Thorgunna’s Curse (8 Scots Poems) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

1.The Sang o Traivellin Angus: Owersett in Scots, frae the poem by W.B.Yeats

I gaed oot tae the hazel wid
Because a lowe wis in ma heid
An cut an peeled a hazel wan
An tied a berry tae a threid

An fin fite mochs war on the wing
An moch-like starnies flichtered oot
I drapped a berry in a burn
An catched a teenie siller troot
Fin I hid laid it on the fleer
I gaed tae blaw the lowe aflame
A ferlie reeshled on the fleer
Somebody cried me bi ma name

It hid becam a glimmrin quine
Wi aipple blossom in her hair
Fa cried me bi ma name an ran
An dwined inno the brichtenin air

Tho I am auld wi traivellin
Ben humphy lan an howie lans
I will fin oot far she has gaen
An kiss her mou, an takk her hauns
An wauk amang lang dyewy girse
An pu till time an tides are run
The siller aipples o the meen
The gowden aipples o the sun


2. Thorgunna’s Curse
Thorgunna’s Curse is based on an oorie tale o the daith o a Hebridean wumman in Iceland.

Ae spring a Hebridean boat
Tae Iceland ben the mist
Set sail. A muckle tradin ship
Stapped like a treisur kist

A chieftain, Finnward Keelfarer
Fa bedd at Froddis watter
Stepped doon tae greet the Scottis crew
Wi his wife Aud, an dochter

Upon the deck stude Thorgunna
Heich, sonsie, prood o race
Wi lang reid hair. Her saxty years
Lay lichtly on her face

Noo Finnward’s wife, bi greed enthralled
Socht rich Thorgunna’s gear
The stranger wadna pairt wi it
Tho sair the wife did speir

Ae nicht intae Thorgunna’s room
She crept an reived the brooch
The Heilan wumman glowert, bit lay
An uttered nae reproach.

Neist day Finnward wis telt her ghaist
Wis ailin…like tae dee
An her last will an testament
Tae nane bit him she’d gie

‘Oh beery me at Skalaholt
Cause caunles tae be lit
An burn ma beddin on the beach
Sae nane micht lie on it.

An tae yer dother, gie ma gear
For she has naethin speired
Tae Aud, yer wife, haun ower the brooch
Tho bitter be its weird.’

Thorgunna deed. Storm crossed the meen
As Finnward torched the wid
His wife slippt doon, tramped oot the lowe
An saved the sheets, an hid.

They tuik the corp tae Skalaholt
An stopped at Netherness

‘Ye’ll hae a bield, ’ quo the mean host
‘Nae meat, for teem’s ma press.’

Dumfounert, aa the mourners sat
Thorgunna’s corp did wauk
Atween them, servin meat tae aa
An magic wirds she spakk.

The kistin by, Aud an her man
Lay on Thorgunna’s sheets
A deidly curse raise throwe the threids
Frae croon, tae briest, tae cweets
Their dother socht them in their room
The faithless pair wir deid
Thorgunna’s corp, in mortal makk
Sat hunkered at their heid.

Doon tae the sea the lassie ran
Auld for her years, an wise
An brunt Thorgunna’s sheets an gear
An watched the black rikk rise

Oh Iceland’s floes are cauld an fite
The curse wis caulder yet
That envy, greed, an pride bring on
An this, may nane forget.


3.Raiders

Kennin that the last body fa saw this
did so a thoosan year syne
gies me a grave-robber’s archaeological thrill

Someyin o heich status, a wealthy heid bummer
Pouerfu, a michty warrior
Fa’d hae skailed ma bluid like watter gin we’d met

Nae sae bigsy noo, tho
An here’s me ruggin the teeth fae his mou
The stoor frae his banes

Like ony spey-wife, I can tell frae these smaa orrals
O runes, fit he ett, far he cam fae
Even the smitts that he catched,
The verra dunts he’d gotten

Twa hunner rivets held thegither his daith-boat
This Viking, this widely traivelled reiver

I’ll relieve him o
a whetstane frae Norrowa,
a ring preen frae Ireland
pottery frae the Hebrides
an aixe, a sword wi a braw hilt,
a spear an a shield boss

The British Museum in Lunnon
Wad like a swatch o the plunder
The raid o a Vikin grave inbye Lochaber
A treisur trove reived frae the deid
An the feared Norse gangsters


4.Marischal Fae Prayer tae Lear

In fowerteen saxty ane in Aiberdeen
There raise up frae the grun a friary
Franciscans biggit ooto local steen

Wi brither John Strang’s skeelie maisterie
Licht floodit in throw ilkie windae pane
Kirk, cloister, kitchie, thrang refectory

A library, orchard loud wi bee’s refrain
A peacefu place o learnin an delicht
Far friars tendit sairs an doctored pain

A hunner years. Syne, bringin dule an micht
Reformers cam, dinged doon for ivermair
The friary, pit the grey brithers tae flicht

George Keith, the fourth Earl Marischal, tuik in haun
The grun, (a favourite o King James the Saxth)
In Haly airt he gart a College staun

Sae Marischal grew in lear. Its pouer raxxed
Archibald Simpson, eident, redesigned
The biggins far the friars’ faith wis axed

An obelisk fae Blue Toun granite mined
Wis raised tae merk Sir James McGrigor’s fame
Until it flitted tae a leafy bouer
The Duthie Park, a settin less confined

In Queen Victoria’s reign, the Mitchell Touer
An haa, as weel’s a braw fite granite face
War hewn tae thole roch Winter’s stormy scour

The twentieth century, brocht Crown an Mace
Tae a gran openin o thon glorious spires
Triumphal garlands, flags, met Royal grace

Wi sacrists, scholars, sodjers, banquets, choirs
Five hunner waiters servin deinties sweet
An turtle soup, that Mandarins micht desire


In its Museum, auncient mummies meet
Inuit gear an Oriental braws
The Past is gaithered in fae lan an street

An noo the biggin hooses Cooncil haas
Guairded ootby by Guid King Robert Bruce
The pulse o Aiberdeen beats in its waas
Lang may it staun, oor jewel, stinch an douce


5.October: Drumnadrochit

The parks are flat’s a fermhoose weel-fired bannock
Freisians rug the cweed frae dubby banks
Sun, rain, weet, sleet are strings tae autumn’s bow
A saamill’s timmer wytes in coontit planks

An ambulance’s lichts gae furlin roon
A body’s streetchered frae a driver’s door
The scrapyaird biggs a hairst o bladdit cars
The win that blaws the birks hauds boats ashore

The roaders patch the holes frae last year’s frost
It’s steidy wark, the winters noo are roch
A dowie shelt blaws rikk intae the air
Syne glowers at her ain face in roosty troch

In Drumnadrochit, Keith, or Inverness
Some biker, driver, takks a brae ower faist
On weety bend. A story in the Press
A bunch o flooers. A memory laid tae rest


6.Checkin Oot, Fort William

We’re nae the anes tae girn. Bit see the lichts?
The lavvie bulb wis brukken, an the plug, was hingin
Oot the socket. Mean tae say
We’re that pit oot. We dinna wint tae pye

Ma wife an I’d tae shooer (The bath wis cracked.)
There’s stains aa ower the rug
Forbye, the drain stank like an auld deid dug
Yer bide-in staff aa raise at 6am
Hoastin an howkin up a dose o phlegm
The pipes gaed clunk. We’ll nae be back again
(Altho we canna blame ye fur the rain.)
Nae kippers on the menu, Parritch, knotty
I think we’ll gie anither inn a shottie.


7.Checkin Oot, Glesga

The windaes are stukken (fresh air at nae cost)
The lobby’s that derk ye could easy get lost
In this wee pied a terre, on a Glesga wikken
If yer intae decorum, wi nae much tae spen
Its mainners are braw, bit it’s doon at the heel
Ye get fit ye pye fur. It’s shoddy genteel


8.The Harry Potter Train

Takk yer feet aff the table, pet. That’s it. Jist lowp on the seat
Dinna sook yer bogies, or dicht them on the windae

Excuse me missus. The wean’s spikkin tae you
She wints tae ken fit yer writin.

Wirds? Wirds is it? Pardon me fur askin!
Yer nae very talkative, are ye!

Dinna dunt the wifie’s haun wi yer toy
She looks like she micht bite
Some fowk’s born miserable. A richt soor dook.
Her loss. Jist leave her mumphin wi her buik.