The Heilanman's Sporran (35 Scots Poems) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

1. THE HEILANMAN'S SPORRAN
The Heilanman's sporran hauds dauds 0 fluff
An a troot frae the windin Lui;
A liberal dose 0 the Athole Brose
An the bogIe 0 Ben MacDhui.

The Heilanman's sporran is stappit wi mist
An a stag frae the wids 0 Dess;
There's a monster doon at the sporran foun
Frae the mids 0 derk Loch Ness.

It hauds a jeelip 0 barley bree
An a kebbuck 0 Tarlan cheese;
A coggie 0 hinney frae back 0 Colquhonnie
An geans frae Glen Gelder's trees.

The Heilanman's sporran is stoorie an deep
An the mochs flee ooto it whyles;
An the things that bide in yon leathery hide
Are cairriet fur miles an miles.

The stag an the troot they thrive rale weel,
Bit the monster's aywis girnin,
Fur traivellin roon in the sporran's foun
Sends his stammach kirnin, kirnin.

At the Braemar Gaitherin aince a year,
Fin the pibroch skreichs an skirls
An the towrists steer frae far an near
An the shop till trings an dirls,
The Heilanman's sporran is opened wide
An the ferlies traivel the howes
The monster hirples North an Wast
An he dines on tatties an yowes
Ye'll see the troot in the burns aboot
An the stag at the croon 0 the howes!


2. SCIENCE

Doon the saft dwaum berries drapt
The glaikit pressed them, kept the seeds.
'Fact is harder than fancy, ' quo they.
'Science satisfees aa fowks' needs.'
They delled the yaird tae plant the facts.
Science raxxed far the erne showds
It brocht furth acid rain an grue
0 Lochans deid an mushroom clouds.


3.THE WALLIE

She sterts bi giein suck... an efter, succour.
It's kent that she's a sucker ilkie wye.
A mither is an icon bairns can ay con
The wallie bountifu that's niver dry.


4.HOGMANAY

The hale 0 Scotia hauds its braith,
An erne, paused in flicht.
The clangin bells 0 Hogmanay,
Tollin the daith knell, oorie, wae;
Nailin the kist 0 Yesterday,
In the mids 0 a Winter's nicht.

The cradle 0 Hope is wytin teem,
Fur the Birth 0 the Infant Year
The fiddler's rant, the piper's skirl,
The ceilidh garrin the rafters dirl,
The heistit dram an the dauncers' birl,
Are aa fur the Littlin's cheer.

The New Year's a conundrum,
In mist, yon Kintra's happt.
Nae guidin star hings ower yon lan,
Nae compass charts its shiftin san,
Wi virgin snaws it's tappt.

Oh, preen-prick galaxies micht burn,
Like glitterin hoolets' een,
As auld as Nicht, as Ice, as Cloud,
As auld as Yird, as Steen...
Even tae thon celestial clan,
The morn wytes unseen.

Bigg up the lowe. Oh gar it sen
Reid dauncers tae the lift!
Man's Girse an Stoor,0 puny pouer,
A Snawflake in the Drift.
An, like the watter in the linn,
He tummies forrit, swift.


5.TARLAN SHOW

Tarlan Show! Ticht towes are wippit
Roon the pens. Fite yowes are clippit;
Dauncers hirple hamewird, hippit,
Fin the hoolichan is bye.

Tarlan Show! Broon bulls are grippit,
Shelties' manes wi ribbons tippit.
Shires' tails bi shears are snippit
Hear the lowin 0 the kye!

Tarlan Show! The simmer's plottin.
Roon the ring smert gigs are trottin,
Harness glentin, wheel hubs stottin,
Ower the divots, trig an spry.
Tarlan Show! There's stockmen meetin,
Candyfloss, braw bradies heatin;
Waltzers furlin, bairnies greetin,
Grumphies gruntin in the sty.

Tarlan Show! There's midgies heezin;
Antrin drooth (three quarters bleezin):
Kilted pipers quines are teasin,
Snatchin kisses on the sly.

Tarlan Show! Auld bodachs gaither,
Droothy drams they doon wi blether.
Neath the beer tent nieves like leather
Teem the glaiss as seen's they buy.

Tarlan Show! The stallies steerin;
Rinners racin, lauchter, cheerin;
Claik an courtin; luvers sweirin
They'll be true till Dee gangs dry!


6.THE FOWER AGES 0 MAN

BELTANE
The spirk 0 life is kinnelt in a bairn,
The flame lowps up, faist as a stertled hind.
The' warld's new... an aathin in't's tae ken,
As pure's a drap 0 dyew, a littlin's mind.

LAMMAS
The kinnlin bleezes cracklin tae a lowe.
The halflin growes an ripens, sonsie, swack.
A gangrel body, trampin youthheid's knowe,
Gaitherin gear an lear inower his pack.

MAIRTINMAS
Halo 0 frost, the tinchell roon the meen,
Burns fite an cauld... the firelicht 0 decay.
The dwinin flame is wanin, weirin dane,
The rosy chikk 0 youth turns crine, turns blae.

YULE
The foonerin flame is crummlin inno aisse.
Kiln-crackit the physog, the spinnle-shank.
The gammy fit slaws tae a shauchlin pace;
Braith's bit a line 0 rikk, dweeble an rank.


7. STAG AT BAY

Why do you hound and hunt me?
Hate -is that the spur?
Does my vegan state offend you?
Is it my cloak of fur?

The thrill of bagging a trophy
Is this why we are felled,
Like a forest of gentle giants?
Must all brute beasts be quelled?

Do you covet my moorland freedoms?
I, who was once a God?
Does it thrill when you pull the trigger?
Spilling my bright life-blood?

I do not challenge or chase you
We fear you, buck and hind,
For you are Christian gentlemen,
For sport, you kill my kind.


8. DEVOLUTION: THE OPEN DOOR

On the eleventh day we treetled doon,
Tae makk wir merk, the voters 0 the toon:
Nae fiery cross tae set the warld ajee
A scrat, jist pencilled in; syne, hame tae tea.

September '97: fine gairdenin weather,
Fowk scalin frae the wark began tae gaither
At pollin booths in Nellfield, Northfield, Nigg...
Seeven hunner year afore, at Stirlin' Brig,
Wallace tuik tyranny, an thrawed its thraipple.
A secunt bite, thocht I, at yon same aipple
o self-determination... nationhood.
Oor Past's preserved (Preserve's!) bi Hollywood;

Setterday Bravehairts at the fitba match.
The Flooers 0 Scotland dinna play -they watch,
A puckle luikers-on... bit at yon poll
We got tae kick the baa, an score a goal!

I waukened on the Friday. Yon wis rum.
Jist ae lane seagull skreichin on a lum
Nae pipe band's cheer. Nae Common Good bunfecht.
Nae gun salute, tae show we'd got it richt
A queer hello, tae Devolution's daw
A bittie in the Press, an yon wis aa.

Twis like a moose, trappt bi a muckle steen
That lowsed, can scarce unsteek its captive een...
Sae fooshunless, uneesed tae Liberty
It canna grasp the aim 0 bein free.

Setterday, tho, the Mither Kirk gied voice
Wi peals 0 bells that we micht aa rejoice
Her grey doos rang a paean frae their reest
Frae thon great belfry at the civic breist.

Their clangin, unsnibbed Jubilation's gate
Let celebration in... a thochtie blate.
While far ablow, an elder Iiftit up
The siller glory 0 a haly cup
Studded wi pearls, a treisur, lang concealed,
Thon day 0 days, it shone... a gem, revealed.

Like this, oor kintra. Ancient, is the line
Far fiery Celt & Viking intertwine
Hid bi the shadda 0 a neebor-Ian
Times turn. In risin sunlicht, noo, we staun.


9.AHIN THE KNOCK
From a fragment of a Glen Gairn Gaelic song.

Ahin the Knock, afore the knock,
Ahin the Knock foraye
Trauchelt am I, the king's mile,
Ahin the Knock foraye
Trauchelt am I my leesome lane
Scythin the bracken ay.

The peesie cries abeen the muir
Her warld's the clouds sae high
Ower glen, ower Ben, she wings an sings
Her pibroch tae the sky
While here I bide my leesome lane,
Scythin the bracken ay.

The rowan's chikks are reid's the rose
Sae ripe, sae fair tae see
Bit bitter is yon berry's taste
Preed frae the rodden tree,
As bitter as my true luv pruved
Fa lang deceived me.

The aidder in her glimmrin coils
Her forkit tongue's sae slee
There's pyson in her sleekit faulds
Her kiss is perfidy
A stang as sair's the stoun 0 skaith
Ma fause luv gied tae me.


10. THE STOOKIT SHAIF

A shuggle 0 fairy bunnets
The corn sweyed on the stem
Ahin the binder, the hairsters
Booed, stookin it, but an ben.

The sun abeen wis a lochan 0 licht
An the cloods war knowes o 00;
The peesie-wheep wis a skirp 0 flicht
In a lift 0 poother blue.

The deistin fairm-cairt hamewird hurled
The baillie's jynts mischievin;
The slidderin peat rikk lazy furled
A question merk tae Heiven.

Reid sky at nicht wis the fairm's delicht
Braid backs wad boo the morn
Twis stook an bigg on the cuttit rigg
Sma wigwams thigged wi corn.

The jeel 0 gloamin cweeled the broo
A hi'nmaist glisk 0 the park;
Syne I'd hash hame tae the wytin flame
An oorie thing the dark.

It's lang sin I trampit the growthie grun
o ma gandsire's weel-plooed braes
Bit the sicht 0 a sea 0 the corn a-swee
Can chairm me, an bumbaze,
As it did fin I watched the gaithered hairst
Wi a bairnie's winnerin een
Yet my fowk war slaves tae yon fusperin shaives
That the thin wins wyved atween.


11.THE CAT AND I ARE BONDING

The cat and I are bonding. Keep all the world out!
With palm on fur, with strokes of silk,
We sit contented, mild as milk.

He thrums a purr, I heave a sigh
We are well-met, my pet and I.
The cat and I are bonding; keep all the world out.

The cat and I are bonding. I must not break the spell
Drop clumsy book, in dusty nook he'd flit, before it fell.
Those eyes, slit-shut in ecstasy, would widen like a yawn;
My whiskered muff, as light as fluff, would slither and be gone.

The cat and I are bonding: a sloth, with a gazelle.
I sit, inert's an ironed shirt, a rooted pimpernel;
The cat and I are bonding, like lobster with its shell.

The cat and I are bonding. The sky may tumble down
And parliaments may perish, and walruses may drown.
Piglets may ski, and cows grow wings;
Mice may recline on zither strings.
Pheasants may skip to John 0' Groats
With heather posies round their throats.
TVs may jig around the room;
Jellies may curtsey in Dunoon.
Salmon may sing, and adders yell
And badgers play at bagatelle.
The cat and I are bonding. I must not break the spell.


12. YULE [FRAE AN INGLIS TRANSLATlON 0' 9TH CENTURY IRISH, BI DAVID GREENE & FRANK O'CONNOR]

I hae news fur ye;
The lanely stag makks mane.
Yule, doondraps snawflakes,
Merry Simmer's gane.
The win is heich an caul.
The sun lies laigh,
Brief, brief, its course.
The tide rins swallt an grey.
The bracken's reid.
It's deistit,
Hapt bi snaws that lie.
The wild geese hae heistit,
Their itherwardly cry.
Cauld his catched an quivered
The gangrel wings 0 birds.
Noo is the time 0 Ice
Takk tent 0 these my wirds.


13. THE BEE

The yalla bee maun hash frae howe tae howe,
He traivels lang an far, aneth the sun.
Sae blythe, he flees ootower the muckle muir
Tae reest wi'in the hive, his roadies run.


14.THE BLACKIE'S SANG

The birdie wheepies merry frae the willow,
Bonnie, his wee neb,0 caller cry,
Yon bill that's sweet an yalla. Sturdy loon,
Playin his furly tune, thon blackie wye!
15. DAITH O A PRINCESS Screived on September 6th,1997, on the occasion 0 the kistin 0 Diana, Princess 0 Wales.

A coffin stopped a nation's pulse
In Lunnon toun, in Lunnon toun,
Thon nerra hame wi aa maun share
Baith laird an loon, baith laird an loon.

Westminster hoosed a greater Prince
That hummles aa, that hummles aa
The Prince 0 Daith, fa kens alane
Fin flooers maun faa, fin flooers maun faa.

Thon Tawny Angel's dusky wings
His shedda casts in ilkie hairt
Fin, frae their faimly, friens an foes,
Princess or common fowk maun pairt.

A rose draps doon, its beauty daen,
In Winter's thraa, in Winter's thraa, •
Full-blawn, its passin's lichter murned
Fin tapped wi snaa, fin tapped wi snaa.

Sair neuk, the nest that hauds a b'rood
o fledglins smaa,0 fledglins smaa,
Fin frae its mids the parent bird
Is wyled awa, is wyled awa.

A coffin stopped a nation's pulse,
In Lunnon toun, in Lunnon toun,
A nation, an the warld, watched
Twa halflins lay their mither doon.


16.WINGS OF DEATH …RABINDRANATH TAGORE
[translatit frae the Bengali bi Aurobindo Bose, here owersett inno Scots.]

Ane bi ane, the lichts on the stage are snibbed;
Teem is the haa.

At the caa 0 Silence,
Profund peace faas ower aa
Like dreamless sleep.
The actor's mask I wore draps
Meaningless, fine'er the curtain flaps,
Sae deep the quate. Sae deep.

Afore the thrang, I clad masel in mony fey rigoots
In mony colours.
Aa yon's washed awa.
In blate bumbazement,
I teet inno the foun 0 ma ain natur,
Somelike, wi stammygaster, in hushed awe,
The lift keeks at the starnies
Fin the sunlicht dees an
Kent lanscapes vanish frae Eird's birlin baa.


17.BACK-EYN 0 THE YEAR (Owersett frae a poem bi HE QIFANG

Shakkin doon the dyew 0 early mornin,
A chinkin, clunkin soun wachts frae the muckle heuch.

The scythe, ower-reamin wi the yoam
0 rice
Is pitten doon.

Showdered creels haud sonsie melons
An fruits frae the busses.

Autumn's reistin in a fairmer's hoose.
A roon net's haived ower the river
0 cauld mist,
Colleckin shaddas 0 derk cypress leaves,
Like blae, hoar frost on the taps 0 reeds,

Fyle hamewird oars drap an pu.
Autumn's playin in the fisher's boatie.
The girssy park seems braider fin gollachs chirrup.
The burn seems clearer, fin it dwines awa.
Far did the bamboo tooteroo on the kye's back gyang,
Its holes reamin wi Simmer's guff an warmth?
Autumn is dwaumin, in the herd quine's een.


18. THE LAW 0 ASYLUM …A Scots owersett o the poem bi WITOLD WIRPZA (1918-1985)

Asilon: a bield. A hidie-hole.
Bit far tae lay yer herried heid?
Neither the Greeks nur Romans made eese 0
This alliterated 'h'... tho they, tee, whyles
Hid herried heids an kent
The law 0 asylum.
Asyle des allienes.
Herried, hapless, hameless heids
Are the knub o't.

Heids.
Bit fit 0 the lave 0 the corp?
Far's the asylum fur latchie lungs,
Stappit stammacks, hurtit hairts,
Laith livers, skyty spleens?
Are there speecial bields fur speecial puddens?

Fit registers dae sic-like puddens hae?
Vox humana?
Fa pu's the registers frae their staas & shelves?
Fa draws up the lists? Fa redds up the files
Upon this registry 0 puddens?
This organized orgy, this normalized enormity?
There are files, an there are registers
Mebbe, there's asylum: Bit the law (0 asylum an non-asylum)
Is jist fur heids.
Fur haimmerin heids.
Heid agin heid
Heid-on.
Heid-ower-heels.
Chap, an the heid shall be opened.
Hard-hittin alliterative 'H'
A law kent tae the auncients
Wi'oot alliteration.
Asilon tout court.


Owersettins inno Scots 0 poems frae modern Chinese poetry,

19, GAMBLIN CHIELS (AI QING 1910¬)

At the cweel foun 0 the toun waa,
In thon derk neuk bi the hooses,
Gamblers hunker doon mids 0 the steer,
Wytin the ootcam 0 a throw
Like buckies hotterin on the bile.

Orra, raggety, gypit an wrocht up,
Their bodies trimmle,
Their heids shoogle,
Banns an cheers
Mell wi the clunk 0 siller.

Weemin an hudderie-heidit bairnickies
Glower at them.
A hungeret Iittlin squallochs an girns...
Bit the mither's reeted tae her man's ploy.

They dowp doon, they strauchen up.
They skelp their hurdies, skreich in stammygaster.
Their chooks grow reid,
Their moos drap, gapin,
They ettle tae cheenge their weird
At ae shottie 0 the dice.

They loss, they win, they loss again.
Puirtith, soss, glaikitness:
THEY niver cheenge
At nichtfaa, the gamblers skail awa, doonhairtit,
Gyaun hame tae their dreich biggins
Ane
Bi Ane


20. SOUN 0 THE NICHT (XU YUNUO 1893-1958)

In the derk, lanely nicht,
Naethin is seen.
There's jist a reeshlin
The soun 0 Time, ettin Life.


21.WYTIN IN LINE (MIECZYSLAW JASTRUN 1903•1983)
Owersettins 0 poems bi Modern Polish poets.

Newlyweds wi fite flooers
Skailed frae the kirk an catched a cab,
Their lugs still reamin wi the organ's benediction.

Ootbye, there's a stramash. The guff 0 exhaust-rikk,
Weemin wi sheepskin buits rugged tae their knees,
Stappin lowse hair aneth their knottit scarves,
Braid i the beam, wrunkled, nae wi age
Wi connached lives. Hoosewives,
Eesed tae girnin in queues, scraunin fur the maet,
Derk kitchies an derk tables wyte fur.

Gin they dinna bring hame maet, their man gyangs gyte,
He's tholed fur oors the factory din,
The blatter 0 conveyor belt, the teemness
Etter the nicht shift, fin the day begins,
An sleep sypes throw the shaded winnocks inno bed.

The morn's the day. The wye twixt days is nerra.
They've learned foo tae girn, in vyces sherp as razors,
Tae warssle inno queues. Tae borra bairns tae win them extra helpins.
Fertile, leastwyes, their hurdies mind the births
o loons grown skinny-malinkie-heich, fa snichter at the queues,
Even at the mithers 0 life.

They'll wyte in this coorse boorich, till the doorwyes sweenge ajee
Wide as a winnock on a sunny day.


22. Owersett in Scots o ‘Funeral’ by Wislawa Szymborska 1923

'Sic a begeck. Say? Fa cud see it comin? '
'Stress an fags. I wis foriver tellin him.'.
'Nae bad, ma frien. Fit like are ye yersel? '
'Yon flooers sud be unrowed.'
'His brither tuik a hairt attack anna. It's in the faimly.'
'I'd nae hae recognised ye in yon beard.'
'Twis on the cairds. Ay, he wis in a snorrel.'
'Yon new chiel's gaun tae gie the fowk a speech. Far his he gaen? ' 'Kazek's in Warsaw. Tadek's ower the watter.'
'Ye war smert. Ye've brocht the lane umbrella.'
'Fit's it maitter noo, gin he hid talent? '
'Na. It's an orra chaumer. Barbara winna takk it.'
'Ay, he wis richt. Bit yon is nae excuse.'
'Wi bodywirk an peint, fit price wad ye jaloose? '
'Twa egg yolks an a tablespeen 0 sugar.'
'Nane 0 his business. Fit wis in't fur him? '
'Anely the blue, an jist in smaaer sizes.'
'Five times I speired... wi niver ae repon.'
'Aa richt... I cud hae daen. Bit sae cud ye.'
'Guid thing, say I, his widda's ay in wark.'
'I dinna ken ava. The kinsmen, mebbe.'
'Yon meenister's the marra 0 Belmondo.'
'I've niver bin in this pairt 0 the kirkyaird.'
'I dreamt 0 him last wikk. I hid an inklin.'
'His dochter yonner's a guid-luikin quine.'
'Frae yird we cam, tae yird we aa return.'
'Excuse me tae the widda. I maun rin.'
'Yon Latin garrs it soun sae gran, sae solemn-like.'
'He's gaen. Naething ava will bring him back.'
'Ta-ta.'
'Ta-ta. I've got a byous drooth.'
'Ye ken ma nummer.'
'Fit bus gaes tae toun? '
'I'm gaun this wye.'
'Fareweel syne, because, ye see, we arna.'


23. THE BLATE LUVER CATULLUS: A CLANDESTINE AFFAIR

Flavius, yer new dearie maun be teem
o wit an chairm, or ye wad reeze her oot.
Is she some peely-wally, dough-faced deem?
Sae blate! Ye canna even tell yer frien
Catullus, o the hizzie. Yet yer flute
Plays many's the cheery tune on her hoch been.

The bed is touzled, buckled in the beam.
Yer nichts ream ower wi pleisur; there's nae doot
Ye're like a Cheshire cat fa's supped the cream.
The bowster's thumpit. Scentit, ilkie seam.
The bed posts shakk an crakk. They binna mute.
They tell me houghmagandie's nae some dream.

It's real eneuch. Fell worn oot ye seem!
Thon midnicht plisky's wrung ye like a cloot.
Confess! I'll screive an ode: she'll be its theme,
Nae maitter be she nymph, or some auld troot.


24. THE LAIK-WAKE VIGIL CATULLUS: POEM Cl

Ower many seas an kintras I hae come,
Brither, this laik-wake vigil tae owersee;
The hinmaist dues a Sarra tae confer,
The eirdly rites that steek the weird ye dree.

An sae, tae yer quate stoor I spikk these wirds
(Though wirds are wastery. Listenin lug wis stopt
Bi Daith, the sleekit reiver a Man's soul)
Ye're bit a Threid, frae Life's rich fabric cropt.

Ayont aa gift or gettin, still I gie
Full honours, brither, tae yer dowie lair
Weety wi tears, that rain upon the mools
o waefu tryst. Fareweel foriver mair!


25. THE SERPENT'S SANG

Gin I war ivy, I wid twine
Yon lang, lean limbs, unyieldin's stane,
Sear laggard thocht; a kinnelt vine,
Wi leaves 0 langin fill his een.

He'd learn tae loue me quick eneuch,
Gin he war bane, an I wis bluid
A flytin tide, I'd draw awa,
Leavin him pale, as I am reid.

I am the serpent in the stoor;
Though lower than the dust I lie,
I haud the knowledge 0 delicht,
o far daur pass me by?
A thoosand-fauld they crush my heid,
I hissin rise, an multiply.

POEMS OWERSETT IN SCOTS FROM THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF CHINESE POETRY

26. THE CHASTE WIFE'S REPON ZHANG JI (768? -830?)

Tae me, a wadded wife, as is weel kent,
A gift 0 rarest pearls ye hae sent.
Pleisured bi sic a merk 0 chivalrie,
I preened them on ma dress 0 crammosie.

Ma hoose is heich, wi bonnie gairdens girt,
Ma guidman is a sodjer at the coort.
Constant, yer luv may bide till hinmaist braith
Ma merriege vows, guidsir, staun firm till daith.
Sae I return yer giftie, rare, an fine
Bit 0, that I hid kent ye fin a quine!

27. ON BARDERIE ZHAO YI (1727-1814)

Sangs bi Li Bai,
Du Fu, aince aa the rage,
Noo dinna suit ava wir modern age.
A Genius frae ilk generation briers
He's honoured, fur aboot a hunner years.


28. KEEKIN AT FUSHES BAI JUYI (772-846)

As roon aboot the puil I gaed, watchin the fushes glide,
Plyin the auncient fushin trade my littlins I spied.
The luv 0 fush did tryst them oot jist as the fancy tuik them:
Bit I cam oot tae feed ma fush -the bairns cam oot tae hook them!


29.THE GEESE GYANG HAME QIAN Q1 (722? -780?)

I winnert gin they'd sikk tae shift, tae steer
Tae the wud Norlan frae this bonnie muir,
Far watters gleam an glent like palest jade,
Bi siller sans, an cweelin, foggy shade.
An syne, a zither's music cairriet clear
Alang the meenlicht, loud, that aa micht hear;
A waesome music, wingin ben the nicht,
As thon hame-haudin geese, raise up in flicht.


30.. RICHT ROYAL DRAM

We brew a dram at Lochnagar
As strang's the Cluny steen
It's pouerfu as the Linn 0 Muick,
As heidy as Mount Keen.

This usquebagh's abeen them aa:
Ye hear at howf an ingle
The yoam 0 yon byordnar dram,
Wad thaw the drifts ower Shenbhal.

It pits the skreich in Coilacreich
At Inver, bears the gree;
In Pannanich, each heid's held heich
Fired bi yon potent bree.

The still, wi skill an virr we fill
Wi Heilan watters, peaty;
The burnies' dyew,0 amber hue
Is swalled wi shooers, weety.

It slokes the drooth 0 age; 0 youth,
Frae Linn 0 Dee tae Lui;
Frae Cairn Toul tae ghaistly ghoul ¬
Gray Man 0 Ben MacDhui.

A cairngorm in the glaiss
It skinkles like a jewel,
It kittles up the dancers' feet
Frae Lammas throw tae Yule.

Fur Winter's sairs, an cauldrife cares
A tooshtie 0 this lotion
That's Lochnagar -tis better far
Than pheesick's soor-moothed potion.

Distilled ahin Balmoral's haa,
As prood's a chieftain's crest
Here's tae this Royal dram 0 Dee
Weel-Ioued, an honoured guest.

The bairns a Mar, in howff an bar are sweet in tongue an thrapple
A kelpie's nectar's catched an kept, in ilkie precious bottle!


31. ULYSSES

Neist time that yer menfowk are late winnin hame,
Spen a thocht fur Penelope sittin her lane
Fur twinty lang years in byordnar ill-teem,
Rehearsin ae question 'Jist far hae ye been? '

He hummed an he heyed, vowed it gied him nae joy,
Ten years tae be fechtin ower Helen 0 Troy
Fur, man! she wis bonnie an, fegs! She wis braw,
Bit yon wisna the reason he'd bidden awa
A war's like the measles, it's terrible smittin:
The wives hae the best o't at hame wi the knittin!

'I'm listenin', quo she
He'd cornered a Cyclops an poked oot its ee
Syne dauchled wi Circe, her strang witcherie
He cudna refuse; she'd hae made him a grumph,
Fur she'd cookit the bacon 0 mony a sumph!

He'd jinkit the Sirens, escapin their tunes,
Wi Tiresias helpin tae redd up the runes
(fa files is a lassie an files is a loon
A transvestite tricked oot in a unisex goon) .

Penelope glowered wi a doon-turnin lip,
Fin he telt foo Apollo hid scuppered his ship.
Tae the isle 0 Calypso he'd swum, on a plank
An, drooked tae the been, splytered up on the bank
Fin (widn't ye ken it?) new ooto the tide
Anither quine spied him an forced him tae bide!

Nae his wyte ava, twis a whimsy 0 Fate,
An the wyles 0 the Gods, that hid made him sae late!

Syne, his ill-rowin boatie cowpt ower in the drink,
An a nympho caad Nausicaa tipped him the wink.
Bit his shanks were rheumaticky; weary an lame
He myn't on Penelope, wytin at hame...
A wife in the haun is wirth twa in the bush
Better carin an couthie nor fey an fantoosh!

An noo he wis hame, wid she nae dasht-weel deave him!
He'd telt her his story, she widna believe him!


32. ALANENESS...BIAN ZHILIN (1910-)

Feart 0 alaneness,
A kintra laddie keepit a girse-lowper
Bi his bowster.
Fin' he grew up an vrocht in the toun,
He bocht a watch wi a lichtit dial.
Fin he wis wee, he envied the girse on the mools
A hame fur girse-Iowpers.
He's three oors deid. His watch is tickin yet.


33.A FLIGHT OF SWANS Twa fragments frae poems bi Rabindranath Tagore

Fin dyewdraps jibble frae the mornin lift,
Fin trees alang the burn bricht sunbeams sain,
Sae close inbye ma hairt their shaddas fa,
I ken fu weel the Warld an I are ane.

The Universe, a muckle lotus, floats
Upon the haly lochan 0 ma mind.
The Universe, a muckle lotus, floats
An aathin in its sphere is intertwined.

I ken I am the vyce inbye the Vyce
I ken I am the sang inbye the Sang
I ken I am the life inbye the Life
The licht that throw the mids 0 Derk micht gyang.

Atap this bruckle raft,
Life's choppy river currents I will cross,
Fin gloamin faas, I'll anchor... disembark,
Lettin it drift awa, like eeseless dross,
An forrit gyang, tae glisk the Future's sichts
Sic Shaddas loom! Sic Shaddas, an sic Lichts!


34. THE MAID 0 BENNACHIE

The sun wis heich ower Bennachie
The corn sweyed back an fore;
A swarthy chiel as blaik's the deil
Chappt at the kitchie door.

The maiden 0 Drumdurno raise
An up the snib did yark:
'Oh fa be yon cams ower the Don
Tae wyle me frae ma wark? '

'Oh I am bit a gangrel lad,
That braves the win an rain,
Cam here tae wager, bonnie quine,
Yer skills agin ma ain.'
'Afore the gloamin cweels tae nicht
I makk this bargain free
Gin I pruve swifter nur yersel
My wife ye'll pledge tae be.'

'Gin I can lay a steeny road
Richt tae the Mither Tap
Afore a firlot ye hae baked o bannock, scone an bap.'

The lassie leuch at sic a styte:
‘Yer wager's lost, ' quo she.
' As seen the Dee cud wad the Don
Yer wife I'll niver be.'

As licht as oo her fingers flew
The pooth'ry flooer amang
Bit ower the hill wi richt guid will
The muckle steens he flang.

She teeted tae Pittodrie Wid
At settin 0 the sun
The road wis feenished, tap tae foun,
The wager he hid won.

She left the hoose, she left the fairm,
Faist ower the parks she ran
For he fad daen yon michty darg
Wis niver mortal man.

The Deil wis fain his bride tae claim
He rode upon the win;
At Rabbit's Neuk, he raxxed his cleuk
An catched her frae ahin.

The lassie cried fur clemency
On the Guid Lord abeen
He turned her frae the Deevil's prey
Tae slab 0 granite steen.

Her showder brakk like stick 0 chakk
Ill-fated be the fair
The maiden 0 Drumdurno stauns
Cauld steen forivermair.

An at her breist, her keekin glaiss
An in her haun, her caimb
Are blazoned on the livin steen;
She disna bide her lane

Fur birdies smaa aroon her caw
She's cweeled bi shooeries sweet
The flooeries 0 her faither's lans
Wyve saftly at her feet.


35. HAMEDRAUCHTIT CATULLUS: POEM XXXl
Sirmio was a small rocky tongue of land on the south shore of Lake Garda, where Catullus owned a villa.

Sirmio, pearl 0 peninsulas an isles,
Heistit bi Neptune, God 0 seas an linns,
Sae swete, sae pleisunt is the sicht 0 ye,
Leavin the plains 0 Turkey far ahin.

Tae set life's trauchles doon, a wechty pack,
The foonert fit tae set on its hearth-stane,
Aa fremmit paths an perils at yer back,
On yer ain bed ootraxxed, aa traivels daen.

Aa tcyauve an warsslin throwe, I greet my hame,
Ma bonnie Sirmio, my best-lued airt!
Yer lochan's waves lauch licht, wi lythesome tongues,
Lowpin wi aa the joy that's in its hairt.