Goosebumps For Beginners (17 Scots Poems) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

1.Merle

The merle singin in the tree
Kens mair o ecstasy nor me

Wi braw coo’s lick an wings sae swift
I’d like tae be a peesie hen
I’d cheep an birl in the lift


2.Rumi Owersett in Scots: the Guest Hoose

This bein human is a guesthouse
Ilkie mornin a new arrival

A blitheness, a dowieness, a coorseness
Some teenie kennin comes
As a begeck o a veesitor
Welcome an hish them inbye
Even gin they’re a boorich o waes
Fa forecy-like swipe yer hoose
Teem o its gear
Nae maitter, treat ilkie guest wi honour
He micht be scoorin ye clean
For a new delicht

The derk thocht, the blaik affront, the wrangness
Meet them at the yet, lauchin
An hish them inbye

Be grateful for faiver comes
For ilkie ane has bin sent
As a guide frae the ayont


3.A Scots owersett o the poem Lost, bi Czeslaw Milosz (translatit frae the Polish bi hissel)

Love means tae larn tae luik at yersel
The wye a body luiks at hyne aff ferlies
For ye are anely ae ferlie mangst mony
An faiver sees thon wye, heals his hairt
Wioot kenning it, frae a rowth o sairs
A birdie an a tree say tae him Frien

Syne he wints tae use hissel an ferlies
Sae they staun in the glamourize o ripeness
It disnae matter whether he kens fit he serves
Fa serves best disnae aye unnerstaun


4.A Scots Owersett of The Guid news, bi Thich Nhat Hanh translatit frae the Vietnamese bi the poet hissel, in Plum Village 1992

They dinna prent the guid news
The guyed news is prentit bi oorsels
We hae a special edition ilkie meenit
An we need ye tae read it

The guid news is yer leevin
An the linden trees aye yonner
Staunin stinch in the coorse winter

The guid news is that ye hae winnerfu een
Tae touch the blue lift

The guid news is that yer bairn is there afore ye
An yer airms are wytin
Bosies are possible

They anely prent fit’s wrang
Luik at ane o oor special editions
We aywis offer the ferlies that arenae wrang
We ettle for ye tae gain frae them
An gie them a bield

The pee-the-bed is yonner in the sheugh
Smiling her winnerfu smile
Lippen tilt! Ye hae lugs tae hear it
Boo yer heid
Lippen tilt!
Leave ahin the warld o waers an worries
Free yersel
The guid news is
Ye can dae it


5.A Scots Owersett o the poem Hunger, bi Jane Hirshfield

A reid shelt chaws girse
A blaik craw
Howks hornygollachs frae a midden
A wumman watches in envy, fit’s sae easy


6.Scots Owersett o Optimistic Wee Poem bi Hans Magnus Enzensberger,

Whyles, it happens
Somebody skirls for help
Some ither body lowps in at aince
An aa fur free

Here in the mids o the greediest capitalism
Roon the neuk cams the sheenin fire brigade
An dowses, or o a suddenty
There’s siller in the beggar’s bunnet

Foreneens, the streets are stappit
Wi fowk hashin back an forrit wioot
Dirks in their hauns, friendly-like
Eftir milk or radishes
Like twis a time o deepest peace
A gran sicht!


7.A Scots Owersett o the poem Local bi Henrik Norbrandt,

Twa o the kintras that share a border wi this ane
Are fechtin ane anither

Ma radio, that I’ve pit
In the shadda o the oleander buss
Tells me fit airts are noo bein bombed
An fit weapons they’re makkin eese o

Nae till the morn will the picturs cam
Thon o the wrack
Thon o the deid

Mony o them war leevin anely yestreen
Mony are anely hauf as auld’s masel

Fin I ettle tae tune in ma radio station
Wi classical music
I think foo hard it is
Tae get eased wi the local fags.


8.A Scot Owersett o the Poem Gairden Fragrance bi Lam Thi My Da,

Last nicht a bomb explodit in the porch
Bit souns o birdies sweeten the yird this morning
I hear the scentit trees, teet in the gairden
Fin twa seelent boorichs o ripe guavas


9.A Wheen Owersetts inno Scots o English Translations bi Sam Hamill O Journey to the Interior bi Basho

Etten alive bi
Flechs an flees
Noo the cuddy pees
Aside ma bowster

Trimmle, ma mools
Betimes ma greets will be
Anely this Autumn win

Screivit on the Tada Shrine
Peetifu- aneth
A great sodjer’s teem helmet
A girselowper sings

I sclimmed inno air
Heich abeen the peesies
Tap o a Ben

The yalla rose
Petals – ane bi ane-
Gae doon the roarin linns

Och, buss birdies!
Noo ye’ve keeched aa ower
Ma rice cake on the porch

The stert o Culture
Frae the hairt o the kintra
Rice-plantin sangs

The banana tree
Blawn bi wins
Poors raindrops inoo the pail

Rowin dumplins
In bamboo leaves
Wi ae finger she redds up her hair

Thon’s ma saké cup!
Dinna be draps dubs in yonner
Reestin spurgies!

In the fish market
Frae amang wee shrimps
Girselowper sings

In the auld byre
Dwaumy souns o mozzies
Simmer heat bides on

Thon winter shooers-
Even the puggie
Raxxes fur a raincoat

A satted sea-bream
Its moo luiks jeeled
At the seafood shoppie

A tattie leaf
Awytes the hairst meen
In a brunt clachan park

I wid like tae weir
Thon tattiebogle’s orra duddies
In the cranreuch o midnicht

Suppit frae ma hauns
Jeelin spring watter
Bumbazes ma stoonin teeth

Fit wye, jist this Autumn
Hae I grown auld o a suddenty
A birdie in the lift

A tummlin cloud, like
A rinnin tyke, pissin
Coorse winter shooers

A snawy mornin
Dowpit alane wi dried salmon
Chaain awa


Basho’s Daith Poem

Seek on ma traivels
Anely ma dreams will stravaig
Thon dowie muirs


10.Bouncer

Na. Yer nae getting in
Ye micht hae orra habits
Mebbe yer face winna fit. Mebbe mine’ll cheenge
Forbye, there’s private neuks inbye
That I keep steekit

Fit’s that? Ye war wintin tae step ower the yett
Tae be ma frien?

An fit’s a frien onywye?
Jist turnin up wioot a bye yer leave!

I dinna like begecks
They gie me the dry boak
Sikkin a sub or twa fin times is hard…

I’m anely the Bank o Mither, nae the warld
Awa an chap on somebody else’s door


11.Roose

I keep ma roose in a kist
It’s nae hoose-trained
It disna ken fan tae stop

Gin I daured tae open the lid
A Mister Punch wi neives
Wad likely pop

Ma roose wid fleg the polis, cause a stooshie
A richt radgy roose it is

It wid skelp ye on the lug as quick as stink

Its buits ettlin tae blooter yer shins
It’s aywise kept in a kist, tho
An I hae swallaed the key


12.Braw Simmer

The birk leaves skinkle like new minted coins
A flee reests on a thrissle’s spike-tapped hair
Aneth the larick’s oxters, drappit heids
O dwinin rhododendrons sweets the air

A rowth o trippers wheech alang the lift
Happit bit heard the rummle o a plane
Nae traffic left or richt, straicht tae the loch
Girse path, far fowk wauk up an doon again

The crinin bluebell flooers boo dowie doon
A humfy backit snailie sliders by
A broon baguette, the larick’s crackit trunk
Raxes tae reach the Heivens hyne upbye

The anely soun’s the widlan’s reeshlin spikk
The antrin birdie chitterin ower the sheuch
Fit needs a roweth o siller, claith or gear
Here’s aa a chiel cud sikk, mair nor eneuch


13. Ma Faither’s scarf an the Dalai Llama

The Dalai Llama’s coort cam tae ma toon
‘A fite scarf is the giftie that’s maist fit’
They telt me an (nae ane tae lat fowk doon)

I fan ma faither’s daunce scarf…sic a boon
Twis 50 years sin he hid worn it
The thirties fashion…ma, in her ball goon

Like Fred Astaire. My da wad birl her roon
An full her heid wi stars, the kyn that flit
Ooto the luv sangs that he liked tae croon

Shakkin the moch baas frae its silken foun
Cannie, in siller paper I rowed it
Thon hist-ye-back frae age o ragtime tune

I winner fyles, fin incense furls aroon
An He in meditation deep, should sit
If faither’s jigging scarf is wippit roon
His thrapple, an dis it tae quaet, submit?


14.Global Snap Shots

The poppy’s pit on her brawest frock
For the blythness o bein
Up a city close
A junkie sooks her sap
For the pleisur o deein

A stane at Callanish stauns quaet
Wintin nae glory forbye’s the sun’s warm touch

A littlin lauchs in a dub in Jaipur’s stoor
Smilin ooto a moo o twa fite teeth
Nyaakit bar aa bit a thread aroon its shooder
Rowed in the grace o youth, a halo o hudderie hair
Brunt yird its pooder


15.Birdies Table Watchin

The table is circled bi birdies watchin fowk ett
This gars the birdies chitter an coo
Watchin humans pykin frae ashets an bowls

‘Luik at thon creashie clort hammin intae a heeze o pink wirms’
Quo the spurgie.

‘Thon pykit luikin shargeret peely wally should get far mair o the deinties, ’
The muckle scurrie jelooses.

The whaup an the gled are slaverin at the sicht o French snailies. Ane bi ane the fowk rise up an gae.

‘Fit’ll be happenin neist? ’ speirs the yalla yeitie.

‘Weel, ’ the mavis repons, ‘they’ll awa tae their hotel chaumers, for a birze, a fag or a sklaik on thon wee sheeny squar ferlies.’

‘Bit they’ll miss the sun gaun doon an the meen risin, ’ quo the cushie doo

‘Och, humans are far ower important tae gee thirsels aboot thon, ’ the hoolet hooted, fleein awa tae the wid.


16. Auld Shelt

He stude wi a nicher
His roch blaik mane on the lang shute o his heid
Lyin atween his een, like a hudderie breem buss
His yalla teeth, the colour o new-cut neep
His hooves, stricken the cassies like flint
His hochs wi thon sheltie-guff yoamin aff him
His pechin gey near founert
Luikin doon tae the grun
The warld oot blinkered

Aroon him, cars tooted, larries roared
Him staunin straicht like he’d stepped
Frae a century hyne back

His maister, the veggie man had the skin
O a cyard, like he’d bin steepit in tannin
His bunnet iled blaik bi swyte an yird
His fingers like puddens, hackit, tabbie-stained

Mither stude at the cairt tail
Pyin fur leeks an ingins wi florins an bawbees
The smush that wis oor siller in ma bairnhood

Gin the auld shelt srappit his broon aipples o dung
Fowk ran wi their shovels an pails
Ingaitherin the keech like it wis gowd
The better tae grow the rhubarb in their gairdens

Even then I kent its days wis numbered
Noo, I staun in thebstreet whyles,
Pechin, gey near founert,
Luikin doon tae the grun
The warld ootblinkered


17.An Owersett in Scots o Baby Lift by Nguyen Phan Que Mai

Heistit up, haived inno anither warld
Anither kintra, anither bosie
Thon wis the weird o the dumfounert bairns
Their skin still guffin frae the lowes o their evacuation

Thedy cam hame, their hair nae blond
Their skin naae fite
Their leid nae Vietnames
Bit nae diet o milk an butter
Can answer thon 35 year auld speirin
Fa am I?

Nae adoptit airms can replace their ain fowk’s bosie
Nae DNA test can jyne them wi their beginnins
An blaik hair canna think in Vietnamese

Baby lift, ower twal thoosan days o tears
Ower thirtyfive years o pain
An aye the questions hae their een gapit wide