Stagwyse: 4 Scots Poems Poem by Sheena Blackhall

1.Owersettin in Scots freely made frae Henry Baerlein's Inglis translation
Al-Maarri (Persian, d.1058)

The days are riggin us in blaik
Fur Him fa'd hing us like craws.
There's nae daith fur the sun. I ken
The centuries are nippicks o the nicht.
Hinna ye heard wyce bodies gie the dreich threip? –
That spite o wir bigsy wyes,
Wir bit quaet shaddas
Tied tae wir taes.

First ae religion's tapmaist
Till anither's briered
Fur man can niver thole a mortal weird,
Bit ay sikks anither gowk-spikk.
God's abune. We'll niver win
Wir freedom, free hauns that
Dig wir mools;
Nor can we shakk aside the wechty cloud,
Mair nur a slave can brakk
The hefty chyne that rules.


2. A Thing Of Beauty Is A Joy Forever
Birse farmer, circa 1963

Heich simmer makks the hochs a love-juice cauldron.
Dauchlin astride a sunshine-drookit dyke,
I heard an engine purr, an iron bawdron,
The bowfin o a coo's-lick touslie tyke.

Syne suddent, frae ayont deep-shaddaed trees,
A fairm-chiel drave his combine ower the lan–
The jetty curls upon his broo ableeze
Wi sun, as ony bonnie Grecian Pan.

Braid showders, glistenin broon, the loon, bare-backit
Sat squar abune the corn, like a young God
Ridin alang the barley-rigs half-nyaakit,
Watched bi a lustfu virgin an a bawd.

Reid kerchief lichtly wippit neth his chin,
A mou wad sook the hinney frae a bee,
Sweet fusslin, ower the birrin chariot's din;
He smiled full on me, wi a bull-black ee.

Twa birdies flichtered, coortin ben the corn,
Syne drappt tae couple, aa pretensions tirred¬
Their birdsang like the sounin o a horn,
Biddin me cast ma bairnhood tae the yird.

He raisse tae cry his tyke, the stoot claith held
The fite swan o his secret manhood trussed
As faist's a muir-fire wi a breem is melled;
I kent the gnaawin thorn-stob o lust.
111.

3.The Flee oweset intil Scots frae Miroslav Holub's 'The Fly'

She doupit doon on a blastit willow
Owerluikin a swatch o the fecht at Crecy
The skirls,
The greets,
The manes,
The killin an cowpin.
In the mids o the fowerteenth chairge
0 the French horse,
She wis ridden bi
A broon-eed laddie flee
Frae Vadincoort.

She dichtit her shanks thegither
As she dowpit doon
On a gralloched shelt,
Thinkin lang
On the immortality o flees.

Wi a sough, she lichtit
On the blae tongue
O the laird o Clervaux.

Fin the quaet doon-drappit,
An anely the fusper o rot
Creepit saft roon the deid,
An anely a pucklie airms an legs
Jinked, puppet-like, mangst the wids,
She sterted tae lay her eggies
Ontil the single ee
O Johann Uhr,
The Royal Airmourer.

Sae it was
She cam tae be etten
Bi a swiftie fleein awa
Frae the lowes o Estrees.


4.Loch o Abyne for the folk o Aboyne an Birse

Drooned cloods waucht by...
A whaup surveys its marra upside doon¬
Leesome licht an shade
Play tig n' tag ben bays o jet an jade.

A mavis threeps, its dickie broon's the dyeuks
That claik in boorachs in derk, midgied neuks;
The antrin spirk ontil the loch o rain
Draws watter-wabs, like ice on winnock-pane.

Wee coracles, the lochan-lilies showd;
In ilkie scowp o petals glimmers gowd.
A sma sun shines, a flooer's caunlelowe
Deep in the floatin blossom's scented howe.

Oxter-deep in the peat-mirled bree
The iris bides; bullrushes sweesh an swee
Pale as strae sodjers mustered in the reeds,
Broon busbies cockin, tap o lang-stemmed heids.

The foggy seggs
Wyde, far the heron stauns
On shilpit legs.

Aik glowers, a wid-narcissus in a puil;
A boatie lairs in girse, its beeriet keel
Smores neth a tousled reet aside a wharf.
Treelipin weeds wyve roon, a drookit scarf
Wippin alang the watter like an eel;
Green, glidin glimmer in the lochan's sweel.

A linn o leaves draps frae an ootraxxed birk¬
Aneth, a routh o ripples lap an lirk;
Dyeuks plyter, plash an paiddle ower the loch.
Winged will-o-wisp, a jinkin, bricht muir-moch
Daunces. A torque o wavelets circle roon
An isle far ghaistly mists come creepin doon.

Far aince a hame stude, noo's a larach's waa...
Like thistledown, my kin hae blawn awa.