10 Scots Poems From The Poetry Lesson Poem by Sheena Blackhall

1.Ettlin at Jealousy: An Owersett in Scots o a Poem bi Marina Tsvetayeva
Fit like's her life wi the ither ane?
Easier, is't nae? Ae straik o the oar
Syne a lang coastline, an sune
Even the myndin o me

Will be a floatin isle
(in the lift, nae on the watters)
Speerits, speerits, ye'll be
Sisters an niver luvs

Foo's yer life wi an ordnar
Wumman wioot godhied?
Noo that yer ruler's bin dinged doon (an ye hae stept doon)

Foo's yer life? Are ye fashed
Flinchin? Foo dae ye rise?
The tax o daithless vulgarity
Can ye thole it, puir chiel?

‘Squallochs an stooshies- I've haen
Eneuch! I'll rent ma ain hoose.'
Foo's yer life wi the ither ane
Noo, ye that I chuse for ma ain?

Mair tae yer taste, mair tasty
Is't yer meat? Dinna girn gin ye cowk.
Foo's yer life wi an image
Ye, fa wauiked on Sinai?

Foo's yer life wi a rareity
Frae this warld? Can ye (truith be telt)
Lue her? Or dae ye feel affront
Like Zues' reyns on yer broo?

Foo's yer life? Are ye
Weel? Foo dae ye sing?
Foo dae ye thole the grue
O an undeein conscience, puir chiel?

Foo's yer life wi a daud o market
Gear at a heich price
Eftir Carrara merble?
Foo is yer life wi the stoor o

Plaister noo? (God wis hackit frae
Stane, bit he's blootered tae smithereens)
Foo dae ye live wi ane o a
Thoosan weemen, eftir Lilith?

Stuffed wi newness are ye?
Noo yer grown cauld tae magic
Foo's yer life wi a
Yirdly wife, wioot the secunt

Sicht? Tell's, are ye blythe?
Nae? In a nerra lair? Foo is
Yer life ma dearie? Is it as
Hard as mine, wi anither chiel?


2.Midden Tree
Twenty fit in heicht, the gean tree stude
Twenty year auld, a trunk o poorple grey
Scrattit aroon its girth wi creamy scoors

Green leaves teethed wi jaggy pynts
That dwined tae crammosie in the cauldrife Faa
Its leaves gaed maet for gollachs, flichterin mochs
In spring its flooers gied nectar tae the bees
The geans war ryped bi blackie, mavis, craa

In April flooers war petals, bridal-braw
Hingin in boorichs, somelike fairy quaichs

Drappit fruits war snappt up bi brocks
An hurcheons snocherin oot frae dubby sheughs
The timmer brunt rocht weel- a scentit lowe
Hard hinney-coloured timmer
The resin chawd bi bairnies plunkin skweel
The verra stalks war byled, tae treat the kink hoast

Ayont the tattie park, aside the dyke
Hard bi the midden stude the muckle gean
The midden held the ferm's orra trock
Deid kittlins, fooshtie stock, bymshayvelt cloots
Sharn, walie dugs wi chippit paws, ane heidless
A suitcase wi the boddom duntit oot


3.Kings College Revisited
I lue the wye the win blaws ben the trees
I lue the wye Dons spreid philosophies
I lue the ivy creepin ben the waa
The cloisters, quad, a scholar's quaet fitfaa

Bit maist I lue the sna that flicyhters saft
Like swansdoon, happen aathin fore an aft
Until, aa roon the college, zebra trees
Staun cranreuch bricht in pearls an ebonies


4. Twa Scots Owerset of poems bi Miklós Radnóti
Postcaird 4
I drappit aside him. His corp rowed ower.
It wis ticht as a towe afore it snaps.
Shot, back o the heid-

'This is the wye ye'll eyn.
Jist lie quaet, ' quo I tae masel

Patience flooers inno daith noo.
'Der springt noch auf, ' I heard abeen me.
Derk yirdy bluid wis dryin on ma lug.

Szentkiralyszabadja October 31,1944

I Dinna Ken
I dinna ken fit this kintra means tae ithers, this wee kintra
Fenced in bi fire, ma birth airt,
warld o ma bairnhood, sweyin hyne aff
I grew oot o her like the young branch o tree,
an I hope my corp will sink doon in her.
Here, I‘m at hame. Fin ane bi ane, busses boo at ma feet,
I ken their names an names o their flooers.
I ken fowk fa wauk the roads an far they're gaun
an on a simmer evenin, I ken the meanin o the pain
that turns reid an treetles doon the waas o the hooses.
This kintra is anely a map for the pilot fa flees ower.
He disna ken far the poet Vorosmarty bedd.
For him factries an roosed barracks canna be seen on this map.
For me there are girelowpers, kye, kirk steeples, douce fairms.
Throwe binoculars, he sees factries and plooed parks:
I see a wirker, shakkin, feart for his wirk.
I see wids, orchards thrang wi sang, vineyairds, graveyairds,
a crined auld wumman fa quaetly greets an maens amang the mools.
The Industrial plant an the railway maun be connached.
Bit it's anely a watchie's sheddie an the chiel stauns ootbye
sennin messages wi a reid flag. There are bairns aroon him,
In the factry yaird a sheep dug plays, rowin on the grun.
An there's the park an the fitprents o luvers from hynie back
whyles kisses tasted like hinney, whyles like blaeberries.
I didna wint tae takk a test ae day, sae on ma wey tae schule
I hirpled on a stane at the lip o the sidewauk.
Here is the stane, bit frae up there it canna be seen.
There's nae instrument tae show ony o it.


5.A Scots Owerset o the poem ‘School' bi Miroslav Holub
A tree cams in, booin, an sez:
I'm a tree

A blaik tear draps frae the lift an sez:
I'm a birdie

Here noo, nearin alang a moosewab
Cams a ferlie like luv
An it sez;
I'm seelence

Bit syne there sprauchles afore the blaikboord
A national democratic
Shelt in a westcoat
Sayin ower an ower
Cockin its lugs tae likie airt
I'm the virr ahin history
An
We aa
Lue
Progress
An smeddum
An
The roose o fechters

An syne fae ahin the classie door
Treetles a thin Burnie
O bluid
For here starts
The quarterin
O the blameless

6.The Hierarchy o Wirds
Fantoosh, genteel, pernickety, heidbummer
Weel-heeled, siller-speened prood and vauntie,
Cock-crannied, mim-moued, braw-like bosker
A stoater, a stammygaster, minted lairdie

Reid biddy, rammy, stooshie, pyocherin
Oxter-stank, spayver-spunk, , knapdarloch, nyaff
Orra, bumshayvelt hallierackit snocherin
Bowfin, mingin, snottery-nebbit scruff

Torn-faced, skitter-pot, fooshtie scunner
Gallus, blether-skite, bampot, dour
Chanty-rasslin numptie, haiverer, teuchter
Girner, sklyterer, slorach, hoor

7.Con chó / A Dug
owersett in Scots o a poem bi Nguyen Do. Frae an Inglis translation o the Vietnamese bi Paul Hoover & Nguyen Do

he's dowpit thonner day bi day — a hungeret dug
he spens aa his virr, rinnin brakk-neck roon his hame
bowfin at taeds, gurrin at wyvers
reivin flooers cause he thocht they wir meat, byled rice
thon's him
a wechty rain floods his een
tae keep on bowfin is eeseless
anely the girse lowpers takk tent!
aneth the sit-ooterie, he manes an raxxes oot on his wyme
tae lick at the watter; foo guid the taste o watter is!
syne he faas asleep, dwaumin an fu o leisur
aneth a sweet guava tree, alang the sit-ooterie, there's a burn o rainwatter
as in his dwaum
he cocks ae fit up
peein like a hero!
Pleiku, Rainy Sizzen,1988


8.Versions in Scots o Prose an Poems bi Baudelaire
Le Spleen de Paris XLIII: Le Galant Tireur, version in Scots of The Merksman
As the cairriage breenged ben the wid he telt the driver tae dauchle in the airt o a sheetin raw, sayin that he wad like tae hae a fyew shots tae kill time. Isn't the killin o the monster Time the maist ordnar an legal darg o a chiel? —Sae he genteely gaed his haun tae his lued, douce, an scunnersome wife; the oorie wumman tae fa he owed sae mony pleisurs, sae mony sairs, an mebbe, forbye, a muckle skelp o his genius.
A pucklie bullets gaed wide o the intendit merk, ane o them finged far inno the heivens, an as the chermin craitur lauched deleeriously, takkin the rise o the mistak o her man, he turned tae her wi a grue an quo: 'Tak tent o thon dall yonner, tae the richt, wi its neb in the air, an wi sae vauntie a luik.Weel weel, ma dearie, I will makk on tae masel that it's yersel! '
He steekit baith his een an pued the trigger. The dall wis snodly heidit. Syne, booin forrit tae his lued, douce, an scunnersome wife, his aybydan an peetiless Mysie, he kissed her wi respek upon the haun, an addit, 'Ochone, ma dearie, foo I thank ye fur ma skeelieness! '


L'Albatros, version of The Albatross
Aftimes, fur a wee fun, the chiels o a crew
Catched an albatross, thon muckle sea bird
That latchy-like follaes a ship
As it rowes ower the deep satty sea

New dowpit doon on deck
Thon king o the lift, hyterin, affrontit
Dowie, lat its braid fite wings
Draiggle aside it like oars

Thon winged traiveller …
Foo dweeble an unca he is
Sae braw afore, noo sae gypit an ugsome
Ae chiel ettles tae stap a cuttie pipe in its beak
Anither hirples, takkin the rise o the styterin bird

A bardie's like this laird o cloud an lift
Fa's sib tae the storm an lauchs at fortune's arras
Fin cast doon on the yird, he gets the hee-haw
His muckle wings a hinner tae his waukin.


Vers Pour Le Portrait De M. Honoré Daumier, version of Verses for Honoré Daumier's Portrait
The chiel fa's physog this shaws
In airt mair tentie than the lave
Teaches us wycely the best wye
Tae lauch at oor ainsels

He stauns apairt in mockery
His smeddum's byordnar
In peintin Coorseness an its ill hairst
Sae pruvin the brawness o his hairt

Melmoth or Mephistopheles
His lauchter isna sib tae theirs
The lowe o Alecto fleers
Tae birssle them, yet gars us jeel

They cam tae regret their lauchter
Sae sypit in twa-faced sleeness
While his clear, ootsheenin smile
Shaws him tae be a chiel baith honest an guid


The Voice: La Voix version in Scots
Ma crib wis neist tae the librar, a Babel
Far makkie-on hodged aside science, myth an fowk spikk
Greek stoor wi Roman aisse wis seen in thonner
An me, anely the heicht o a folio
Fin twa voices spakk tae me: ‘The Yird's
A cake, ' quo ane, ‘an stappit wi sweetness.
I can makk yer hunger full yer wyme
Foriver an aye wioot devaul.'

Anither telt me, ‘Come awa, wanner ben dreams wi me
Ayont lear, thocht or the ordnar.'
Thon voice sang like the win ben the shore
An tho douce-like, fleggit me mair

I made repon, ‘Sweet voice! ' an frae thon day
Could niver tell ma Sorra or ma Weird

Ayont the muckle vista o this life
I see fey warlds, at odds wi ma ainsel
Delichtit prey o ma secunt sicht
I rug muckle snakes, bitin ma cweets
An like an auncient druid frae thon time
I've lued the desert, fand the sea celeestial
I've grat at ceilidhs an lauched at kistins
An fand in wershest wines a slokin sweetness
Lees for facts I lue tae swallae hale
An aftimes faa in a hole, fin glowerin at starnies
Bit the voice is pleased. Keep dreamin, it is kent
Nae wyce chiel dreams o beauty as weel's a gype.


To A Girl From Malabar: Une Malabaraise: Scots version
Yer feet are brawer nor yer hauns, an sonsier.
Yer hurdies are creashier nur fite hochs.
Yer makk is douce an fresh tae a thochtfu chiel
Yer velvet een are derker nur yer skin.

In hett blue lans far yer god gied ye life,
Yer darg, lichtin yer maister's pipe an makkin siccar
The coggie's weel stappt wi pure watter, the pottie, wi scent
Or wheechin aff the mozzies, thonner ye gaed
Fin dawn sang throwe the reeshlin girse tae buy
Plantains an pineapples frae the nearhaun market

Aa day, barfit an free ye wannert
Thrummin auld unkent tunes an fin at the hinnereyn
The sun gaed doon, bricht reid ootower the lan
Ye flang yersel doon on a bass o seggs
Yer floatin dream wis fu o hummin birds
Aa blythe an flooery as ye are yersel

Foo, blythesome bairn did ye cam here tae France
This lan heezin wi fowk… bi fit mishanter…
Fin tae yer tamarinds ye bad fareweel
Bletherin wi the sailors o the crew?

Bit noo, hauf-nyakkit, rigged in dweeble muslin
Cauldrife haar an snaa blatterin yer chitterin skin
Coorse steys ruggin in yer wyme
Foo ye maun miss yer tint auld wyes o freedom

Noo ye maun pyke yer denner frae the dubs
An sell the perfumes o yer flesh an bluid
In oor fool haars, wi yer forehooied een
Ay ettlin tae catch a glisk
O ghaistly palm trees sweyin


A Thocht: Recueillement, Scots version
Takk tent, Sorra, keep a calm sooch
Ye prayed fur gloamin; it faas, is here
A derksome air enfaulds the toon
Bringin peace tae some, wersh thochts tae ithers

Fin the worthless boorich o fowk
Wheeped on bi pleisur, thon torturer wioot aa mercie
Gyang tae gaither wae in slavish rejoicin
Gie me yer haun, Sorra, cam wi me
Hyne awa frae them. See the deid years hingin
In orra duddies on the balconies o the lift
See foo Regret, smilin, breenges up frae the deep waters

The deein sun gyangs tae sleep in a close-heid
An like lang grave-cloots treelipin frae the East
Lippen ma jo, hear the saft nicht comin


9.Flodden Field
Fower days ye lay far ye fell in the dubs o Flodden
A henwife hirpled by blawin her neb wi her thoomb

Teethless an humfy backit, she rypit yer purse o siller
Yer twa ee sockets, sichtless, (hoodies maun ett as weel)
Gapit at this mishanter tho yer twa deid lips bedd steekit

Craas, bluid-beakit, powked yer intimmers oot
A glut o deinties (heich born lords dine weel)

Aa aroon lay kinsmen, a jeelin hairst,
Laid oot like an armourer's rowp in a charnel hoose

Shields, pikes, muskets, cannon, laired in the clorty muir
Aroon some friens war maenin takkin a snail's time tae dee

An English page loon ryped yer iron gauntlets
An aye the weety smirr fell on the gralloched shelts
An mithers' sons forby


10.Korean Poetry: Owersetts in Scots frae Inglis Translations
In the Field Filling Up with Snow translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid

By Seo Jeong-ju:
It's aa richt,
It's aa richt,
It's aa richt,
It's aa richt-
the snawflakes drap in drifts,
wrappin roon even the soun o teeny pheasants an quails
gyaun hame tae their nests.

It's aa richt,
It's aa richt,
It's aa richt,
It's aa richt
the snawflakes drap like cotton oo,
wrappin roon even the soun of young quinies wi reid chikks
gyaun hame tae their nests.

It wraps roon even the soun o ilkie weird gyaun hame,
the greetin,
the lauchin,
the wechtit doon fowk
noo risin up strangly.
Tae the sonsie anes, sonsie tear merks,
tae the wee anes, wee lauch lines;
the soun of muckle stories an tooshtie stories
gyaun hame, fusperin saftly.

It's aa richt,
It's aa richt,
It's aa richt,
It's aa richt
the snawflakes drap wioot devaul,
Wrappin roon even the soun o mony Bens-
the Blue Bens* gyaun hame.

The Snowy Night by Moon Tae-jun: Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid
Ochone, ma dearie
wha had glaiss-grey een;
ochone, the siller scales
that bleared yer een.
The nicht snaw faas.

Ochone, ma puir dearie
wha wrapped ma craig
wi a fite towel an dichtit ma face,
a blissed quaet draps doon
upon the lanely yird
I steek ma een
tae mynd the time
yer hauns dichted ma face.

The Word of the Wind by Mah Jonggi (1939-) Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid
Eftir aa o us leave,
Gin ma speerit gyangs by ye,
Dinna think even fur a meenit it is
The win that sweys the spring boughs.
The day I'll plant a flooer
On a neuk o the shadda
Whar I got tae ken ye;
Whan the flooer briers,
Aa the dowieness that grew frae oor kennin
Will cheenge inno petals an flee awa.
It will cheenge inno petals an flee awa.
Though it is ill tae thole, hyne aff
an eeseless,
How can we meisur aa the ferlies in the warld
Wi anely a wee ruler?
Whan ilkie noo an then ye turn yer lugs tae whar the win blaws,
My dearie, dinna forget even gin ye grow trauchelt
The wird o the win that cams frae hyne awa

The Leper by Seo Jung-ju (1915-2000) Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid
The sunlicht frae the lift
Filled the leper wi sorras
He ett up a bairnie
Whan the meen raise ower the barley park.*
Aa nicht he grat reid cries like flooers.

The Flower by Kim Chun-soo (1922-2004) Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid.
Afore I cried her name,
She wis naethin
Mair than a meevement.
Whan I cried her name,
She cam tae me
An becam a flooer.

Like I cried her name,
Will some body please cry ma name
That suits ma licht an scent?

I lang tae cam tae her
An cheenge inno her flooer.

We aa wint tae becam somethin.
Ye, tae me, an me, tae ye,
Lang tae becam a glisk that winna be forgot.


By the Winter River by Ahn Do-hyun (1961-) translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid
The river tuik peety on the dweeble snawflakes,
that lowped doon inno nane ither than the river watter
an disappeared, thawed wioot makk.
Sae, it breenged an birled,
tae cheenge its poseetion
afore the snawflakes strukk its watter.

Ilkie time it birled, the river watter made a wud soun.
Unkennin,
the innocent snaa drapt eynlessly
an the river,
frae the nicht afore,
sterted tae jeel tae thin ice, beginnin frae its edge,
sae it micht save the snaw wi its ain body.

Winter. Snow. Tree. Forest by Ki Hyung-do (1960-1989) Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid
The snaa
biggs up here an yonner,
wioot bein able tae win aa the wye oot o the wids.

"Is it yersel?
Dinna hash."

Dunt. He faas doon,
knelled by a sherp blade.
I gyang hame,
ruggin the tree.

As I hack aff the twigs,
I lippen tae the seelence o the tree:

"I'm here.
Daith is unmasked life.
Oor lives, oor winters are like thon, tae."

We kinnle a lowe
towards the skaith
that's some like oorsels.

The nicht in the wids ayont the windae
breenges its body for a deeper quaet.

Till I confirm ma clean daith
I willna be here,
keepin a bonnie distance frae whaiver strikks a lowe,
an warmin ma hairt bittie by bittie.

The mornin risin in the late winter
is whit cams tae makk the maist perfeck natur.
Eftir,
agin the airt the snaw thaws an rins
oor spring will cam.