The Merry Dancers 17 Poems In Scots Poem by Sheena Blackhall

1.The Fermer an the Craa: Swedish Folk Song owersett in Scots
A fermer drove tae a fine fir wid
Far he heard a craa caa rare
An the former syne he turned back hame
Thon craw will pyke me sair

His wife sat spinnin by her spinnin wheel
Quo, Craas are a coordie breed
Sae the fermer pit an arra tae his bow
An he shot the craa doon deid

He brocht the craa doon tae his hoose
Twal caunles frae its creesh made he
An its meat, wi satt, he pickled in a vat
Wi a steak for his granda's tea

Fae its coat, eichteen o bonnie pairs o sheen
He fashioned, an for auld grandma
Twa bauchles she could weir tae shauchle roon the flair
As saft as the new drappt sna

The fluff fae its breist made siven mattresses at least
An bowsters a hunner an twa
Fae the big craa's wings, feather fans he pued
For his dochters fin the sun shone braw

He heistit its neb fur a muckle kirk touer
Wi its heid fur the spire's tap
Fae its corp he made a traivellin boat
Tae sail ower the wide Kattegatt


2.Morten’s Hinmaist Voyage: A Scots Owersett o a Sami Legend
Langsyne twa brithers sailed awa
Morten an Anders, frae their hame
Each wi his ain boat fu o fish
Tae Vadso ower the rollin faem

The day wis fair fin they returned
Near gloamin nigh Klubbvik they drew
Bit an eastern win blew up gey strang
Near heidlan far the storm grew

Morten's boat struck the grey sea foun
Aneth the boat he quickly drooned
Anders his brither sailed on by
Inthe bay he anchored safe an soun

Bit as he wauked alang the beach
Oot o the sea tae the guid dry lan
Morten his brither catched him up
An grabbed him up wi his clammy haun

Ye didna try, fause brither mine,
Tae save me in ma oor o need
Noo ye maun wauk intae the sea
An jyne me, drooned in the green seaweed

In terror, Anders he roared oot
'Come tae ma aid, aa ye that lie
In yer widden kists in the kirkyaird mools! '
'Help me, Ye Droonedl' wis Morten's cry

There wis a ragin frae the sea
A horrid cracklin frae the Ian
The sea-deid raise frae the gurly wave
Each wi a kelp-hyeuk in his haun

The lan-deid focht wi coffin boords
The sea-ghaists focht as they maned an raved
N eist morn at dawn, the fecht wis ower
The lan-deid won, Anders wis saved.

Gurluovta wis thon battle place.
Tae fetch his boat, survey the scene
Neist day, Anders himself cam back
An raised tae the deid the Fish Ile Steen.


3. The Queen o the Baltic, from a Polish Legend
Aince Queen Jurata ruled the sea
The bonniest quine ye iver saw
Wi gowden hair an glentin een
Nae ither Goddess wis sae braw

Perkun the michty thunner God
He lued Jurata best o aa
For she wis kind tae sea-bred fowk
Fair in her luiks an fair in law

Fishers could catch eneuch tae live
An nae a fin or fish-scale mair
Gin she ae hauf a flounder ate
She'd sen the lave back tae its lair

Alive, this hauf she tossed awa
Wad sweem aboot, growe back its heid
Jurata's magic wis sae strang
Naethin she touched could lang bide deid

Bit wird cam tae Jurata's haa
A fisherlad catched fish tae sell
Tae buy braw claes, a vauntie chiel
She vowed his pride she'd quickly quell

Nearhaun the shore she swam sae close
Tae trap an droon him in the sea
Bit at ae luik o him, ochone,
She lued him deep an helplessly

Nae God can wed a mortal man
Tae wrack Jurata's palace fine
Perkun flang doon his thunner bolt
An killt the luvlorn hapless quine

He chyned the fisher doon ablow
The waves, frae far his cries are heard
Greetin for his tint ocean love
Like sabbin o a lane sea-bird

An aa that's left o her braw haa's
Bitticks o amber on the stran
Washed up wi dulse an ither smush
Strewn ower the braid uncarin san


4. Ca-Cannie: Luck a Omens o Fife
Twa, three tooshts o tay-stems, bobbin roon yer cup
Fremmit fowk'll cross yer yett, lock yer siller up

Dinna brakk a keekin glaiss or gie a preen in pairtin
Dinna makk a gift o satt. Ye'll bladd yer weird for certain

Rowan wippt wi reid threid, hauds ill luck awa
Maukens, meenisters an bells, gar the storms blaw

Help a new- born bairn tae thrive, waucht rikk roon its claes
Keep the meenlicht frae its face tae gie it blithesome days

Swap a penny for a knife or love ye'll quickly sever
Takk these wamins tae yer hairt an luck be yours foriver!


5. The Third Earl o Balcarres
The third Earl o Balcarres, he fand a bonnie bride
Mauritia de Nassau, her dautin faither's pride

The merriege bells war ringin, the kinsmen gaithered roon
The bride aside the altar, aa present bar the groom

The third Earl o Balcarres, forgot his waddin date
In his nicht goon an bauchles, still at his brakkfast plate

Fin wird cam tae his quarters, he riggt for kirk wi speed
Bit left the ring ahin him, that should hae blessed the deed

The meenister wis wytin, the lassie douce an pure
Her finger raxxed an trimmlin, in thon onchancy oor

A frien stept up an offert his mart ring, beens an skull
Imprintit on its surface, a sign o Daith an Ill

Mauritia de Nassau, the bluid drained frae her face
The waddin barely ower, still in her bridal lace
She tuik it as an omen, thon dowie murnin ban
Quo' I shall dee fu early. A derk smitt's on ma haun.'

The third Earl o Balcarres, within the year wore black
His bonnie bride wis beeriet. Nae prayers could win her back.


6. The Plague Demon (an Estonian Legend)
The Plague aince sat in a muckle boat
Tae the Isle o Rago sailin
An aa aroon Him the crew lay deid
Frae His dreidit smitt's roon-sharin

The Plague wis heich, wi a three-neuked hat
An a cruel scythe in His haun
Fariver he steppit the Laird o Daith
Brocht dule an wae tae the lan

In the mids o a roarin storm He stept
In a shielin ooto the smirr
An the cailleach sat bi the ingleside
Cried, 'Welcome, in God's name sir.'

She'd saved herself, bit wi an aith
Tae the Isle o Nucko He ran
Wi a buik, a caunle, a cruikit staff
In the shape o an auld grey man

An as He wannert frae hoose tae hoose
His fearisome buik He preed
An gin their names appeared therein
Wi a touch o His stick, they deed

Ae day He drave doon a rickety brae
His axle brakk an He cowpt
A ferm-chiel waukin alang the road
Richt faist tae His aid he lowpt

'For yer gweed deed, ' the Stranger quo
'This day will stay ma haun
For I am the Plague, wi the dreidfu pouer
0 life an Daith in the Ian.'

The Plague syne promised the clachans nigh
For the ferm-cheil's sake, He'd spare
Then, syne, He vanished like a cloud
An bonfires cleansed the air

Takk tent gin yer shadda should iver cross
A heich black chiel wi a scythe
He has nae peety for man nor maid
Roon his belt hing the scalps o Life


7. Tiidu the Flute Player (an Estonian Legend)
A puir man wi a rowth o bairns, had ane
Caad Tiidu, lazy clort tae the backbane
An naethin else aa day he'd rather dee
Than frae a pipe tweet skirps o musardie

Ae day a bodach hirpled by his yett
An speired on fit darg Tiidu's hairt wis set
The laddie said the twa things he wad be
War tae be rich, an aywis tae be free

The bodach coonselled syne tae leave his hame
Tae play his pipe an thus tae gaither fame
An siller, jist eneuch tae buy a flute
An baith his mortal wishes wad bear fruit

Fin Tiidu left, fowk didna miss him sair
Richt sune he bocht his flute, bit wintit mair
He'd heard the lan o Kungla hid great wealth
An vowed he'd gain some, bi fair means or stealth


Frae Nazrva toun he sailed wioot a groat
A sailor hid him, an they hatched a plot
They tied a towe aroon his waist. He lowpt
Intae the sea. The sailor raised the shout

The captain crossed hissel bit threw a line
Tae save this chiel bob-bobbin in the brine
Syne Tiidu cut the ither towe, an vowed
He'd drifted oot tae sea aneth a cloud

Free passage aa the wye! He played his flute
An reached Kungla, its splendours aa spreid oot
Taen on as kitchie loon. A stammygaster
Swine supped frae siller pails jist like their maister

An fin the maister' s bairn reached christenin age
Tiidu wi ither servants, swalled his wage
Wi claes o richest sheen the Mistress gaed
Sae aa micht share her blitheness, an be gled

Intae a pleisur gairden he did stray
His frien the bodach priggit him tae play
His flute... an quick a boorich gaithered roon
His musardie wis Tiidu's greatest boon

He sailed for hame, bit a great storm brakk
His ship, his gowd his gear aa gaed tae wrakk
Beached on an isle, his closest thochties turned
On faimily an the parents he had spurned

He spied a tree wi aipples ruby reid
An feastit on them, dullin hunger's need
Syne slept aneth its boughs an raise at noon
Tae visit a swete spring an hunkered doon

Bit luikin in the watter…sic a shock!
His neb, like wattles o a bubblyjock
Hung blae an lang, till spyin a wee tree
0 nuts, he ate. His snoot shrank speedily

Thon magic nuts an aipples, Tiidu stored
A passin boatie liftit him on boord
An back tae Kungla's coort he made his wye
There, selt the aipples. Watched snoots growe agley

He dressed himsel like a physeecian chiel
Fed them the nuts, an watched them aa growe weel
Frae this fey smitt, for curin coort an king
They shooered him wi gowden gear an ring

Tiidu sailed hame. Shared wi his fowk his gear
An merriet a young lassie, fair bit puir
An in the bridal chaumer, fand a kist
Wi shipwracked ferlies ower great tae list
A paper stapped inside it, writ in black
'A leal son earns aa his treisurs back. '

8. The Auld Wife Sat bi the Fire: North East Folk song from the poet’s grandmother
The auld wife sat bi the fire
Naebody nigh for tae spy her
Naebody nigh bit an auld tom cat
Sae she liftit her petticoats higher.

The tom cat saw somethin nyaaki
For a moose or a rat he did tak it
An he took ae spring at the au1d wife's thing
An fearfully did shakk it


9. Charlie Chatts: North East Rhyme from the poet’s grandmother
Charlie Chatts he milkit the cats
An Gollachy made the cheese
An wee Willie White Breeks
Fleggit awa the bees


10. Extract from Papaless and the Greedy Troll (Faroese legend)
An orphan loon caad Papaless
Wi twa brithers bedd in a wid
An fin the brithers cut doon the trees
He cooked as best's he cwid

Ae day fin the eldest bedd at hame
A puir auld chiel cam by
Chapped at the door, an chitterin wi cauld
Speired tae sit at the fire tae dry

Wee he wis, an ugsome tae
His beard huug doon tae his knees
He spied the stew-pot on the byle
Quo he, 'Micht I taste some please? '

The brither tuik peety on this puir sowel
Gaed him breid tae soak up the bree
Fin the wee man' d suppit the tasty stew
He swalled up three times three

For he wis a Troll, an a roosie ane
He socht aa the stew an breid
He focht wi the brither, an hurt him sair
Tae crawl tae a neuk hauf deid


11. Cave, Cave, Deus Videt: Beware, Beware, God Sees
(0n Hieronymus Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights)
Judgement, Glory, Daith an Hell
Thus are men brocht tae their knees
Bi the Seeven Deidly Sins
Tak tent, tak tent, God sees

Here, a deevilock shaws a quine
Wadded tae her keekin glaiss
There's a chiel aboot tae kill
A quine, throwe rage an beastliness

Angels wauken up the deid
Misers byle in pots o gowd
Deevil's wye a sinner's sowel
Skeletons shakk aff the shroud

Judgement, Glory, Daith an Hell
Thus are men brocht tae their knees
Bi the Seeven Deidly Sins
Tak tent, tak tent, God sees


12. Gavin Greig (1856-1914)
Born at Parkhill in the cauld North East
In Februar' s snaa an gales
He wis sib on his mither' s side tae Burns
Wi a love o forgotten tales

On his faither's side he wis sib tae Grieg
Fa won Norwegian hairts
Kent as the Chopin o the North
Twa kinsmen... different airts

In Norway, Grieg saved peasant sangs
InBuchan, Greig adored
The ballads o ferm an tinkler chiel
Baith biggit a music hoard
Sae here's tae Buchan an Norroway
An the tunes an the sangs men sing
May there ay be fowk tae cherish them
Fitiver the years micht bring


13. The Milky Wye: an Estonian Legend
Sune eftir aa the warld wis born
Lindu, Auld Uko's bonnie dother
Wis chairged wi watchin ower the birds
An cared for them like any mither

Aabody socht tae win her haun
Sae fair wis she, sae fu o grace
The North Win brocht her presents ten
She ordered him tae keep his place

An neist the Meen in siller coach
Brocht twinty gifties for her favour
'Ye aywis rin the same auld road
Will I wad ye? The answer's niver'

The Sun drave up wi gowden coach
Wi thirty presents rare an fine
Tae nae avail, she turned him aff
His wooin dinna please the quine

Syne in a diamond coach there cam
Wi rowth o gifts, the Northern Licht
Won Lindu 's hairt wi scarce a wird
Sae pleisunt wis he tae her sicht

They war betrothed...he gart her makk
Aa ready for their bridal nicht
An back tae Midnicht, than great Lord
In glitterin greens an blues tuik flicht

Sae lang awa wis he, she murned
An grat, till birds forgot her name
An Uko, hearin o her grief
Ordered the wins tae bear her hame

Noo she's becam the Milky Wye
Her bridal train's in Heiven sae blue
She guides the traivels o the birds
An tae the Northern Licht bides true


14. The Egg-Born Princess: Estonian Legend
Langsyne there wis a bairnless queen
Fas king wis aff in furreign wars
A carlin-wife chapped at her door
Wi ferlies fey in pyokes an jars

She gaed the queen a teenie kist
0 birk, wi a wee egg inbye
Three months tae haud it at her breist
Till a live dall should hatch an cry

Maun bide till grown tae new-born size
Nae maet nor drink should she be gien
Bit keepit warm's a June sunrise

Nine month eftir this quinie's birth
A human son the queen wad hae
The king wad tell the citizens
That twins war born than fatefu day

The queen maun suckle her real loon
A weet nurse, feed the dallie-dother
The carlin-wife, be her godmither
Summoned at will bi a bird feather

An on the christenin day, the plume
Raised up the carlin-wife, richt chynged
Intae a beauty wi a coach
Drawn bi sax yalla shelts, gowd-ryned

She tuik the princess in her airms
'Rebuliina shall be her name'
An caad the young prince Villem, syne,
An aa the coortiers did the same

She warned the queen she maun keep safe
Eggshells an feather in the case
Bit fin the queen grew seek an deed
A stepmither stude in her place

Nae skaith tae Rebuliina cam
Her godmither luiked ower her weel
Till war cam tae the stricken lan
Villem escaped bi manly zeal

The princess, tho, bi magic turned
Intae a hermless peasant lassie


An wi her kistie, wannered aff
Taen in tae be a fermer's skiffie

A lady traivellin in thon airt
Tuik Rebuliina for her maid
Fin war wis ower, the prince wis King
Back tae the toon the lassie gaed

An fin a year wis ower an gaen
Mournin his fowk killt in the strife
The new King vowed he' d hae a feast
An chuse a bride tae share his life

Rebuliina wi dowie hairt,
Riggit her mistress, dothers three
Syne sat an grat wersh tears o wae
Till, myndin on the kistie wee

She wyved the feather, aa wis cheenged!
Braw claes, gowd coach aa glimmerin
Bit hauf wye tae than feast o feasts
She myned she'd left the kist ahin

A spurgie brocht it tae her side
She won the castle, sat tae dine
The King wi winnerment luiked on
Dumfounert at this bonnie quine

Fin midnicht cam the thunner roared
The godmither appeared wi speed
An telt the king this lassie fair
His sister wis, bit nae by bluid

An sae they merriet, bit the kist
Bi eildritch wirk wis wheeched awa
Bit happy iver eftir they
Lived oot their lives in Royal haa.


15. The Stottin Cats (Kattenstoat, Ypres, Belgium)
Minnieke Poes is a muckle puss
That wauks the streets in the Kattenstoet
Fin cats are flang frae the Claith Haa touer
Bi a Feel, doon tae the meltin pot

0 fowk rigged oot as witches o auld
Fin spells war spukken an cauldrons steered
An Cats war the Deevil's special friens
Familiars, pouerfu, fierce an feared

Think o the soss an the mieuws o fricht
Aabody kens cats dinna stott
Bit noo, instead o a 1eevin puss
They haive toy cats at the Kattenstoet


16. Gyte: A Scots Owerset o tile poem 'Funny', bi Anna Kamienska
Fit's it like to be a human?
the bird speired

I masel dinna ken
it's bein held prisoner bi yer skin while reachin the Aybydan
bein snibbit in bi yer skirp o time while touchin the Aybydan
bein fooshionlessly uncertain an fooshionlessly hopefu
bein a preen o cranreuch an a haunfu o heat sookin inthe air
an chokin wirdlessly
it's bein in a lowe
wi a nest vrocht o aisse
ettin breid
while fillin up on hunger
it’s deein wioot love
it's lovin throwe daith

Thon’s gyte, quo the bird
an flew effortless up inno the air


17. The Body Snatchers
A humfy-backit aiblich deed
An Shotty wis his name

Bi Drumoak kirk they beeriet him
In his last yirdy hame

Bit wird won oot an reached the toon
Syne bodysnatchers rade
Wi gig an shelt bi the meenlicht
Tae ply their orra trade

The local fowk sent for the smith
A Peterculter chiel
On a faist shelt he catched them up
An newsed them up wi zeal


Until assistance wis at haun
Syne speired 'Fit’s in yer sack? '
The men tuik fleg an Shotty 's corp
In's grave twis plunkit back