win.
The paired butterflees are already yalla wi August
Ower the girse in the West gairden;
They hurtit me.
I growe aulder.
Gin yer camin doon ben the nerras o the river Kiang,
Please let me ken aforehaun,
An I'll cam oot tae meet yae
As far as Chō-fū-Sa.


A Scots owersett o an auld Ngoni poem frae Malawi. The eirde disnae get fat', refers tae the eirde aywis ettin the deid

The eirde disnae get fat.
It makks an eyn o the elders
We'll dee on the eirde
The eirde disnae get fat.
It makks an eyn o fowk fa act faist as heroes.
Shall we dee on the eirde?
Lippen O eirde. We shall murn because o ye
Lippen O eirde. Shall we aa dee on the eirde?
The eirde disnae get fat.
It makks an eyn o the chiefs.
Shall we aa dee on the eirde?
The eirde disnae get fat.
It makks an eyn o the wummen chiefs.
Shall we dee on the eirde?
Lippen o eirde shall we murn because o ye.
Lippen o eirde. Shall we aa dee on the eirde?
The eirde disnae get fat.
It makks an eyn o the lairds.
Shall we dee on the eirde?
The eirde disnae get fat.
It makks an eyn o the royal weemen.
Shall we dee on the eirde?
Lippen o eirde. We shall murn because o ye.
Listen o eirde. Shall we aa dee on the eirde?
The eirde disnae get fat.
It makks the eyn o the ordnar fowk
Shall we dee on the eirde?
The eirde disnae get fat.
It makks an eyn o aa the breets.
Shall we dee on the eirde?
Lippen ye fa are asleep, fa are left tichtly steekit in the lan.
Shall we aa sink intae the eirde?
Lippen o eirde the sun is settin tichtly.
We shall aa enter intae the eirde.


Scottish Owersett o Ecclesiastes by Tymoteusz Karpowicz (Polish)
There is a time for unsteekin the een an makkin the bed
Time for pittin on a sark an shakkin aff sleep
Time for sleepy soap an hauf-wakkened skin
Time for the hair-brush an for spirks in the hair
Time for trooser shanks time for shee pynts time for buttons
For laiddered hose for the bauchles' blinnness
Time for the fork an for the knife time for sausages an byled eggs
Time for the tram time for the conductress time for the bobby
Time for gweed mornin an time for farweel
Time for carrots pinzz an parsley
For tomatae soup an stovies
Time sewin up chucken an lowsin forbidden speeds o thocht
Time for a film ticket or a ticket tae naewye
Tae river mebbe, mebbe tae the lift
There is an eyn time o steekit een an the open bed
Time for past eenoo an the morn
Praesens historicum an plusquamperfectum
Time perfeck an imperfeck
Time frae waa tae waa


Scots Owersett o On the Day the Warld Eyns: Czeslaw Milosz (Polish)
On the day the warld eyns
A bee cercles a clover,
A fisherman redds up a glimmrin net.
Blythe porpoises lowp in the sea,
Bi the rainspoot young spurgies are playin
An the snake is gowd-skinned as it should aywis be.

On the day the warld eyns
Weemen wauk ben the parks ablow their brollies
A drouth growes sleepy at the side o a lawn,
Veggie sellers skreich in the street
An a yalla-sailed boatie cams nearhaun the island,
The voyce o a fiddle hings in the air
An leads intae a starnie nicht.

An thon fa expeckit lightnin an thunner
Are disappyntit
An thon fa expeckit signs an archangels' tooteroos
Dinna believe it's happenin noo.
As lang as the sun an the meen are abune
As lang as the bumbee veesits a rose,
As lang as reid chikkit bairnies are born
Naebody believes it's happenin noo
Anely a fite-haired auld bodach, fa wid be a prophet
Yet isnae a prophet, for he's far ower eident,
Repeats fin he binds his tomataes:
There'll be nae ither eyn o the warld
There'll be nae ither eyn o the warld.


A Scottish Owersett o Wumman Martyr bi Agi Mishol (Hebrew)
Ye are anely twenty
An yer first pregnancy is a bomb.
Unner yer braid skirt ye are pregnant wi dynamite
An metal shavins. This is foo ye wauk in the mairket,
ticking amang the fowk, ye, Andaleeb Takatka.
Somebody lowsed the screws in yer heid
An launched ye tae the toun;
even tho ye cam frae Bethlehem,
the Hame o Breid, ye chose a bakery.
An thonner ye pued the trigger ooto yersel
an thegether wi the Sabbath loaves,
sesame an poppy seed,
Ye flung yersel intae the lift.
Thegether wi Rebecca Fink ye flew up
wi Yelena Konre'ev frae the Caucasus
An Nissim Cohen frae Afghanistan
an Suhila Houshy frae Iran
an twa Chinee ye swypit alang
tae daith
Sinsyne, ither maitters
hae happit yer story
aboot which I spikk aa the time
wioot haein onythin tae say.


A Scottish Owersett o Try to Praise the Mutilated World by Adam Zagajewski (Polish)
Ettle tae praise the hurtit warld.
Mynd June's lang days,
an wud straaberries, draps o rose wine.
The nettles that evidently owergrow
the tint hamesteids o exiles.
Ye maun praise the hurtit warld.
Ye watched the braw yachts an boaties

ane o them hid a lang trip aheid o it,
while satty oblivion awyted ithers.
Ye've seen the refugees gaun naewye,
ye've heard the executioners sing blythely.
Ye should praise the hurtit warld.
Mynd the meenits we wir thegether
in a fite chaumer and the curtain flichered.
Return in thocht tae the concert far music fleered.
Ye gaithered acorns in the park in autumn
an leaves furled ower the eirde's hurts
Praise the hurtit warld
an the gray feather a mavis tint,
an the saft licht that wanners an dwines
an returns.


Scottish Owersett of The Greatest Love by Anna Swirsyczynska (Polish)
She is saxty. She lives wi
the greatest luve o her life.

She wauks airm-in-airm wi her dearie
her hair blaws in the win.
Her dearie sez:
'Ye hae hair like pearlins.'

Her bairns say:
'Auld gype."


Scottish Owersett of Earth by Tatsuji Miyoshi (Japanese)
an emerteen gaes
ruggin a butterflee wing
ah
like a yacht!


Scottish Owersett of Wild Vines by Boris Pasternak (Russia)
Aneth a saugh wippit wi ivy
we luik fur a bield frae the coorse weather;
ae raincoat haps baith oor shoulders -
ma fingers reeshle like the wud vine aroon yer breists.

I am wrang. The rain's devauled.
Nae ivy, bit the hair o Dionysus
hings frae thon saughs.
Fit am I tae dae
Haive the raincoat aneth us!


Scottish Owersett o Old Grief by Leonardo Sinisgalli (Italian)
The auld greet easy.
In braid daylicht,
dowpit in a secret pairt o the teem hoose,
they brakk oot greetin,
bumbazed bi byordnar wae.
They lift a skirp o pear
tae their druchtit lips, the flesh
o a fig sun-bakit on reet files.
Even a suppie o watter can cweel a crisis,
even this veesit by a snailie.

Scots Owersett of Great Aso by Tatsuji Miyoshi (Japanese)
Shelts are staunin in the rain
A boorich o shelts wi a tea, three foals, staunin in rain.
In wheesht seelence rain is drappin.
The shelts are ettin girse.
Wi tails, an backs, an manes
Aa sypin weet
They are ettin girse,
Ettin girse.
Puckles o them are staunin wi necks booed ower forgetful-like
An nae ettin girse
Rain is drappin an drappin in wheesht seelence.
The Ben is sennin up rikk.
The tap o Nakadake is sennin up feint yalla an
unca wechty volcanic rikk, thick, thick.
An rain clouds as weel aa ower the lift.
Still they gae on wioot eyndin.
Shelts are ettin girse.
On ane o the knowes o the Thoosan-Mile-Shore-o-Girse
They are thochtlessly ettin blae-green girse.
Ettin.
They are aa staunin there quaet.
They are quaet-like gaithered in ae airt foraye, dreepin
An sypin wi rain.
Gin a hunner years gae by in this ae meenit, there wid
Be nae winner.
Rain is drappin. Rain is drappin.
In the wheesht o seelence rain is drappin.