Ovid Love Poems (Scots Poems) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Ovid Love Poems, Vietnamese Tales (Pamphlet no 204)

The Troot
Fin the troot lowpit
Sunsheen bleezed on the watter
The burn chittered
The puil grew rings frae tap tae boddom

A fish shaped like a torpedo
Aboot echt pun in wecht,
Thirty inches lang…a bobbydazzler
A feast fur the een

It wis skirpit wi blaik spots on its blae green back
It's wyme wis siller, its sides hid a pink strip
It hung in the air like a weet comma

I sat on the mossy steens o Glen Gairn
The day transmogrifeed bi thon troot
Atween elements, catched in the simmer air

Syne it re-entered the waves,
The burn closed ower it
Its secret watery lair

Amber currents rippled aroon
A cloud o midgies swarmed aneth the birks
The Gairn ran fat wi its treisur trove o fish



Poem tae the Fencin Mannie that didnae turn up
We wyted an wyted, nae mannie turned up
We wyted throw April, fin birds bigg their nests
An daffs blooms sae bonnie, an wee lammies lowp
An coortin cock robins pluff oot their reid vests

We wyted an wyted, nae mannie turned up
Twis Mey, fin the gowk bird cu-coos ower the lea
Coo parsley an bluebells wir bricht in the wids
Bit naebody cam oor fence posties tae de

We wyted an wyted, nae mannie turned up
Till Ruari appeared, twis a fair stammygaster
A hunner an mair posts he drave in the grun
His haimmer swung doon, in the neive o this master

Bit noo cam the darg, duntin thoosans o staples
Feedin wire ben the posts, a darg fit fur a deil
As I thocht on the mannie that didnae up
Ma blisters hid blisters, aa startin tae beil

Dae ye ken a mannie that disnae turn up?
The scunner o watchin the wag at the waa
Far better he tell ye that richt frae the start
He his nae intention o comin ava


Twins
Willie wis glaikit, a feartie, an ablich
A numpty, a richt peely wallie wee cheil
He wis ay in a fankle, he hubbered, he havered
He wis blate, bandy-leggit, jug-luggit as weel

Duncan wis sleekit, a richt evil-willie
He caused collieshangies fariver he gaed
He wis gallus, a scunner, a drooth an a vratch
He wis maist contermaschious..sic pliskies he played!

They ained a coorse Scotty, twis flechy an teethless
It gurred an it bowfed, it wis mingin, a cyard
Fin it focht ither tykes, weel it shawed them nae mercy
It deserved tae be muzzled, or feathered an tarred


On Nae Gaun up the Mekong Delta
The wee brochure wis unca temptin
Chuse the Mekong Delta Cruise Full Day tour

It promised wyndin watterwyes
Floatin flooer markets
Vietnamese clachans
Fruit orchards,
Lunch o fruit an hinney tea

It promised a pagoda veesit,
A local musical performance,
A haun-rowed sampan ride ben palm-fringed watter
Air-conditioned hotel transfers

Bit hauf wye doon the lift
In the Saigon hotel,
Ma anxiety levels gaed throwe the reef

An Asian kintra's nae the place
Fur a panic attack or sic like
Medical scunnerations.
They're thocht tae be Western diseases

Acupunture an a bourich o herbs
Micht be gotten, gin ye spikk the leid

I pressed the up button
Gaed intae ma wee chaumer
Lay doon on the bed, gritted ma teeth
An tholed the weel kent symptoms
Watchin the reef-fan furlin roon an roon
Aa day, till nicht brocht sleep
Syne dreamt o aa the things I hidnae seen


The Fungle
Hae ye cam ower the Fungle
They caa the Cattrin's's road?
Aince mony a fusky smuggler
Has taen it, wi his load

Frae Birse richt doon tae Angus
They gaed bi hoof or fit
Ower the Black moss the caterans
Had fusky kegs tae shift

In recent times, there's smugglin
Nae drink…a human mule
Cairriet illicit spurtles
Gart Embro towrists drool

There's something in the watter
Or mebbe in the air
That's in the Birse fowk DNA,
For rules, they dinna care!


Hairst
Late August, roon the bonnie braes o Birse
Gweed crops are grown o gowden aets an barley
Lans wattered bi the Dee, Auld-dinnie Burn
The Burn of Birse, the trinklin Burn o Cattie

Afore the parks o corn are cuttit doon
Ye'll mebbe hear the pipin o the peesie
Reidshank or lang nebbed whaup, up in the lift
Fan simmer's wins blaw hinney-sweet an easy

As bees colleck the nectar fur the hive
The muckle combine hairsts the burnished seeds
As up an doon the rigs it dis its wark
Sae on the lan the gutsy machine feeds

An noo the hairst is dane, roon bales lie still
Like geometric shapes, corn's magic gaen
Ma hairt beats back tae bairnhood times o stooks
That reeshled like warm shooers o fairy rain

Poems frae Ovid's Amores Owersett in Doric

Book 1 Elegy V

Corinna in an Efterneen
It wis hett, an the noon oor had gaen by:
I wis streekit oot, limbs spreid in the mids o the bed.
Ae hauf o the windae wis ajee, the tither steekit:
The licht wis jist as it aften is in the wids,
It glimmered like Phoebus deein at gloamin,
Or fin nicht gaes, bit day hasnae risen yet.
Sic a licht as is gaen tae blate quines,
Fas fearie shyness hopes fur a bield.
Takk tent! Corinna cams, happit bi her loose goun,
Ootspreid hair happin her fite thrapple
Like the famous Semiramis gaun tae her bed, ane micht say,
Or Lais lued bi mony chiels. I rugged her goun awa
Nae hermin its thinness muckle;
Yet she still warssled tae be happit bi thon goun.
Fin she wid warssle sae, it wis as if she couldnae win,
Yieldin, she wis easy owercam.
Fin she stude afore ma een, the claes set aside,
There wis niver a faut in aa her corp.
Fit shouders, fit airms, I saw an touched!
Breists vrocht as if they wir bigged fur pressin!
Foo flat the wyme aneth the slender waist!
Fit hurdies, fit form! Fit young hochs! Foo recaa ilkie pikk?
I saw naethin wintin praise an I bosied her nyaakit corp teetle mine.
Fa doesnae ken the story? Ferfochan we baith rested.
May sic efterneens cam aften fur us!


Book 1 Elegy 1X Luve is War
Ilkie luver is in arms, an Cupid hauds the fort:
Atticus, takk tent, ilkie lover is in airms.
The age that's gweed fur war, is likewise richt fur luve.
An auld sodjer is an affront, and an auld luver.
Thon speerit a heid bummer luiks fur in a brave airmy,
A bonnie quine luiks fur in a luve pairtner.
Baith keep watch: baith sleep on the grun,
Ane serves at his lady's entrance, the ither at his general's.
A lang road is a sodjer's darg, bit sen the quine aff,
An a restless luver will follae her tae the eyn.
He'll gae agin bens an boo intae gurly rivers,
He'll push his wey ben swalled snaadrifts,
He'll nae rely on excuses, like roosed Northerlies,
Or wytin fur the richt starnies tae takk tae the waves.
Fa bit a sodjer or luver could thole cauld nichts
Or thick snaa melled wi rain?
Ane's sent oot tae spy on attackin forces:
The ither keeps ee on his rival, his fae.
This ane lays siege tae strang touns,
The ither ane, his fause friend's entrance:
Ane brakks doon yetts, the ither, doors.
Aften it helps tae fecht a sleepin fae,
An strikk the unarmed heeze wi airmed haun.
Thon's foo Rhesus an his wud Thracians wir killt
An tint the leader's reived meers.
Luvers, it's kent, will makk eese o a husband's sleep
An employ their airms fin the fae sleeps.


Book 1 ElegyX1

His Note tae Her
Skeely at gaitherin hudderie hair an reddin it up
Nape's nae jist an ordinar leddy's maid,
She's kent tae be eesefu in the secret service o nicht:
Gleg at cairryin messages atween us:
Aften priggin wi a cannie Corinna tae cam:
Aften faithfu fechtin tae fin things oot fur me!
Here takk these wax tablets bi haun tae ma leddy
An be siccar tae jink mishanters an dauchlin!
There's nae steeny vein or harsh metal in yer breist,
Aulder than the lave, there's nae gypitness in ye.
It's easy tae believe that ye've felt Cupid's arras
An see the marra o yer battles in me!
Gin she speirs foo I am, say I live in hope at nicht:
Ye'll cairry the lave in yer haun, flatterin waxen wirds.
Fin I spikk, time flees. Gie her them fin she's free,
Makk siccar tho that she reads them straicht awa.
Watch her een an broo as she chaws them ower:
An ken that a seelent face micht shaw the future.
Fin she's read it I need a lang repon, an nae dauchlin:
I hate it fin the clear wax is maistly teem.
Lat her squeeze the lines in raws,
An haud ma een wi letters that dunt the edges o the margins.
Foo should she trauchle her fingers haudin a pen?
Ae wird can takk up the hale tablet:
Cam! I winna wyte tae wreathe the victorious tablets wi laurel
An set them up in the mids o Venus's temple.
I'll write: Naso dedicates these leal servants tae Venus,
These tablets that till noo wir wirthless maple-wid


Book 1 Elegy X1V Her Hair
I telt her: ‘Stop dyein yer hair! Noo ye've nae hair left tae colour.
Since it wis sae bonnie, foo nae hae lat it be?
It raxxed richt doon, an touched yer sides.
Fit wye? - If it wis sae fine, an ye wir feart tae dress it.
It wis like a coloured veil o Chinee silk,
Or the slender threid wuvven bi a wyver,
Fin she pues her fine wirk tae some teem rafter.
It wisnae blaik: it wisnae gowden,
Hoosaeiver, nae aathegither, a colour melled frae baith
Like a heich cedar, strippit o its bark,
In a dyewy glen o the howes o Ida.
Mair it wis docile, an fit fur a hunner styles,
An wis niver a cause o wae tae ye.
Nae preen or teeth o a caimb iver brukk it.
The maidie daein yer hair keepit her skin hale:
Aften afore ma een. Na, niver a preen rived yer maidie's airm wi a hurt.
Aften, wi yer hair still uncaimbed ye lay raxxin on a bed o poorpie.
Bit even negleckit like thon it wis braw,
Like a trauchelt Thracian Maenad, lyin heedless on the emerant girse.
Still, the hairs wir fine, like fleece, ochone, fit skaiths they hid tae thole!
Foo they offered thirsels patiently tae the steel an flame,
As their waves wir twisted an tied in ringlets!
I cried: ‘Thon's coorse, coorse tae scorch yer hair!
It's dandy as it is: ca cannie with the steel! Takk the pressure awa!
Naebody should burn it: yer hair itsel shaws ithers foo tae preen theirs.
Fear fur the bonnie hair that Apollo or Bacchus wid wish
tae hae on their heids! I micht hae gaithered it,
like nyaakit Venus, peinted, she haudin it in her drookit haun.
Fit wey search yer gleg hair fur fit's vilely tint?
Daft quine foo haud the keekin glaiss waesome in yer haun?
It's nae eese ettlin tae glower at yersel:
Ye need tae forget aboot yersel tae please.
Nae mistress o eildritch herbs his skaithed ye
Nae Thessalian witch sypit ye in treacherous watter:
Nae illness's pouer his touched ye! Perish the thocht!
Nae coorse tongue his thinned yer thick hair.
Yer haun did it an yer pyin fur yer crime:
Noo ye'll sen fur the hair o German prisoners:
Ye'll be safe, wi the giftie o conquered fowk.
O foo aften ye'll reidden fin somebody reezes oot yer hair,
An say: Noo I'm coontin the cost o buyin it,
I dinna ken if they praise the Sygambri insteid o me.
It's fame will be mynd wi mine.
Ochone! She scarce steeks her greetin an wi her haun
Haps her delicate chikks peintit wi reid.
She hauds her former hair in her lap, an glowers at it
Ochone, a tribute nae fit fur thon airt!
Calm yersel, daein yer face!
The herm his a remeid. Sune yer natural hair'll be seen again

Book 11 Elegy V11 Her Jealousy
Corinna lies thonner foonert in danger o her life,
Efter daftly killin the wecht o an unborn bairn.
I should be angeret: she tuik thon great risk an hid it frae me:
Bit anger is connached bi fleg. Aa the same it's me that bairned her
Or I think sae: I aften takk ferlies fur facks that anely micht be.
Isis, o Paraetonium, an the blythe parks o Canopus,
Ye fa proteck Memphis, an growthy Pharos,
An the lan far the faist Nile spreids in its braid delta,
Its watters rinnin throw sivven mous tae the sea,
Bi yer sistrum I pray, bi the sacred heid o Anubis
Sae may Osiris luve yer haly rites foraye,
And the slaw serpent slidder aboot yer altar,
An the horned Apis follae yer procession!
Turn yer face tae us, an spare baith in ane!
Syne ye will grant life tae her, an she tae me.
Aften she's taen the tribble tae be at yer speecial days,
Fin Gallic laurel croons yer worshippers.
An ye, Ilythia, fa peeties quines warsslin in jizzen bed,
Fas happit bairns raxx their reluctant corp,
Be cannie wi her an hear ma prayers!
It's richt fur ye tae sikk gifties fur yersel
I masel, in fite, will burn incense on yer rikkin altars,
I masel will lay at yer feet the gifties I pledged.
I'll add a screivin: Naso, fur savin Corinna
Makk thon time sune fur the screivin an the gifties.
Gin it's still possible tae warn ye, quine, in sic a state o fleg,
Lat it be eneuch fur ye tae hae focht this ae battle


Book 11 Elegy X1V The Abortion
Far is the pleisur in a quine bein free frae fechtin wars,
Nae willin tae follae the army an their shields,
Gin wioot battle she tholes hurts frae her ain weapons,
An airms unsure hauns tae her ain doom?
Faiver first taught the killin o a douce foetus,
Should dee bi her ain warlike weys
Nae doot ye'd chaunce yer airm in thon dowie arena
Jist tae keep yer wyme free o wrunkles wi yer crime?
Gin the same practice hid pleased mithers langsyne,
Humanity wid hae bin connached bi thon violation.
An we'd need a Makker again fur aa o oor fowk
Tae haive the stanes they vrocht ontae the teem eirde
Fa wid hae brukken the wealth o Priam,
Gin Thetis, the sea goddess, hid refused tae cairry her richtfu wecht
Gin Ilia hid murdered the twins in her swalled wyme
The founder o ma mistress's toun wid hae bin tint.
If Venus hid skaithed her wyme, cairryin Aeneas,
The Eirde wid hae bin bereft o future Caesars.
Ye as weel, wi yer bonnieness still tae be, wid hae deed,
Gin yer mither hid ettled tae dae fit ye hae dane
I masel wid bin better tae dee makkin luve
Than hae bin denied the licht o day bi ma mither.
Foo reive the loaded vine o swallin grapes,
Or pu the unripe aipple wi coorse haun?
Lat ferlies mature thirsels wioot bein forced:
Life is a prize that's wirth a bittie wytin.
Foo bare yer wyme tae sherp prods
Or gie deadly pyson tae fit's nae yet born?
Medea's blamed fur skailin the bleed o her bairns,
An Itys, killed bi his mither, is murned wi tears:
Baith coorse parents, yet baith hid bitter rizzon tae draw bleed,
Revenge on a husband. Say, fit Tereus, fit Jason
Fires ye tae teir yer tribbled corp wi yer haun?
Nae tiger in its Armenian den wid dae it,
Nae lioness wid daur dae it. Bit douce quines dae it, tho nae un-punished:
Aften she fa kills her bairn dees hersel.
She dees, an is cairried tae the lowe wi lowse hair,
An faiver luiks on cries oot: She deserved it!

Bit lat these wirds vanish on the lichtsome win,
An lat ma curses bear nae wecht!
Ye gods, takk tent o her: lat her first sin gae, in safety,
An be satisfeed: ye can punish her secunt crime


Hamish the Heilan Bull
He's pumped up wi testosterone, twa Fences haud him in
Lest he ramapages ower the park on fire wi lust an sin

Hamish is a celebrity, the toorists pye tae feed him
Fur calves o first rate pedigree the fermers wint tae breed him
He stauns guaird stinch. His wives lie grazin on the sappy grass
Far nippy insects stop tae harvest nectar as they pass



Constipated Coo
I saw a constipated coo, ootside o Perth. Twis strainin sair
Nae khaki skoosh cam fleein oot tae fertilize the parkland there

Seerip o figs wid sort it oot, or prunes, bit aa tae nae avail
It hunched its hairy hurdies up, bit naethin quit its risen tail

It canna let the fermer ken the torment o its situation
Nae bovine remedy at haun. Nae coo colonic irrigation
An sae it roared wi thunnerin moos, tholin the misery o coos


Simmertime
the parks are laid oot flat an squar
like tartan o an auncent sett
far midgies heeze, bricht butterfless
flichter far flooer an burn are met

a bawd sits up an cocks its lugs
aside a gowden bale o strae
acres o gran nae sicht o man
hyne aft the knowes are heich an blae


Davy Duncan
95 years he wauked this Eird
Couthie, an niver kent tae blaw
Fourth generation saw-miller
Davy wis lued bi ane an aa

His sawmill it wis watter pouered
In eichteen thirties twis begun
Tae cut the local trees aroon
A spot o Heiven neth Birse's sun

Frae pine an larick it produced
Tree stakes, posts, rails, an wid wis sent
Frae local aik cut at the Mill
Bigged intae the Scots parliament.

Davy, the craftsman, haun-turned birk
Fowk snapped them up, collectors' items
Tattie mashers, rollin pins
Vrocht bi a maister, braw ootcomes

A life weel lived. A craft weel learned
Davy wis ane o Nature's gems
Niver complainin, siccar, leal,
Rich in contentment, rich in friens