Scots Poems From The Glastonbury Thorn Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Gaitherin Lear
I met a professor aince. He wis fair stappit oot wi degrees
‘Nobody ever uses the Scots language now, ' quo he
Like Scots wis a fashion line that wis discontinued,
‘Children don't speak it.' Thocht he wis the bees'knees

He should get oot mair, mebbe takk the bus
It's niver bin aff the catwauk, it's spukken aa the time
It's a classic. Fowk even order lear aboot Scots on line

Fin I wis a new born, I'll tell ye a secret
I didna spikk Scots either. I wis a wirdless bam
Fin I fyled ma hippens, I skirled
Fin I wis hungered, I skirled
I didnae rise up in ma pram
An say ‘Gie me the briest please mam!

I wis a teem heid. Intae ma lugs the Scots soun
Wis poored bi ma fowk and aa ma warld aroon

Wi niver a TV in sicht, I larned aboot
Greetin, lauchin, footer, jink, rizzen
Een, dowp, oxters, wyme, coorse, thrawn, an bizzim
An the bonnie wirds that cheenged wi ilkie Sizzen

Wirds bizzed aboot like flees roon a fleecatcher
The braw wirds stuck, as aye I grew in stature

At skweel, the ballads, Wattie Scott an Burns
At hame cornkisters. Aye the hoard grew mair
Gin wirds wir puns I'd be a millionaire

Fin bairns spikk Scots, it winna disappear
They've a hale life aheid tae gaither lear


Cheddar man
Did Cheddar cheil hae a wife an bairns
Did he pray tae his gods at nicht?
Did he belang tae a cannibal tribe
Did he hunt bi lunar licht?


Did his neebours ett their neist o kin
Did they sook their marra banes?
Fin granny deed did they share her oot
An crunch up her gallstanes?


The Glastonbury Thorn
Three thorn trees grew on Wirral Hill
Sooth-wast o Glastonbury.
The trees flooered twice - Easter an Yule
Fowk blissed each haly berry.

The centuries they dwined awa
An Cromwell's sodjers merched
Tae cut the lane remainin thorn
Rank superstition purged

The haly thorn, the legend rins,
Wis bi a pilgrim brocht.
He set his staff doon bi his side
The staff tuik reet unsocht.

An at St John's Kirk,local fowk
They planted sprigs tae pree
The thorn..at ilkie Christmas tide
The Queen a sprig they gie


Owersetts into Scots

Owersett o a poem Muliebrity bi Sujata Bhatt (India)
I hae thocht sae muckle aboot the quine
Fa gaithered sharn in a braid roon basket
Alang the main road gaun by oor hoose
An the Radhavallabh temple in Maninagar
I hae thocht sae muckle aboot the wye she
Meeved her hauns an her wyme
A the guff o sharn an road-stoor an weet Canna lilies
The guff o puggy-braith an new washed claes
An the stoor frae craas' wings that smells different
An again the guff o sharn an the quine howkin
It up, aa thon guffs surrounin me separate
An thegither-I hae thocht sae muckle
Bit I hinna bin willin tae makk eese o her as a metaphor
Fur a braw pictur-bit maist o aa nae willin
Tae forget her or tae explain tae aabody the greatness
An the pouer glimmrin in her chikk banes
Ilkie time she fand abyordnar braw howpie o sharn


The Rich Ett Three Full Meals: Owersett o a poem bi Nguyen Binh Khiem (Vietnam)

The rich ett three full meals
The puir, twa wee bowls

Bit peace is fit maitters

Drouthy, I sup sweete ploom tea
Hett, I sprauchle in shadda in the breeze
Ma peintins are Bens an burnies aa aroon me,
Ma solks, the embroidered girse
I rest at nicht, rest easy
I wauken in the sun
Enjoyin Heivens rowth o pleisurs


The First Rule o Singhalese Architecture: owersett o a poem bi Michael Ondaatje (Sri Lanka)

Niver bigg three yetts
In a straicht line

A devil micht breenge
Ben them
Deep intae yer hoose
Intae yer life


Clowns: Owersett o a poem bi Miroslav Holub (Czechoslovakia)

Far dae clowns gae?
Fit dae clowns ett?
His tales are aa o himsel

Fit dae clowns dae
Fin naebody
Jist naebody lauchs
Onymair
Mither?



Nicht sang: Owersett oi a poem bi Dennis Brutus (Zimbabwe)
Sleep weel, ma dearie, sleep weel
The herbour licht glisks ower the skelp-wave docks
Polis cars meeve like emerteens throw the tunnel streets

Frae the shanties, skreichin iron-sheets
Violence like a gollach-heezin cloot is haived
An fear's nearhaun as soun in the win-rowed bell
The lang day's rooze pechs frae san & steens
Bit fur this breathin nicht at least
Ma lan, ma dearie, sleep weel


Beach: Owersett o a poem bi Shinkichi Takahashi (Japan)

Gale: tiles, reefs, furlin
Vanishin at aince

Steens rummle, Bens
Swallae rummle, Bens
Swallae clachans
Yet gollachs, birdies, cheep nearhaun
The brukken brig

Men sheet throwe space
Race soun. On TV kintras
FGecht ain anither, eynlessly

Foo this tirrivee
Foo tae restore the brukken
Corp o the warld?


Ugsome Kisses: Scots owerset of Kisses Loathsome by Robert Herrick
I canna thole the slivvery kiss
Thon tae me isnae richt
Thon lips that please me best are pit
Teetle, bit nae ower ticht;
Yieldin I wid hae them, yet
Nae seekin tongue admit
A powkin stick inbye the mou?
The ruff disnae there sit

Sous-Entendu: Scots Owerset o Sous-Entendu by Anne Stevenson
Dinna think
That I dinna ken
That as ye spikk tae me
The haun o yer harns
Is cannily
Takkin aff ma hose,
Meevin in clivver blin-ness
Up ma hoch

Dinna think
That I dinna ken
That ye ken
Aathin I say
Is claes


Owerset in Scots: an Extract from A Faithful Wife (a letter written by an Egyptian lady during the reign of Amenhotep III, about 1385 BCE)Dannie Abse

Tae ma man, ma maister
Fas caravans bide in Canaan
Fas spunk hisnae sterched
Fur three lang months, ma bed claes
Say:
At the feet o ma man
As afore the king, the sun god
Sivven times an sivven times
I faa
Fur I am dutifu
Tae ma man, ma maister


The Dressmakker
Mither cranked the wheel o the Singer shewin machine
Dirdy drum dum dum
The threid rins oot like wildlife
Her mou is stappit wi preens.
Her shears haesnippit ma makk
In paper an claith, like a crocodile crunchin its denner

I staun in ma sark an draaers
Hens' flesh risin on ma nyaakit hurdies an airms
The wee blaik hairth hauds aisse, the lowe is oot
Sic a lang staun!
Sic scratty claith!
Bit chaip, in aa bit wark

Thrifty beginnins
Cuttit me intae shape
The threids o faimily values
Haudin aa thegither

On nae becomin ma Mither
Ma Scottish mither luiked Spanish
Mair garlic than satt
Her nails wir buffed like
The hooves o a pedigree shelt

She squeezed me oot at forty
Like a bluid orange, pips an aa

In her furs, she micht hae bin
A film star or a Scottish grizzly bear

Her hair wis permed like corrugatit iron
Mine's hackit like a hudderiebackstreet hedge

Her skin wis iled an pattit pooder saft
Mine's hung oot in aa weathers
Like a shot craa

She's nae the auld woman I see
Fin I luik in the keekin glaiss


The Tint Bus
In poorin rain an hauf asleep
The weather dreich an sypin weet
We stude an watched. Nae bus gaed past
Till 40 meenits. Syne, at last
A nummer 2 cam intae sicht
In a richt rooze we did alicht

‘far is the 7.13 I speired
‘wis it divertit as we feared'
‘I dinna ken, ' the driver said
‘I dinna ken. He hung his heid
Bit I'm on time. Weel guid for you
Bit we're aa late in this dampt queue

Far hae the missin buses gaen
That vanish daily aff the scene
Tae some auld bus park in the sky
Far ghaistly buses hurl on high?

Or in this toon o Aiberdeen
Are they kidnappit in the Green
Sent on tae some Bermuda Triangle
Leavin us passengers tae dangle

We sikk them here. We sikk them there
An lo! They turn up in a pair
An whyles a threesome. ‘Nae my wyte, '
The driver says, ‘The Traffic's s…….'

I maunna girn. I traivel free
The perks o bein OAP
It's nae the drivers should cheenge gears
It's thon heid bummer profiteers
For since the council selt it aff
The fares an service his bin nyaff

Kent His Faither
His faither wauked aboot in torn breeks
An noo this glekit loon heich office sikks
An ithers o the toun, reflectin, mynd
His mither made oot that she wis refined
His bidie in wis jist as roch's himself
Twis rumoured she wis aften in a cell
Fin cornered shopliftin, she'd sweir an scrat
His lad's a nickum an his quine's a vratch
In fack, he'sordinar as ye or me
Tae think, he wints a cooncillor tae be!


Self Portrait(3)
I've a snoot like an ant eater's schnozzle
Wi moles that are hairy's a yeti
I canna thole tripe, quorn or sushi
Bit can jist aboot swallae spaghetti

The cat is ma minder an carer
On the laptop her dowp's on the keys
Fin she thinks that it's time that I feenished
Wi a glower that sez ‘Noo feed me please! '

I'm as sonsy an roon as an aipple
As ony that Newton observed
I dinna dae hooswirk, na faith ye
Thon's mebbe the wey I'm sae curved

There'll be hooses still here, I can tell ye
Lang eftir we're aa o us deid
Sae foo rearrange a bit caddis?
Or the stoor that bedecks Buddha's heid?

The bummers, the mochs an the gollachs
Think the gairden's a richt Shangri La
Fur I niver misfit it wi weedin
Fur Natur kens best eftir aa