Dead Mens' Whispers: (17 Scots Poems & Owersetts) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

1.The Eruption of Vesuvius
Years later, in two letters to the historian Tacitus, Pliny the Younger gave his eye-witness account of the events.

Letter no I

Tacitus, ma frien,
[My Uncle] wis at Misenum thon time Commander o the Fleet.
Ae efterneen In August, mither pynted oot a cloud.
He'd had a sunbath, bathed, his denner taen,
Cried fur his sheen, laid by his buiks an ran
Tae far this unca ferlie wis best seen.

The cloud wis risin fae a hyne-aff Ben
(Eftir, we learned it wis Vesuvius)
Shaped like a pine tree, thon upwauchtin rikk
Wis pairtly fite, dirt-straiked, it seemed tae us.

My uncle socht tae see the sicht nearhaun
Ordered a boat, an speired gin I'd gyang tae
Bit I preferred tae bide, tae tcyauve awa
Screivin a lesson set thon verra day.

Jist as he quit the hoose, a letter cam
Fae Tascius' wife Rectina, byous feart.
Her villa lay at the volcano's foun
A rescue on his boat, the boon she speirt.

He cheenged his plans, hairt saftened bi her priggin
Hopin tae save some ither fowk an aa
He launched the Quadriremes, straicht for the lan
Sic virr! He notit doon aa that he saw
The meevement an the makk o thon coorse cloud
Aisse drappin on the ships, derk dauds doonfa
An steens aa blaik an birssled bi the lowe
The sea, pit-mirk, blaik lava choked the shore
He dauchled fur a whyle, syne forrit gaed
Tae see fit ither ills Fate held in store.

At Stabiae, far Pomponianus bedd
The chiel hid stapped his ships wi rowth o gear
Hopin tae jink the danger weirin close
As seen's a favourt win cud blaw them clear
My uncle berthed, embraced the frichtit man
Gaed tae the baths, dooked, dined, made seemin licht
0 blaik Vesuvius wi as its lowes alicht
Brichtenin the lift, makkin a day o nicht

He quaetened fears bi leein that the lowes
Cam fae the hairths that fermers left ableeze
An syne he slept, fowk heard him pech an snore
Aisse piled ootbye, yet still he tuik his ease.

Waukenin, tae Pomponianus forth he gaed
They winneret fit tae dae. Rin oot the door
Or bide inbye the biggins? Wis it safe
Fin ilkie hoose wis trimmlin at the core?

Hames sliddered back an fore. Ootbye, rocks drapped
They ran doon tae the shore tae watch the sea
Day turned tae nicht, sae derk they nott a torch
The waves brocht nae remeid, bit misery.

Wi bowsters on their heids tae fen aff steens
They ran. He fand a bield neth a boat sail
Sipped watter, syne the derkness thicker grew
The stank o sulphur, brocht a fiery hell
Upheld wi twa wee slaves, he stood, syne fell,
His lungs fair choked wi stoor. My uncle deed.
Twa days he lay till daylicht plooed its dreel
In daith, they say he luiked like ane asleep
This is the marra o't, my frien,
Fareweel.


Letter No II

Tacitus, ma frien,
Ye speir fit wis ma mither's weird an mine,
On thon dreid day that I wad fain forget
Eftir ma uncle left, ma studies dane,
I bathed and ett, but sleep was aft upset

There had been tremors in Campania
A puckle days, bit this wisnae unkent
Thon nicht the shakkin worsened, mither breenged
Inno ma chaumer, aa her courage spent.

We sat atween oor biggin an the sea
I read a buik by Livy, an tuik notes
Wis't brave or daft tae be sae unconsarned?
A frien o uncle's threipit doon oor throats
That we should be afeard an set tae flee
The day began, an aye the hooses shook
We quit the toun, a boorich at oor dowp
As mony as the corn-ears in a stook

The cairts we'd ordered sliddered up an doon
Altho their wheels war settled on flat lan
The tide wis sookit back, an unca thing
Sea craiturs peched for braith upon the san

Ahin us, michty clouds bi lichtnin rent
Gapit ajee tae show us fearsome flame
My uncle's Spanish frien quo 'Save yersel
He'd wint ye safe, the anes fa share his name.'

A whyle we wyted, syne the blaik cloud raxxed
Frae lift tae sea. It blottit oot Capri
My mither priggit wi me tae gyang on
Fin derkness happt Misenum's promont'ry

She urged that she wis auld, she'd haud me back
I tuik her haun, an on we ran thegither
The derk cloud floodit aathin left ahin
The crowd gaed breengin by masel, my mither.

We sat doon in the derk, the stoor, the wae
0 weemin greetin, skirls o bairns an men
Some grat fur parent, spouse, frae verra fear
Some prayed that Daith wad takk them there an then.

Some raised their hauns tae Gods, some tint their faith
An cried the Gods war deid, twis the Warld's Eyn
Whylst ithers leed, made pandemonium waur
An still the aisse drapped doon, derk an malign

I thocht, that e'en the Eird itsel wis deein
We shook aff stoor until the cloud thinned oot
Tae a fey haar. The sun, an eildritch lowe
Glisked ower a lan, rowed in a tarry cloot.

Syne ithers threatened terrors still tae kythe
The grun wis shakkin, mony fowk gaed gyte
Eneuch! My tale is telt, my pen's laid doon
Gin this epistle's puir, it's nae my wyte.


2.Graffiti in the Ruins o Pompeii

In the Basilica

Waa, yer that clartit wi graffiti
I'm bumbazed ye hinna faan doon
Epaphra, yer a baldie!
May yer piles rub thegither till they stoun!
Mell wi flame an ye'll burn yer pin.

I wint tae brakk Venus' ribs wi clubs
I wint tae caa her fud tae stoor
Gin she can strikk throw my saft breist
Can I nae gie her heid a cloor?


In the Inn o the Cuddy-drivers

Host, we hae pished in the bed
It wis wrang. The wte o't wis this...
We cudna fin a chunty


In the Hoose o the Haley-Willy

Let watter wash yer feet clean,
A slave dicht them dry.
Pit a cloth ower the couch
Dinna fyle oor linen.
Dinna makk lang een at oor weemin
Dinna quarrel here
If ye maun argy-bargy, ban, or sweir
Ye'd best gyang hame.
We dinna wint ye here.


Aroon the Bars

Luvers are like bees
They hae a hinneyed life
Appelles the chamberlain
Wi Dexter, a slave o Caesar
Ett here betimes
An had a birze forbye.


In the Gladiators' Barracks (The remains of a wealthy woman were found in the gladiators' barracks)
Floronius, sodjer o the 7th legion, wis here
Jist sax weemen kent. Ower fyew fur sic a staig
Aa the quines delicht in Celadus, the Thracian gladiator


3.Keekin Glaiss: Owerset frae a poem bi Sylvia Plath

I am perjink an siller. I am teem o opinions.
Fitiver I see, I swalla richt aff,
Jist as it is, nae bleared bi luv or ill-natur.
I'm nae coorse, anely truthfu
The ee o a wee god, fower-neukit.

Maistly I meditate on the opposite waa
It's pink an spottit. I hae glowert at it sae lang
I think it's pairt o ma hairt. Bit it flichters
Derkness an faces split us ower an ower.

Noo I'm a lochan. A wumman boos ower me,
Trawls throwe ma founs for fit she really is.
Syne she turns tae thon leears, the caunles an the meen
I see her back, an makk a leal reflection.
For recompense, she greets an wrings her hauns.
I am important tae her. She comes an gyangs.

Ilkie mornin, it's her likeness that shifts the derkness.
She's drooned a young quine in me.
An auld cailleach
Rises frae me taewards her ilkie day,
Like a scunnersome fish.


4.Twa Scots Owersets o Hafiz (1320-1389) the Sufi Poet

A Singin Skiffie

A leaf says, Dinna pick me, dearies,
I'm eident on God's wirk.
I'm drappin ma veins an reets like towes
Wi pails tied tae them, inno the yird's deep lochan.
I'm heistin watter that I'll gie like a rose tae the lift.
I'm a singin skiffie, dichtin aa the shelves o the air
Wi ma braw green cloots.
I hae a hairt. I can ken blitheness, like ye.


Ye say, I say.

Ye say, 'Foo can I fin God? '
I say, 'The Frien is the linin in yer pooch
The roon pink waa in yer stammache
Sober up, steady yer airm, raxx in
Turn the Aybydan an the Braw Vratch inside oot

Ye say- `Thon souns gyte
I really dinna believe God's inbye yonner.

I say, 'Weel syne, foo nae gyang tae the Himalyas¬
Ye cud be nyaakit, makk on yer a heich yogi
Ett bark an snaa fur forty years.
An ye micht think:
Hey min, ye auld gype, foo nae gyang an shiel sna?


5. Marcus Antonius

Marcus Antonius far hae ye been?
I've bin tae Egypt tae sleep wi a Queen

Marcus Antonius, fit did ye see?
Fin she took aff her wig,
She wis baldie's ma knee.


6. Scots Owersets frae Ovid's 'The Art of Love'

Book 1 Part XIV: On luikin Braw (Advice tae Chiels)

Dinna delicht in curlin yer hair wi tings
Dinna smeeth yer shanks wi pumice steens
Like sic as worship Cybele the Mither
Skirlin like banshees in the Phrygian mainner.

Chiels' luiks are best neglekit. Theseus
Still catched Ariadne. His heid wis a buss
Phaedra lued Hippolytus, free o airt
Adonis, hudderie, won the goddess hairt

Be trig, it pleases, tanned bi exercise
A snod an clean-washed toga's shows some pride
Nae stiff sheen-thongs, yer buckles bare o roost
Nae bauchled feet, afloat in a lowse hide.

Dinna connach yer hair wi a coorse cut
Let a guid barber trim yer heid an beard
An nae lang nails, makk siccar they're yird-free
An lang hair frae yer neb-holes should be sheared

Nae orra braith should guff oot frae yer mou
Dinna offend the snoot wi breetish smells
Ony mair nur this, prood jaads wad dae
Or chiels fa set their sichts on ither chiels.


Extracts frae Book III Part IV: Make-up, in Private (fur the quines)

I nearly telt ye, nae tae hae goat's oxters
Or shanks, sprootin wi roch hair like a lass
Frae the Caucasian knowes, nor sic as drink
Yer waters, Mysian Caicus. Sic a soss!

I dinna need tae tell ye, clean yer teeth
Washin yer face each day, likewise is guid
Ye, fa can makk yer faces white wi pooder
Fa blush wi artifice an nae wi bluid
Ye fill the baldie bits o ilkie eebroo
Pit patches on yer chikks, set aff yer een
Wi aisse or saffron grown frae banks o Cydnus,

I even screived a buik tae help ye preen.
Still, dinna let yer luver find yer bottles
0 peint an pooder skittered ower the place
It's aff-pitten fin cream dreeps doon yer briest
Art's better fin it keeps a happit face.

Even the eyntments ferried ower frae Athens
Frae unwashed oo o yowes, the ile they pree
Sae dinna clart deer marra on in public
Nor clean yer teeth afore yer luver's ee.

Fit noo may haud the signature o Myron
Wis aince dumb mass, hard steen, a deid statue
Tae makk a ring, first crush the gowden ore
That dress ye weir wis vrocht frae creashie oo
A daud o merble, noo is nyaakit Venus
Squeezin the watter frae her dreepin hair

We'll think yer sleepin while ye peint yer face
Foo should we see the darg that makks ye fair?
Steek tee yer chaumer door! Yer secrets keep
There's mony things it's richt men shouldna ken
The gowden actors on the theatre stage
Sheen oot. Till the show's ower, they banish men
Gin punters win ower close, they're gilded wid
Sae tis wi weemin. Tho feel free
Tae caimb yer hair lowse spreid, adoon yer back

An dinna rage gin it hings aa skweejee
Leave yer puir maid. Oh dinna scrat her face
Or job her airm, if a preen scrats ye sair
She'll curse her mistress' heid at ilkie touch
An greet, an bleed upon yer hatit hair

If yer hairdo is unca, hae it set
At Bona Dea's place. Guaird yer door weel
I aince arrived at a quine's hoose, an she
Pit on a hairpiece backwirds! Fit a feel!

May sic affronts cam anely tae ma faes
An Parthian quines, fa merit little mair
Coos wintin horns, bare busses, girsless parks
Are ugsome. Sae's a heid withoot its hair.


Book I Eleev V: Corinna in an Efterneen

It wis gey hett, the day jist by its noon
I wis raxxt oot, tae takk a nap, oot-straiked
The licht wis like ye'd see it, deep in wids,
Hauf o the windae lowsed, the tither steeked:

Glimmrin like Phoebus deein at the gloamin,
Or fin nicht gaes, bit day still hisnae dawed.
A perfeck licht fur quines a thoctie blate,
Fa fear affront, wad rather it's nae shawed.

Tak tent! Corinna comes, in a lowse goun,
Her pairtit hair framin her fite throat weel
Like bonnie Semiramis gyaun tae bed,
Or weel-kent Lais lued by mony a chiel.

I rugged her goun aff...it wis unca thin;
She strove tae keep it on, tho it wis spare
Bit wi nae forcefu wish fur victory
I conquered her, she stude afore me, bare.
Her claethin tint, afore ma verra een
Sic airms, sic shouders, wytin tae be kissed
Sic bonnie briests I luikit on an straiked!
Foo flat a wyme aneth a lissome waist!
Sic lang an youthfu shanks! A bonnie view!
I held her nyaakit body agin mine.
Ye'll ken the lave? We lay there, worn oot
May aa my efterneens turn oot sae fine!


7. Conversation (1)

They're a bonnie luikin pair, as the cra said o his legs
They're as cantle as twa dyeukies cockin doon amang the seggs

Quo the dother tae her in-laws, They're as warm as new-laid eggs
Quo the in-laws tae the dother...She's a widda

He that merries wi a widda needna think tae please or pet
He'll hae a deid man's held served up on ilkie plate he'll get
Bees wi hinny sting as nesty as the coorsest hornet yet
Quo the in-laws tae the dother...She's a widda


8. The Conversation (2)

Guid friens are like fiddle strings,
they mauna be screwed ower ticht
Quo the meenister tae the miser.
Ye should treat aa fowk richt

The deil's bairns hae their daddy's luck
The miser crackit back
I'd flay a flech tae takk its skin,
an far's the wrang in that?


9.The Conversation(3)

Ken fan tae spen an fan tae spare,
an fin ye buy ye'll niver be bare
As peesie-wheep in her nest sae fair
Quo the auld, auld man tae the halflin.

The peesie ains bit the empty air.
He that has muckle wad ay hae mair
Age hirples, hippit, it's youth's the hare
Quo the gallus laddie, lauchin


10. The Conversation (4)
If ae yowe lowps ower the dyke, the lave 'll folla
If ye dinna see the boddom, dinna wyde
Quo the spinster tae the limmer at the altar
Beauty's muck fin honour's tint, she telt the bride.
Quo the groom, it's caulder lyin aa yer lane

He that's born tae be hanged will niver droon
Daith comes in an speirs nae questions, ower sune
Tho Life's curly an it's crookit, as the Deil said o his horns


11.The Conversation (5)

Veesitors are like fish. Eftir 3 days they stink
Whyles as welcome as sna at hairst
Quo the miser tae the tink

A craw's nae white fur bein washed
The fink tae the miser said
Daylicht keeks through the smaaest hole
I like my clarty bed
A wild goose niver laid tame eggs,
an little gear, less care
A bonnie bride's sune buskit
Fit need hae I o mair


12.Embro, at the Festival The Netherbow Bell was cast in 1621, and still works perfectly.

The muckle bell o Netherbow, wi'ts Nemo me lacessit
I dinged yestreen in Embro toun, tho naebody'd hae guessed it
The close-heid at theWarld's Eyn (a kettle on the bile)
Wis thrang wi fowk frae aa the airts alang the Royal Mile

Twa pipers in unleecensed sporrans by the R.B.S.
Skirled oot the Flooers o Embro coinin in a rowth o bress
A creashie biker filmed the pair, his hairy neive tattooed
Wi snakes an furliegorums some auld warlock micht hae spewed

Abune the Whistlebinkie Bar, three Saltires flapped thegither
In sun an weet, the Autum heat made fell onchancy weather
The skreich o taxis, toot o horns, near deefened ilkie lug
A teethless craitur on his dowp, clappit his flechy dug

In windaes tartan tights war raxxed, ower plastic hochs tae dauchle
A censured sticker happit weel a caber tosser's tackle
Jist Chillin oot in Scotland said a sleepin Heilan coo
Aside a postcaird o Loch Ness. Sic rareties tae view!

A litter bin in blaik an gowd, gulsh aff-casts wis amassin
A low-fat, probiotic yogurt carton dumped in passin
A reid phone box stude sicar like a Scots Guaird on parade
Wi flee-ers stuck on ilkie pane. Sic shows an sichts displayed!

Ower the North Brig see Wellington's blaik chairger rear an prance
Aneth him, three Plains Indians performin a Rain daunce
Preserves! We'd little need o thon. Mair pipes an drums tae dird
The day I rang the muckle bell, an Deil the body heard!


13.Girse-Lowper

Bedlam's weel-kent. Robbie lives it, daily.
An airt o brukken promises, breetish wirds.
Feelins are skelfs. Hopes are the Deil's crook.
Luv, is the refugee in the neuk.

Robbie is nailed tae his hoose's twisted cross
His skaiths are unspukken an hidden
He is a girse-lowper jinkin abune a midden
His faither hubbers monologues tae the bottle
Robbie jinks frae the door, the dunt, fu-throttle

Last nicht, his lug ran reid, he jinked ower slow
But it's aa his wyte, he brings it on himsel:
For nae ettin the meat his faither wirks tae pye fur
For needin claes that drain awa booze siller
For makkin a claustrophobic mairriage wirse

He jooks frae the flung buit, cooers frae the liftit belt
Nurses each skelp in secret. An this is aa he kens
Tiptaein ben his bairnhood, far the wolf sits at the hairth.
Robbie is ten years auld. Against all odds, he growes.


14. The Critic: The Last Judgement
Michaelangelo's painting in the Sistine Chapel depicts Minos, the Judge of Souls, in hell with the ears of a jackass.

There he stauns, wee nyaff wi cuddy's lugs
Man-paps, beer-belly, face like a torn scone

A snake is gnawin his tadger
A clype, a sook, a plook on the warld's bihoochie
A nesty, sleekit cadger
Fa cudna draa a pail o clatty watter
Let alane a ceilin fu o prophets, sancts an deils
Critics war iver contermascious deils.


15.Ayont the Mools

Ayont the mools the deid lie licht
Their wirks, their wirds, their thochts, still heeze
Peintit on waas or screived in buiks
A fusper aff frae sic as these
We staun, a blink o a hiatus
A meenit's skreich...a lang quietus.


16.Sacred & Profane: In the Vatican

A twa-fauld Benedictine wauks
Alang the flags, the cassied street
African merchants sell their gear
Far pilgrim, towrist, Mafia meet.

There's kick-backs, rake-affs, knock-aff deals,
Fake Gucci, watches ill tae set
This needy neuk maun hae its due
Frae pilgrims at the temple's yetts.

The magpie Popes hae rypit Rome o treisurs, sacred an profane
The goddess Artemis aince stude inbye the hame o Hadrian

She's brierin testicles like warts frae briest tae shank; thon bonnie feet
Aince by a priest war washed in bluid, the hinmaist gift o deein breet

Here, libbit Bacchus weirs a leaf sae nae douce matron micht takk fricht Here, syphilitic Raphael peintit his mistress ben the nicht

Here, Michaelangelo's Pieta, wis caad tae shards bi ain clean gyte
Fa thocht that he wis Christ hissel, his harns ower weak tae bear the wyte.

Here, Hercules frae Pompey's Theatre, skin o a lion ower his airm
Struck doon bi lichtnin's resurrectit, ayont aa human skaith or hairm.

A group of Chinee students watch twa serpents fecht wi the Laocoon
Aince Emperor Titus nummert this the brawest sculpture in his toun.

The Swiss guairds weir Medici claes, Renaissance style, braw an neat
Black beret on their heids, their skyrie jaikets packin serious heat.

This toun inbye a toun that bides some like a Russian dall in steen,
Boasts its ain airport. Hostesses bring haly watter wi ice cream?

A Jewish traiveller sizes up the Papal gloss, embroidered rugs
Ootby, a shelt ryned tae a gig coosts up its tail an cocks its lugs

God, in the Sistine, raxxes oot at Crack o Dawn, the stert o Time
Tae Adam: mitherless, fa shows a belly-button on his wyme.
Thon Popes, lang in their merble tombs, pontiffs fas deid een canna see
Wi aa their siller, pouer an lear, did they buy immortality?

The peintins, Flemish tapestries, the rooms o gowd, gin selt they'd gie (We're stammygastered tae be telt) India, a heist frae poverty.
This is Vesuvius in reverse, sookin aa intae its vortex
A treisur-trove o priceless gear. A Haly kistie o begecks

Oot in the unembellished sun, its warm rays un-beatifeed
The lift's as blue an clear as Zen, wi this auld warld unified

Sated wi winners seen inbye, foo sweet tae wauk girse green an bare
A spurgie raxxes sunny wings, it's flicht, spectacular an spare.


17.Cave Canem: A Visit to Pompeii.

Feral dogs, that micht hae sookled Remus
Caper afore the temple o Apollo
A lucky omen. Breets, we're telt, ay ken
Fin earthquake or eruption's in the air.

A dug dang frae the Hoose o Orpheus,
Cast in plaister, glowers foraye at Daith
Chyned up, the craitur cudna jink the flame.

Teeth bared in grue, a swippert Pompeii quine
Faces live cremation fur the towrists.
(A wee frisson, syne on tae the neist ferlie)

Twa Philippino grannies frae the Bronx
Keckle in the hoor-hoose, rub their rosaries
This is the Lupinare, hoose o jaads
A gyte Yank raxxes oot alang a bed
0 steens, makks on he is a customer

The murals on the waas shaw ilkie stroke.
The hoors war Eastern slaves, nae free tae chuse
Chiels pyed their maister fur the lassies' darg.
Swyte an spunk pit meat upon teem plates.

A cuddy driver dowpit in a neuk
Rowed in his roch plaid, booed tae meet his weird.

The cult o Isis offered nae protection
Fin heelstergowdie, temples tummelt doon.
Aroon this seelent toon, a hale clanjamfrie
0 chaip-jack booths, sell gulsh tae teem yer pooch.