The Bog King, Shards, Et Al: 25 Poems In Scots Poem by Sheena Blackhall

1.Asteroid 5099: Iainbanks
Whan somebody dees, Daith, the Craa Man,
Cairries them aff tae the itherwarld
In this case, Asteroid 5099.

In life, thon atheist- asteroid
Screived buiks an music,
Liked a dram o the craitur
Wis an extra in Monty Python’s Holy Grail
Dwalt amang thochts o ooter-space an crime
Fur him, the Holy Grail wis space itsel

Asteroid 5099. Fittin name
Fur a chiel wha picturt explodin grannies,

Whan Daith the Craa Man cairries fowk aff,
Maist takk the laigh road inno the clarty lair
Bit ye he tuik up on his back tae the Aybydan
Tae bide wi the meens an starnies furlin there


2.Wirds
Fa’d hae jeloused that a flicht o birds
Cud cause a stooshie like breengin herds?

A bird in a cage, drives ten tae a buik
Tae hunt doon quotes in a librar’s neuk

Ye’d hae thocht it wis Elvis, raised frae the deid
In Embro, tae see the fowk stampede!
Some war delichtit an ithers, wae
Nae aabody won a bird thon day

Paper frae buiks, or paper birds
The nub o the maitter is wirds wirds WIRDS


3.Blackwell’s Yetts: tune, The Baron o Braichlie
Came ye by Blackwell’s yetts, came ye by there?
And saw ye twa mavises fechtin fu sair
‘Oh, I cam by Blackwell’s yetts, I come by there,
And I saw twa mavises fechtin fu sair

Twis aa ower ae title, the last in the store.
Oh the feathers wir fleein, an doon ran the gore
For neither wid share, nor frae Amazon buy
An their tulzie caad buik shelves an stauns faa agley

At Media Studies the battle began.
Frae the Scots Gaelic Section the bystanders ran
First they cowped ae buik and syne they cowped twa,
And they tore Chinese Medicine, the dearest o aa

Frae Chakras, tae Physics, nae volume wis safe
The chapters an pamphlets wi beaks they did strafe
Pulp Fiction wis torn tae confetti as weel
There wis nae man sae brave that cud bring them tae heel

Came ye by Blackwell’s yetts, came ye by there?
And saw ye twa mavises fechtin fu sair?
‘Oh, I cam by Blackwell’s yetts, I come by there,
Bit fin I spied the stooshie, I ran like a hare

For whaun mavises stert tae teir leaves up wi rage
It’s like watchin a tiger lowp oot its cage
A Kindle, a Kindle, a Kindle they need
For tae teir up a Kindle takks smeddum indeed


4.The Wyce-Like Heron
The craggy heron, scholarly an wyce
Takks tent o the wee bandies sweemin by
An runkles his grey senatorial feathers
Nae heedin the chirps an blethers
O chookie spurgie critics on the banks.

He ranks the fishies wi a kennin ee
Ower flashie, skyrie, dowie or perjink
Awa they skyte like fireflauchts doon the burn

He’ s wytin for a soople salmon-Soutar,
An Eddie Morgan troot that fair bumbazes
A muckle, gurly pike o a Hugh MacDiarmid.
He’s wytin fur a screivin stammygaster


5.The Doo
Croo Croo cried the doo,
I’ve grown tired o the view
As she uptailed an flew
Frae the Festival queue.

Up tae Orkney she gaed
Wi the speed o a gled
Heich abune Brinkie’s Brae
An the Brough o Birsay
Ower Rousay an Hoy
Cantick Heid, Boloquoy
Whaur the silkies gyang splash
An the weird trowies hash

I am Freya, she cooed
Her saft heid like a snood
I can fashion a spell
An yer weird I can tell
Kill nae bird, fur its makk
Wi my magic I takk
An the sagas I read
Are o warriors lang deid
Syne a feather fell doon
In thon auld Scottish toon
A peerie refrain
Fur the Norse fowk, lang gaen

6.Wee Chookie Wren
Wee chookie wren, will ye bide awhile?
Na sir, I canna be still for lang
Whit dae ye bring tae the fowk aroon?
A tale, the leaves o a buik, a sang

Wee chookie wren, ye traivel licht
Hae ye steppt frae a rainbow ooto the sun?
Blythness cams in the smaest pyoke
The shorter the veesit the mair the fun

Wee chookie wren, is yer nest nearhaun?
A gangrel birdie like me’s ay fleein
Fariver the wins o the Grampians blaa
A bird like me maun be up at deein!

7.Autumn
In Scots, this Sizzen o the hairst
Germanic fowk caad harbistoz
Hærfest in Anglo-Saxon spikk
An tae the Norsemen it wis Haust

The weetest Sizzen o the year
A doon pish teemin ower yer heid
The grun is turned tae clarty dubs
As sappy’s saps o wattered breid

The wins are roch, the nichts draw in
It’s cranreuch cauld, the birk hings yalla
An frae the gurly lift abeen
Ye’ll see the waa-gaun o the swalla

8. Owersetts in Scots frae ‘Distant Road: Selected Poems of the Vietnamese poet Nguyen Duy, translatit inno Inglis bi Kevin Bowen and Nguyen Ban Chung

The Warmth o the Strae-Sleepin Neuk
I chappit on the yett o a sma theekit hut bi the simmer park
An auld wummin wauked oot in the wind tae greet me
‘Ma hoose is wee, bit there’s a neuk tae rest
Nae sheets nor mattress, tho, ’ she made apology
An rowed thegither a bed o strae for me tae lie on

The yalla strae wippit me roon like a cocoon
I lay awakk in the hinneyed yoam o the parks
In a warmth warmer than a quilt
In thin an brukken threids

The grains o rice keep oor wymes stappit
Bit the warmth, this flame hett warmth
This simple yoam o the paddy park
Nae wye tae easily pairt frae it


9. Owersetts in Scots frae ‘Distant Road: Selected Poems of the Vietnamese poet Nguyen Duy

A Fyew Speirins
Gane sae short a time syne, it seems foraye
Tell’s, dis the lavender sark still hing frae the brig?
Are the Dong Ba peppers still birsslin hett?
The An Cu rice as tasy as afore?

An the royal Poinciana, dis it ayewis line the road,
The Perfume River lie saft eftir rain on the Bens,
Is the Am Phu ettin-hoose there still
The quine thon day, is she merriet?


10. Owersetts in Scots frae ‘Distant Road: Selected Poems of the Vietnamese poet Nguyen Duy

The Stane
I staun in meditation afore Ankor’s ruins
Gin stane can be sae dinged doon, fit o human life?

Oh stane,
Let me screive a plea for peace

In the eyn, in ilkie war
Faiver won, the fowk war ay the losers


11. 4 Twa Line Poems bi Nguyen Duy

Happin
I button yer blouse
A trimmle meeves throwe a lea o co lau girse

POET B
The sklaik rins that the poet’s gaen inno business
The lift maun hae agreed tae be for sale

POET C
The sklaik rins that the poet’s noo a heid bummer
Win an cloud sen in their resignation

POET E
The poet’s gaen back tae stravaigin
Girse an tree wint tae live as girse an tree


12. Owersetts in Scots frae ‘Distant Road: Selected Poems of the Vietnamese poet Nguyen Duy

Back tae the Park
O strae an stibble I cam back tae ye
A coorse win blaws wechty wi the guff o dubs
Alang a fence, mornin glories bloom in bonnie purple
Striddlin the bamboo twigs a Peyot cries ma name

O strae an stibble I cam back tae ye
The sunlicht faas on the seedlins, fite an see-throw
The watter buffalo’s back sypes wi a chiel’s satty swyte
The muirhen brakks the fullness o noon wi her greet

O strae an stibble I cam back tae ye
A neebor’s airms wechtit doon wi bairns
An airm I aince touched sae lichtsome in luv’s first steerin
An aa the days thereaifter

O strae an stibble I cam back tae ye
A gloamin lift brunt the colour o strae an stibble
A park in a lowe wi the bodies o auld fairmers, booed in plantin
Their split dowps upturned in patience tae the lift

O strae an stibble I cam back tae ye
O lat me boo tae the speerits o the clachan
Tae granfaithers, granminnies, the wings o the heron
Faithers an mithers, the hard darg o the watter buffalo
O strae an stibble I cam back tae ye
Tae the auld pagoda, the temple nae langer staunin
Tae the teem kirkyaird, the girse turnin deep yalla
The knowes an humfs o ma forebears deep in its hairt


13. Owersetts in Scots frae ‘Distant Road: Selected Poems of the Vietnamese poet Nguyen Duy

Tae the Vietnamese Bidin in Furreign Lans
Foo derk the road- foo hyne awa it raxxes
It stretches the yird’s fower airts

Frae the Heivens a starnie beckons ye hame
Crossin the river, fowk-sang biggs a brig

A lang derk past balances atween us
Bit feet aywis return tae the rice park dykes

Ye raise up tae leave, ye luikit back tae the bamboo hedges
Noo the yoam o the bo ket waukens ye in the mids o nicht

Ye raise up tae leave, ye memorized the face ye left ahin
Lips reid as roses takk a lifetime tae dwine

The warld’s a eildritch ferlie…. Oorie, isn’t it,
Ower nearhaun an things dee….hyne aff, they rise again

……………………………………finis ………………………………………

14. Veritas Vos Liberabit (The truth shall make you free)
i.m. The Borders Wizard - Michael Scott (1175 to 1232)

Born in Balwearie, he’d the pouer
Tae cure… could reest fowk wi a glower
Wycer than Pope or Jesuit
veritas vos liberabit

Condemned tae Dante’s fiery pit
Tae Caluce Keep, he did commit
The Plague, catched bi his skill an wit
veritas vos liberabit

Scientist, scholar, sorcerer
Alchemist, gleg astronomer.
He traced the starnies heich orbit
veritas vos liberabit

He wore the lang robes o the East
Wis three quart warlock, ae pairt priest
The lear o Arabs, he’d transmit
veritas vos liberabit

Toledo an fair Padua
He wis weel kent in kingly haa
Fowk thocht he’d tae the Deil submit
veritas vos liberabit

At Berwick, he wove towes frae san
His lear wis famed throw oot the lan
His physic cured the sairest smit
veritas vos liberabit

He wore a helmet on his heid
Foresaa a stane wad knap him deid
The Eildon Knowes this warlock split
veritas vos liberabit

At Melrose Abbey in the mools
He’s beeriet wi his buiks, fey tools
Secret o Secrets, weird-like writ
veritas vos liberabit


15. Jenny Geddes (c.1600 – c.1660)
Mynd on the The Boston Tea Pairty?
The steer fin Archduke Ferdinand wis killt?

Jenny Geddes, fruit and veggie seller
Keepit a staa ootbye the auld Tron Kirk
King Charlie’s new archbishop Willie Laud
Brocht oot a prayer buik fur the Scots tae read
St Giles' Cathedral, Sabbath, ae July
Thon wumman tuik her creepie steel inbye
James Hannay, Dean of Embro, raised his voice
Fin Jenny raise an skirled like a craw:
Deil colic the wame o’ ye, fause thief;
daur ye say Mass in my lug?
An straightwye haived her steel at Hannay’s heid
Like wasps cowped frae their nest in a fine fizz
Like doonpish frae a nicht o storm an grue
The hale hypothec focht like scaldit cats
Wi Bibles ‘stead o steens as missiles haived
The Dean tuik fleg an hid, the Provost summoned
Tae herd the randies frae the haly airt
Windaes war brukken, doors an yetts war battered
The Provost cooried in the city chaumer

King Chairlie wadna budge. The Covenant
Wis signed…an syne, the Bishops’ War
Led ram stam tae the bluidy kintra split
Royalist, Puritan, Kirk o Scotlan fechtin
As ae tint nail can gar a sheltie faa
Sae Jenny Geddes’ steel dinged doon a croon


16. The John Ross Rap (1790-1866) , Cherokee Chief and Scot

Sitting Bull, Cochise, Geronimo, syne
John Ross. His grandfaither, merriet a quine
Scot an Cherokee a mirled bluid line

Born in Chattanooga, Tennessee
Learnin the wyes o the Cherokee
Ross wed an Indian they caad Quatie

He focht for fairness for ane an aa
Cherokee Nation versus state o Georgia
An won, bit a bitter blow wis sune tae faa

His tribe wis forced upon the trail o tears
Hunners war herded, young an auld in years
In the hairt o winter, driven on like nowt
Wi reivers an rapists preyin on the fowk

Quatie deed at Little Rock, gey sair-made
A quarter o her fowk aneth the mools were laid
Ross sattled his nation fur a spleet new life
Merriet a Quaker, fur a secunt wife

Frae hyne aff Caledonia, wird tuik flicht
That Scots war deein in the tattie blicht
Kittlin his Heilan bluid. The Cherokee
Sent siller tae relieve Scots misery

Pow-wow, stomp daunce, river cane flute
Pibroch, Sean Truibhas, blaeberry fruit
Water drum, turtle shell, medicine wheel
Philabeg, heather reet, eichtsome reel

Cherokee tribe an Scottish clan
Aa thegither in the race o Man


17.The Wid o the Aiks
The wid o the aiks hid a river at its reets
Bar-fit, I’d rowe ma skirt inno the legs o ma breeks
An wyde throw bandies jinkin ben the watter

Bens held the clouds tae their briest
Lat doon the simmer rain, saft, swete as milk

A heron booed doon in its ain seelence
Powkin its neb throwe the win

I wore the sun like a skin o buttery yalla
An skyted three fite steens alang the puil

Een noo, in ma inner ee, I can enter thon wid in a glisk
Faist as the shutter click o a camera
The verra hint o’t swackens ma sowel like rosit


18 Port an Fruit Cake
Jean wis a pyed companion
Cook an skiffy, ane o life’s naturals
A makkie-on frien, tied bi the chynes o siller

A puir relation. Fowk said she’d bin raped as a littlin
Hynie back on a ferm. It hid turned her fey
Cursed tae gyang throw the warld wi the bowl o plenty’s scrapins

Her scones war licht’s her feet
That pammered quaet’s a moose
Her duster, aywis dichtin ither fowk’s stoor
Pairt o her daily darg wis the high tay,
Cuttin the crusts frae the sannies
Plunkin the fruit cake doon wi the milk an sugar
On a table cloot as fite’s a corpse’s shroud

Aathin perjink in the room, the tickin clock, the braisse,
Warmed bi the lowe that lowpit in the hairth
The key in the press, the cheena dug’s spyled face
The port poored inno the glaiss, fantoosh, genteel- like
Her mistress watchin ay like a clockin hen

Jean’s grey hair wis straucht’s a poker
Cat’s sookins striddlin her napper
The hairband she’d worn as a flapper
Pyed tae listen aa day tae her mistress bletherin on
Wi a tongue that gaed like a clapper

Twa semmits agin the cauld, in bauchled sheen
Thon wis the tap an tail o a deem caad Jean


19. Aiberdeen Meets Embro
‘Weel Embro, ’ quo Aiberdeen, ‘We dinna aften see you awa fae hame.
Is this you slummin it wi the puir relations? Mair tae the pynt, ye’ll likely be needin somethin..’

‘Dinna gie’s yer heehaw, ’ quo Embro. ‘Aabody kens YER nae short o a bawbee. Ye’ve got mair millionaires than ye can shakk a haddie at’

‘I’ll grant ye, ’ replied Aiberdeen, ‘that a twa three bodies skim the tap aff North Sea ile…bit a fyew fowk’s fortunes dinna makk the kettle byle in aa oor hooses.’

‘I’d like tae help, ’ quo Embro, ‘bit ma hauns are tied. I’ve trams tae rin an festivals tae host. An fit’s the pynt o bein the capital city if ye canna lay claim tae the best o aathin gaun? If yer feelin left oot in in the cauld, Aiberdeen, takk my advice…pit on anither vest! ’


20. Chardonnay
Tae the Arts Centre Theatre: I jist hae tae say
Ye’ve fairly wirked winners wi oor Chardonnay
Fae a quinie fa cudna say boo tae a moose
Her projection’s sae loud noo she’s caad doon a hoose
Aince feartie an quate, shes a richt diva noo
Her tantrums are famed…sic a hullaballoo
She’ll kick up, wi the watterwirks likely tae droon
Ye, fin aa that ye’ve askit is ‘Redd up yer room’
An last nicht fin her da gied her beans wi her breid
He endit up weirin them ower his heid

We bocht her a skull for her birthday, ye ken
(It’s unfair that Hamlet is aye played by men)
She’s newly turned fower, bit a star in the makkin
The speed she picks wirds up is really braith takkin
Her da jist sweirs aince, an she kens it bi hairt
Sae she’s ready ye see for a star billin pairt

As Wee Orphan Annie..she’d gie fowk a thrill
(Ye should see her jink gym makkin on that she’s ill)
She can sing as weel’s ony thon opera craiturs
An it’s bairns as ye ken that sell best in the papers
Her ar-tic-ul-ation is perfeck..jist hear
The darling skirl ‘Mingin’ each vowel’s crystal clear
An as for stage presence…there’s nane get a luik
In fin Chardonnay herds them intae a neuk

You ask her..I daur ye… tae staun like a tree
She can froth at the moo like a horror movie
She can mummle like Brando as lang as ye gie
Her a sweetie tae sook. She’s got talent, ye see
She whyles pees the fleer wi excitement…bit then
Wi a wee suppie sawdust thon’s easy tae men’

Fit’s this? She’s bin bitin the ithers in class?
Nae doot they deserved it..ye maun let that pass
The artistic temperament’s affa high strung
An milk teeth are saft fin a littlin is young…..
Takk her hame? Bit it’s only a twa or three plooks
Chukken pox isna fatal…the medical books
Advise ye tae catch’t as a quine or a loon
Ye should thank her for spreadin the virus aroon!

Ye’ve banned her? Twis only twa plates an a cup
She broke in the café fin rinnin amuck
She wis jist improvisin a riot, the vratchie
An got cairriet awa like the great Stanislavski

Yer nae buyin thon? She’s yer best protégé
Her relations could full aa yer seats ony day
If hauf o them warna in Craigie eenoo
She’s brakkin yer phone…ye’ve upset her, the doo
I’ll write tae ma MP… the Cooncil…. the Queen
Ye’ll be sorry fin Chardonnay’s nae on the scene.
Fin Hollywood beckons my bonnie wee belle
Ye’ll be the anes that are kickin yersel


21. A Rowie for Me: Tune: A Gordon for me
As I wis a waukin up Union Street
A bonnie wee laddie I chanced for tae meet
Speed datin, I speired fit he liked tae eat
Fin he telt me ‘a rowie’ I fell at his feet


Chorus
A rowie for me, a rowie for me
If yer nae a rowie yer nae eese tae me
A bagel is braw an a croissant an aa
Bit a hett buttered rowie’s the pride o them aa

They tell me paninis can raise a queue
An Nam bried’s anither that’s on the menu
An the wraps like ice cream cones far grease faas oot
Sae eftir ye dicht yersel doon wi a cloot

Chorus

I gaed tae Dyce airport tae flee tae Spain
They opened ma case an sent me hame again
For smuggling oot rowies is a crime I wis telt
Cause on the Black Market for a fortune they’re selt

Chorus

I eat ten a day an I think I’m hooked
I like rowies toastit or cut up an sooked
An fin I’m crematit wi aa thon lard
I’ll burn like a bonfire, aa meltit nae charred

Chorus


22. Owersett in Scots o the poem ‘An Auld Cracked Tune’ bi Stanley Kunitz
Ma name is Solomon Levi,
The desert is ma hame,
Ma mither's breist wis thorny,
An faither I had nane.

The sans fuspered, Bide separate,
The stones learned me, Be hard.
I daunce, for the joy o leevin,
On the ootside o the road.


23. A Scots Owersett o ‘The Cat in the Kitchie’ by Robert Bly
Hae ye heard aboot the loon fa wauked by
The blaik watter? I winna say muckle mair.

Let's wyte a fyew years. It winted tae be entered.
Whyles a chiel wauks by a puil, an a haun
Raxxes oot an rugs him in.

There wis nae
Intent, exackly. The puil wis lanely, or needit
Calcium, banes wid dae. Fit happened syne?

It was a thochtie like the nicht win, which is saft,
An meeves slawly, soughin like an auld wumman
In her kitchie, late at nicht, meevin pans
Aboot, lichting a lowe, makkin some maet for the cat.

24.A Scots Owersett o ‘Watterin the Shelt’ by Robert Bly
Foo queer tae think o giein up aa ambition!
O a suddenty, I see wi sic clear een
The fite spirk o snaa
That’s newly drappit inno the shelt's mane!

25.An Owersett in Scots o the poem ‘Cologne’ by Paul Celan
In Kohln, a toon o monks an banes,
An pavements fang'd wi murdrous stanes
Fool clooties, orrals, ugsome vratches;
I coonted twa an seeventy stenches,
Aa weel defined, an umpteen stinks!
Ye Nymphs that reign ower sheughs an sinks,
The river Rhine, it’s kent, Ochone
Dis wash yer city o Cologne;
Bit tell me, Nymphs, fit pouer divine
Shall eftir, wash the river Rhine?