Caledonian Anaconda (21 Scots Poems) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

1.The Flicht o the Fite Moch:
Winner First Prize (Hugh MacDiarmid Trophy) 2010

Twa beggars in a nerra wynd
Lay doon aneth the midnicht stars
0 neon licht an sex-club signs
Ahin a hotterel o bars

Their bowster wis a rowe o cloots.
Cooryin doon on his richt side
The auldest chiel wis sleepin first
Een steekt, wi his mou gapin wide

An frae atween his lips there flew
A silken moch. An eildritch sicht
That raise intae the fooshty air
Bravin the orrals o the nicht

Bumbazed, his watchin fier espied
The fite moch waucht intae the sky
Syne drap upon a lid o tin
Tae sook the watter trapped inbye

It flichtered forrit tae a hull
Bane-bare, a merle, drappit deid in flicht
Pyked clean bi sewer rattens' teeth...
The reid-eed tenants o the nicht

A meenit there, it flappit aff
Sattled abune a hudderie heid
0 connached beauty...a gang quine
Member o junkie-lan's undeid

It dauchled yonner, syne cam back
Frae quine, tae bane, frae tin, tae mou
Afore the watchin beggar's een
Atween the sleeper's lips it flew

Fin baith raise up at skreich o day
'Oh sic a dream! ' the sleeper said

'I dreamt I saw a sheenin loch
Far siller dertin fishies sped
An there lay magic, that cud sain
Aa skaiths that roon the warld bled.

I jyned a boat o ivory..
The feyest boat ye iver saw
Wi feathers fleein frae its masts
Aneth a skinklin wattergaw

It berthed inbye a dragon's cave
I entered...pierced its stounin vein
An in its breet-felt agonies
Jade-green, its bluid ran doon like rain


Ahin it stood a bonnie quine
Sic een! The dyews o Heiven sat there
Her hair wis sheenin, lang an derk
She wis fower-fauld surpassin fair

I tuik her quaet haun in mine
Throwe the douce nicht we lay as ane
Ah! Coorse it wis tae wauken here
Inthis dreich airt, jeelt tae the bane

The fite moch' s wings are wafer thin
Its flicht is lichter than a braith
Its brither is the Laird o Dwaum
Its sister is the Leddy, Daith


2.Clearances

Herded like nowt tae Glesga's stoorie streets
Or crammed on ships for hyne Canadian shores
Wirth less than the glekit yowe that stauns an bleats

Threwsed an ruggit bi press gangs frae their doors
The reid lowe set tae their reefs..whyles, left fur deid
Less tae the chiefs than the stag that stauns an roars

Nae meat in their wymes. Nae plaid tae hap each heid
Pairtit frae hames, their braes o muir an mist
Aa fur a chieftain's gain, a chieftain's greed

Blaik shame that mony'd tae leave a corp unblisst
Greetin in cairts, tae the coffm ships they gaed
Wi feint a pyok or a press, a plaid or kist

Anely their Gaelic leid, their sangs they keepit
Some things canna be killt, or smored, or steekit


3.The Efterstang
Sic a cuttin an slicin o thrapples o woundit men
Donald Mckay o Glen Urquhart, shipped tae the Indies
Cumberland'a reidcoats settin a lowe tae the glen
The prince on his fite shelt, slippin the leash again

Snaa storm an rain on the deid on Drummossie muir
Riderless mounts ran lowse throw the cauld peat bree
Murdoch McRaw, bystander, ower near the melee
Hingit in Inverness on the Aipple Tree
For Campbells an Inglis sodjers tae wheep an scourge
An hen the Heilans the banshee wail o the dirge
Jyles fit tae burst wi men, hoose, byre an steadin
Brunt withe fowk inbye, at the Butcher's biddin
Kilt, bagpipe, banned... a culture pit tae the sword
Aa fur aa faithless prince, an a chieftain's wird


4.Darien

Crops dwined wi nae a pikk fur moosie's share
Hunger an wae grew greater ilkie day
Nae man can feed his bairns on bowls o air

Ill years. Wird wis the prospecks micht be fair
Gin Scotian cud rig oot a colony
New Caledonia could offer mair

The Bay o Darien, fowk did declare
Wad be Utopia...richt cantily
Five ships sailed aff, tae drap their anchors there

Echt month trailed by, wi rowth o tcyauve an care
Three quarters o the settlers, neth the clay
Ower late tae sen wird hamewird. Unaware

A secunt wave o settlers socht thon lair
Tae fin it fever-rid, fu o dismay
Far Spain an Englan kept the presses bare
Sae brocht tae wrack, the Darien affair



Song: The Doric Festival: The 5. Gallowgate Doric Celebration Tune: The Weaver o the North
Writtenfor the Gallowgate Doric Celebration,2010 Doric Festival

At Gairden Pairties in Holyrood
They say the food is swell
Bit a stovie plate is a must-hae date
At the Doric Festival

Chorus:
The Doric Festival, the Doric Festival
There's fun for aa in the North East Neuk
At the Doric Festival

In Glastonbury amang the dubs
Wayne Tony an Michelle
Wish that the gig wis at Ellon brig
Wi the Doric Festival

In the Central Belt the seats are selt
For the international
Bit the Holy Grail's at the meal an ale
0 the Doric Festival

In Shetlan up at Uphellya
Frae Lerwick roon tae Yell
Their fiddlers cheers at the burnin pier
for the Doric Festival

The Colosseum in Auncient Rome
Fair liked a spectacle
Ye'd hae as much fun in a butcher's shop
Try the Doric Festival

Sae here's tae fiddle an sang an ploo
Braw an traditional
Ye can hae yer pick...bit book in quick
At the Doric Festival


6. St Margaret's Kirk: Tune: The Dundee Weaver

The Gallawgate wis puir an dreich
In Queen Victoria's time
Fowk didna leave the hoose at nicht
The derk wis ruled bi crime
An on the Sabbath they wad hae
Tae thole the stink o fish
Parked there in barras on the street
The ratties favourite dish

Here Faither John Comper did come
Tae help the diocese
He wirked fur mony a wirthy year
Wi little thocht o ease
An in the toun he made his ain
Lang murned eftir his daith
The Piskies named gweed Faither John
A Hero o the Faith

For Margaret Queen o Scotlan
The Pisky kirk wis named
She wis a saintly body,
For charity weel famed
This leddy prayed at midnicht,
Rose wi the mornin bell
Tae feed the orphans an the puir
Afore she dined herself

The Gallawgate aince sealed the fate
0 mony's a guilty loon
Fin friar's wirked tae meenister
Tae seek fowk in the toun
Bit sune frae their auld biggin
St Margaret's kirk will meet
New neebors up at Marischal
Fin the council takks its seat


7. Str aaberry Day

Near gloamin time, the listeners pass aroon
A bowl o weety straaberries, glimmerin reid
Whilst dauchlin at the skepp o hinney bees
A wasp sikks entry fur a sleekit feed

The bowl is antique patternet, fite an blue
The berries, crarnmosie, melt in the mou
The poets feast on wirds, whilst bummers pu
The harebells doon, each pollen pooch stap- fu

The bees grow weariet, bizz inby their hoose
Tae dream o thyme an heather, rose an brier
The poets thochts flee aff in fantasies
Sic ploys dae wirds an staaberries inspire!

An aa is rhyme or anti-rhyme, or verse
The pattern o the ripenin mapamoun
Afore auld age comes past wi shroud an hearse
Poets an bees daunce tae September's tune


8.The Twa Faces o Bride

Twa goddesses wauk doon Princes Street
Sharin the same skin, stewed in the same bree
Jyned at the hip: ae wumman, Jekyll an Hyde

Their wirth is eaksy-peaksy
Wrunkkles, auld wummin guffs
Are vrocht frae Youth wi its gallus, bigsie face
Baith breath, keech, hae their eeses

Ower the wersh wikks o Yule,
The dowie haar o the Faa
This schizophrenic body luiks like a Cailleach
Hudderie-heided, shauchlin in bauchled sheen
Wyse wumman, haudin the keys o the hoose o Daith
Ye'll meet her in blindrift, kistin, ilkie obituar

Luiks are a trick o the licht, a whigmaleerie
In the wolf month o Februar, ben Allan Ramsay's braes
The yowes' teats swall wi milk
Lammies drap frae the wyme on trimmlin shanks

In Embro, new girse briers in the neuks o closes
Corbies nest in Kirkyairds throw the toun
Skelpin alang the Royal Mile
Cams Bride on fite stilettoes
Her wee breists jigging wi promise
A vergin ripe fur the puin


9.Caledonian Anaconda

On Monday I ett twa Firths an a cuttie steel
On Tuesday I ett Grayfriar’s Bobby an a Fife partan

On Wednesday I raxxed ma gub
An ett the hale o Princes Street gairdens as weel
On Thursday I’d indigestion
On Friday I ett the Stirlin monument an Sir Sean Connery
Follaed bi the Loch Ness monster an Ailsa Craig

The leavins made broth on Setterday.
On Sunday I ett a Glenlivet distillery
An cracked a teeth on Ben Nevis

Thon nicht I flittit tae Orkney
It is jist the richt size fur a picnic

I hae ambitions
Neist wikk I micht tackle France


10. I Lue ma Kintra

I lue ma kintra fur its wyver's wabs
I lue ma kintra fur its whigmaleeries
I lue ma kintra far the North Sea bites
Wi cloud an wave thegither, tapsalteerie
I lue ma kintra fur its nettles' fire
I Jue ma kintra fur its buckie shells
I lue its rikkin kye in park an byre
I lue its flichts o gloamin pipstrelles

I lue its tarns, its lochans an its puils
I lue its drookit waucht o lavender
I lue its clarty rigs o tattie shaws
I lue its ghaistly laricks in the haar
I lue ma kintra wi ma heid an hairt
Toun, ferm an glen, ilk prickly pikk an pairt
The thrissle wi its jobby, ainnoured skin
The sangs, the leids, o Scotia's kith an kin


11. Time in a Pyoke

Gin I cairriet time in a pyoke, wad it unzip itsel
Gyang 'Boo! ' like a cuckoo clock?
Gin I cairriet time in a pyoke, wad it blaw up,
A bomb in a crooded shop?

Sic things stop time in its track
A tsunami, an Armageddon
Cairtin Daith on its back

Gin I cairriet time in a pyoke
Cud I beery it? Makk time mute?
Bit naethin wad age nor dee
Be born nor fruit.

Gin I cairriet time in a pyoke
Pain wad prig me tae speed
The stervin wad bite ma heels
Frae verra need


12. Autopsy o a Corp (Flodden)

There wis nae claes on the corp
Ryped bare bi reivers. A keek at its powe
Shawed twa likely means o daith

The heid, skewered throw bi an arra
The skull, hacked in twa bi an Inglis halberd
Ae haun hung bi a threid

The corp wis identifeed as Jamie Stewart
Nae sign o grallochin
DNA suggested a Danish mither
A Scottish faither, a German granminnie

He wis fand on a Friday nicht
Eftir a hard doonpish o rain
Nine thoosan deid aroon him quaetly stiffenin
Twa abbots, fifteen barons, umpteen lairds,
Nine earls, aa bizzin wi flees

For ease o disposal o this corp, kent details are aneth:
Darg: King.
Age: 40.
Marital Status: Merriet
Cause o daith: ambition
Effecks o Daith: a michty nation murnin


13. Gadiefest 2010

Far are ye gaun, ma bonnie wee lass
Far are ye gaun, ma dearie?
Far are ye gaun, ma bonnie wee loon
Wad ye like tae hear a story?

At Gadiefest ye'll meet the best
Cath Little she will cheer ye
Wi tales o Wales an the tumin year
Tae entertain an fear ye

At Archeolink, John Wheeler wytes
Weel wirthy o a mention
The joy o tellin a crackin plot
He'll share wi flair an tension

He'll pirl a penny whistle tune
He's skeely an excitin
An bairns frae Oyne will tap things aff
Is onythin mair invitin?

Oh Glastonbury's kent warld wide
For dubs an sang an blether
At Gadiefest weir an extra vest
An niver ye heed the weather

For in the Roon Hoose bi the fire
Wi Picts an Roman sodjers
Draw up yer seat an hae a heat
Wi Bronze Age coffin dodgers


15. Harlaw

The great Macdonald o the Isles tae raxx his pouer wis keen
Tae claim the Earldom o Ross an spulzie Aiberdeen

Chorus: Wi a dirumdoo a dadumdoo a didtiy and a day

The great Macdonald's army wis ower 10,000 men
Wi swords & bows & arras, bringin terror frae their glen

The provost Robert Davidson wi tradesmen frae the toon
Jyned forces wi the Earl o Mar tae tum the robbers roon

The provost marched frae Aiberdeen, aa clad in armour black
As black's his widda's sorra fin his corp wis cairriet back

Wi cavalry & infantry & shelties rinnin free
The bluid ran doon sae thick an faist it reiddent girse an tree

Brave Lesley o Balquyne he fell, wi his sax sons sae leal
An mony a lad wis beeriet at the kirkyaird o Kinkell

On Monday in the momin, the battle wis begun
Bit lang e'er it wis gloamin time, ye'd scarcely ken fa'd won

Sir Alexander Irvine tae the battle he has gaen
Wi Hector Roy Maclean he focht till baith o them war slain

Sae weakened war the Lowlanders, nae victory did they claim
Bit mornin brocht the cheery news MacDonald had marched hame

600 hunner year ago an mair this dreidfu fecht wis focht
At Harlaw Hoose a monument tae merk the day wis vrocht

The tradesmen o fair Aiberdeen, a flag they still display
Their forbears cairriet forrit at Harlaw tae heid the fray

Gin Gin onybody speir at ye fit lies aneth the grun
The banes o slaughtered sodjers, that battle had undone


16. The Warld Accordin tae ma Faither

'There's naethin bonnier than the win
Rinnin ben bracken. Listenin tae the soun o't
Watchin the meevent o win ben corn an girse.'

The Grampians are tale-tellers
Frae the heid o Lochnagar,
The Nor East lies like a brose bowl
Fu o sun an wattergaws

Ye micht traivel far, farrer than yer ain faither
Bit ye’ll niver traivel ayont the wyceness o this
Bit ye’ll niver traivel ayont the wyceness o this
It’s a puir vratch gies the hee-haw tae his hame


17. New Deer September, for Philip & Vicki Watt,

Roon bales o strae lie biggit in the barn
A skreich o craas flee in the winny weather
Mids o the park ten nowt aroon a pen
Chaa at their tooshts o stringlit hey thegither

Their sharny dowps, their skelpin, dubby tails
Present. Jaas doon they ett their daily maet
Ane wanners aff, wyme stappt, ootower the girse
As prood an vauntie's ony heid o state.

The ferm road's a kirn o dubs an glaur
Puils frae a jeelin doonpish full the track
Laired doon bi wecht o tractor's churnin wheels
Cobblin frae ferm tae park, tae wids an back.

The hinneysuckle berries sheen like flame
A wee jade flee reests on a rose-hip bush
A hingin chyne chings, swingin on the byre
Ower seen the brier's flooers will tum tae smush

Grey gloamingjeels the win, herds clouds like nowt
Hashin afore the derk tae their cauld hame
Curmurin cushies coorie in the reef
Flee ower teem staas ooto the spit o rain

A grummlin pertrick clatters frae a sheugh
The barley boos, somelike a shepherd's hyeuk
A moosie's hole aside a timmer post
Rins ben the girse doon tae its secret neuk

The wannerin willies' petals dwine awa
The kittlin o the place keeps tae the steadin
The stirlins on the phone weers cheep an churl
Or blaw like rikk alang the face o Heiven

The wannerin willies' petals dwine awa
The antrin while I feel as wan as them
Anither year draws closer tae its eyn
Auld age. The future trimmles on its stem


20 The Norlan Win

The Norlan win's ajeelin win, sets icicles a-dreepin;
The robin fears the Norlan win. Wi hunger she sits cheepin.

Doon it sweeps frae the Polar air, its oxters fu o snaw.
The Norlan win sets men fur hame, cauld, cauld, they hear it blaw.

The lift is grey. The iron grun sets young an auld aa skytin
Cars hoast an rikk, at momin time fin the Norlan win comes bitin

An the cauldrife bawd in her winter fur, wishes the win awa
An langs fur spring an a swackenin sun tae stert the slokin thaw

There's mony the bird an breet an tree that canna thole its cloor
The Norlan win is the hinmaist thing they'll fin at their deein oor

Bit the stamies sherp in their cosmic birl like fine tae hear it skreich

21. Owersett o John Clare's 'Trespass'

I dreided waukin far there wiz nae road
Wi feartie-fitsteps ower the girse I trod .
An aywis turned tae luik wi tentie ee
Yet aa the airt I'd traivelled wiz sae fine
An luiked sae braw I trampit forrit syne
I thocht that ilkie stranger frooned at me

An ilkie kinder luik appeared tae say
'Ye've bin on trespass in yer wauk the day.'
I've aften thocht, the day appeared sae fine,
Foo braw twid be gin sic a place war mine;
Bit, haein nocht, I niver feel alane
An canna use anither's as ma ain.