Poems In Scots & English From Poeta Est In Silva Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Victor Hugo -The Morn at Daybrakk
The morn at daybrakk
At the oor fin the kintra brichtens
I'll set aff
Ye see, I ken ye wyte fur me
I'll traivel ben the wids an ower the Bens
I canna bide far frae ye ony langer
I'll warssle on, ma een fixed like ma thochts
Takkin nae tent o aathin aroon me, wioot lippenin tae a soun
Alane, unkent, back booed, haun ower haun
Dowie, an the day will be like nicht fur me

I winna see the gowden glimmer o the incomin nicht
Nur the sails gaun doon tae Harfleur hynie aff
An fin I arrive I'll lay on yer mools
A bourach o emerant holly an flouerin heather

Souns
Up on a lum, fite an yalla
A skurrie skirls like a banshee
Heid like a basebaa bunnet

Doonstairs twa littlins lauch
In the backie, heich on the swing
Kickin the clouds wi their sheen

The crack o a shotgun rives the simmer air
Aneth the grun, mappies dird their hinlegs
Fleggit.Their greet is human

A bumbee bizzes wechty roon the flooers
Poodery wi pollen
His pooches like holsters, stappit

Ower the road, a reedy thrum
The heedrum hodrum o a piper's chanter
Practisin the Cock o the North
Twa wikks afore the Games

An ambulance, sireen skreichin
Wheechs by on reid-hett tyres
Inbye, a cheil lies seelent

Trophy Wives
They're hung roon Bluebeard's waas
Alangside the stuffed tiger's heid
Jumbo tusks an rhino horns-
The amputatit bitticks o weemen that he'd wad

A dowp as braid as ony Kardashian
Twa breists, wi implants muckle as wattermelons
Twa lips plumpt like a troot, à la Leslie Ash
Ae African tribal wumman's thrapple
Raxxed like a giraffe, wi rings

Ae neuk's gaen ower tae a guff
As Napoleon screived tae Josephine
"Je reviens en trois jours, ne te laves pas."


The March Stones
March Stone Alpha: the Ferryhill Burn
Hardgate, Cemetary, Nellfield Place
Short Mile pub. Great Western road
Hammerfield Avenue, see their space

Craigton, Cults and Baillieswells Road
Hillhead, Westfield, Bean's hill top
Brunie's grave, near Silver Burn
Brotherfield Farm, go on, don't stop

The Ringing Stone, Brodiach Burn
Littlemill, Wynford, the Doupin Stane:
Southside croft, the Elrick Hill
Craibstone, the wind and rain

Ashtown, Brimmond, Christie Grange
Newhills Church and Sclattie Park
Bucksburn, Auchmill, Heatheryfold
Howes Drive, Marchburn, light and dark

Persley Bridge and Jacob's ladder
Woodside, Smithfield, Hilton gray
Provost Rust Drive and Cattofield
Clifton, Powis, on the way

Pickelltillin, Elmbank Terrace
Jute Street and King's Crescent too
Pittodrie, School Road, Brickfield Cottage
Omega on the Beach. What a View

What of the March Stones marked CR?
Thistle Street and Alford Lane
Jack's Brae, Mackie Place as well
Canal Road. Back to the start again?


Potholer's Poem
Gaping Gill, Shatter Cave
Mossdale, Buttertubs: who'd brave
Death's Head Hole, Crackpot Cave
Underground lies many a grave

Nemesis Choke, the Frozen Deep
Meregillt Skit, where dead men sleep

Lamb Leer, Noon's Hole
Pippikin Pot, life and soul
Need to escape flood overspill
In Quaking Pot and Easegill

Pitches, squeezes, like a mole
Down Badger Pot, Long Churns
Jib Tunnel, Swildon's Hole
Nightmare,creeping Titan's turns

Gavel Pot, Baker's Pit
Potholers have hearts of grit
Long John's Cave, Langcliffe Pot
Would you go there? I'd rather not!


The Coo's Cathedral
Hae ye heard o the Coo's Cathedral?
‘Twis bigged in echteen echty nine
O granite. It cost near sax thoosan
A gran place fur heifers tae dine

Inbye wis a miniature railway
Tae cairry the feed tae the breets
An tae hurl oot the dung that cam eftir
Tae keep the nowt clean in their cweets

Abyne castle is gran as it's private
The cathedral stauns braw in its grun
Far aince forty stoot Aiberdeen Angus
Coos and bulls gaed fur fartin an fun

Noo they say it hosts waddin receptions
An corporate events sae fantoosh
Nae doot aa the sharn's bin lang dichtit
An cleared oot wi a scoor an a skoosh


TheHagberry Pot
The Hagberry Pot near Gight Castle
Wis besieged bi an airmy wi guns
An the laird sank his treisur doon thonner
Tae hide aa the Gight Gordon funds

Fin the Covenant sodjers hid left there
He ordered a servant tae dive
Tae the boddom o thon fearie watter
‘Twis the last time he wis seen alive

O the Hagberry Pot hauds a secret
Auld Clootie sits doon at its fit
An he cut up thon puir hermless servant
In the derk o thon wattery pit

The corp bobbit up tae the surface
‘Twis heidless, the hairt still a-throbbin
An wae wir the Gight fowk tae see it
Aa the weemin wir sighin an sabbin

The laird's treisur is there fur the takkin
Dive doon gin ye daur tae retrieve it
Wid ye outface Auld Clootie fur siller?
The pot's cursed, gin ye chuse tae believe it



3Owersetts intae Scots frae Inglis Translations

1) Nicht Café: frae a poem bi Gottfried Benn
824: The Luve an Life o Weemen
The cello sups a faist drink. The flute
Rifts throw three beats; his tasty evenin snack
The drum reads on tae the eyn o the thriller

Green teeth, plooks on his physog
Wyves tae conjunctivitis

Grease in his hair
Spikks tae open mou wi swalled tonsils
Faith hope an charity roon his thrapple

Young goiter is sweet on humfy-neb
He stauns her three hauf pynts

Sycosis buys carnations
Tae pacifee double chin

Bflat minor: sonata op.35
A pair o een roar oot
Dinna splyter the bluid o Chopin roon the airt
Fur this lot tae sprauchle aboot in!
Hey, Gigi! Stop!

The yett thaws: a woman
Desert dried oot. Canaanite broon
Pure. Fu o caves. A guff gae wi her. Hardly scent.
It's anely a swete leanin forrit o the air
Agin ma harns

A creashie fattie styters eftir her


2) A Baloo in Unnertones (frae a poem bi Fedor Sologub)
Rinnin barfit aa the day
Time fur him tae gae tae bed
We maun wash the stoor awa
While he draps his bairnie heid
I will sing, an aa fur ye
Bayû-bayushki-bayû

Fa's thon chappin at the yett?
I jelouse it's sleep that's come
Hair blinfair an haun o fite
Nae the lad that swypes the lum
Saftly noo I sing fur ye
Bayushki-bayû

Far've ye bin, Sleep? Ower the hill
Fit tae see? The Meen wis bricht
Aa alane? Ma sister, tae.
Brocht her wi ye? Nae the nicht
Doucely noo I sing fur sing tae you
Bayushki-bayû

Sleepy Meen wis dwinin pale
In the lift sae far abune
Someb'dy at the windae peen
Fuspers saftly I hae cam.'
Verra laigh I sing tae ye
Bayushki-bayû

Someb'dy fuspers at the sill
Like the reeshlin o a bough
‘I am verra feint an ill
Help me brither, help me noo.'
Laigher yet I sing tae ye
Bayushki-bayû

‘I've bin scythin aa the day
I am trauchelt, I am ill.'
Flits a shadda ower the peen
Hides ablow the windae sill
Bit I sing, an aa fur ye
Bayû-bayushki-bayû


3) Thon's Holland! (Frae a poem bi Petrus Augustus de Genestet)
Oh lan o dubs an mist, far man is weet an chitters
Drookitwi mochy damp an jeelin dyew
O lan o sypin bogs o roads like riveries
Lan o umbrellas, gout, caulds, agues, teethache an flu

O drookit porridge swamps, hamelan o wellies
O soutars, taeds, pudducks, peat howkersfooshtieness
O dyeuks an ilkie bird that slivers, splooters, splyters
Lippen tae the girn in Autmn o a bard wi a hoast

Thanks tae yer clammy climate ma veins are clogged
Wi bluid turned dubs. Nae sang, nae blytheness an nae peace fur me
Yer fit fur clogs alane. O lan oor forebears planned
An, nae at ma speirin, howked oot frae the sea

Ferry
A waterlogged day. Dark fin slide surreptitiously
Under the hull of the ferry
Rain brims over the side of the tilting ferry
Far off the Bens are bleary, blurred my mist

Jitterbugging waves jack-knife the shore
The world of air floats leaking on drowned fathoms

Mary Slessor: Born Aberdeen, died Africa
Here's three cheers fur Mary Slessor
Hauf Scotswumman, hauf confessor
Sailed tae Africa, God bless her
Nocht could frichten or oppress her

Born in a slum in Aiberdeen
Da wis a drooth…an aften seen
Fair bleezin…a sicht fur sair een
Tae Dundee toun, his faimly's gaen

Bit naethin dauntit, at the mill
Wee Mary read buiks wi a will
A missionary's buits tae fill
In Heaven airts, God's parks tae till

Plain as yer agein grany's dresser
She focht mosquito an oppressor
Rowed up her sleeves sae tae address her
Wirk. Chiefs' threats didnae impress her

Ah, croc wi glentin teeth sae braw
She'd be ower teuch fur ye ae chaw
An sleekit snake, best bide awa
Some kists hae pouer, tho they be sma!


The Unseen Kyles of Bute
Eilean Mòr, the muckle island
Eilean Fraoich, the heathery isle
Elan Buidhe, yalla island
Misty, dreich… nae view tae wyle


Rainy Rothesay
The Duke o Rothesay's castle stauns
Far time creeps by in bauchled slippers
The tides o towrists ebb an flow
Luikin fur thrills, an fish n' chippers

Far aince the Norse brocht fire an wars
Noo nippers fecht in steamed up cars
An watch the peint peel aff the pier
Wishin thirsels awa frae here
Far rain dings doon on ilkie heid
An sannies turn tae sappy breid


Bonnie Mary o Argyll
Bonnie Mary o Argyll
Sittin stridelegs ower a style
Fortune didnae on ye smile
Rabbie Burns's dearie

Diplomacy
As I gaed joggin doon the road
I met a coo, a bull bi God
As I jogged hame alang the glen
I met it comin back again

‘I dinna haud wi keepit fit'
Quo he, ‘I see nae sense in it.
Ma job's tae lay doon layers o fat
An my repon wis ‘Fancy that'
Seein's wi twa wir scarcely friens
Wi nae electric fence atween's.
Simmer Hoose, Ballater
Ae chaumer's skimpit fur gear
A double bed, a lowe, stove, brod
A puckle widden cheers

Faither sups his tea ahin his paper
Passes the seerup tin
Claas the back o his heid
He likes a puir man's sannie
Sugar on buttered breid

In the lobby deid flees lie aneth the windae
Fauldin their wings in prayer
Doon the rick-ma-tick o the shooglie timmer stair
Oor Wullie hings in the lavvie
Cuttit in squars,
Awytin the neist keeched dowp


The Rorschach Blot
Can you decipher the Rorschach Blot?
Can you do it? Can you not?
I wonder if the centipedes
Can read that blot with insect ease?


Mony Mansions
‘In ma Faither's Hoose are mony mansions'
Mither assured me.
I'm pittin ma nemme doon fur a but an ben
Wi a wee sit-ooterie
I couldnae thole a mansion
Ower cauld an footerie


The Young Man From Dunoon
A dotty young man from Dunoon
Stirred his tea with his thumb as a spoon
Till it melted away in a cup of Earl Grey
Which then tasted like par-boiled baboon

A Weymss Miss
A young knicker stitcher from Weymss
Found her pants always burst at the seams
So instead she made thongs
Which played musical songs
So increasing her profits by reams


Heard on a 21st Century Bus, Aberdeen
It's very cold today (English)
今日はとても寒いです(Japanese)
сегодня очень холодно (Russian)
Fairdinkum it's brass monkeys out (Australian)
يوم بارد للغاية(Arabic)
Det er veldig kaldt i dag (Norwegian)
It's affa cauld the day (Doric)
E foarte frig astăzi(Romanian)
O ni gidigidi tutu loni (Yoruba)
Tai labai šalta šiandien (Lithuanian)
Днес е много студено (Bulgarian)
天气冷 极了 (Chinese)
Tha e glè fhuar an-diugh. (Gaelic)
Jest bardzo zimno (Polish)
As cold as Finnegan's feet the day they buried him (Ulster)
Il fait très froid aujourd'hui. (French)
आज बहुत ठंड है (Hindi)
یہ آج بہت سردی ہے (Urdu)
วันนี้อากาศหนาวมาก (Thai)
Hôm nay rất lạnh của nó (Vietnamese)
It's pure Baltic oot so it is (Glaswegian)


Benmore Gardens
Benmore Gardens is a cornucopia
Like the copa cabana hat of Carmen Miranda
From Berry burn over bridges to Morag's Glen
From the row of giant redwoods from California
From Killarney ferns to the flora of Bhutan
From the cedars of Tasmania to silky moss
From monkey puzzle tree of the Chilean rainforest

See the spider's web, dream catcher amongst bamboo
See diamond dew on ornamental conifers
See flowers gay as goldfish on rhododendron
The gardens are a sanctuary for birds
Moths rattle around the tangled coop of myrtle
Stone, grey as donkey, lies like a stopped clock
A lily, pale's a leper, droops its storm-struck head
Juniper springs up like a jack in the box


Owerset of a poem from the Japanese by Akahito
I wish I wis as nearhaun
Tae ye as the weet skirt
O a satt quine tae her corp
I think o ye aywis


Events that Made a Difference,2016
Donald Trump won the Presidential Election
Britain voted in Brexit to leave Europe
ISIS launched attacks in Brussels, Iraq, Pakistan
In the Orlando nightclub shooting,49 were killed
The Summer Olympics took place in Rio de Janeiro
The Syrian refugees reached crisis levels
North Korea conducted nuclear tests
Boko Haram militants massacred villagers
Hurricanes, storms and blizzards swept the globe

In an upstairs room my son died alone, unnoticed
Personal tragedy hits home much harder

My Town (2)
Peacocks don't inhabit our public parks
None of our wheelie bins have been known to smile
Venus didn't rise on a shell at the bay of Nigg
Skunks never paraded down our promenade
The Doric mafia's an urban myth

Our water is safe to drink
We're open for business, local and global trade
My town's like a fine malt. If it's not to yourtaste
Feel free to shove off anytime you like

The Glen of Lost Miracles
Here, a stag grew from a bush
In a blaze of heraldic glory
The sun behind his head, a Pagan halo

Here. Burn were unstrung necklacesa
Tumbling jetty down the purpling braes

Here was a crucible for star spangle
Moon shimmer sun spray

Here was a Quaich of bird song,
Fox cough, toad rasp

Here I was a bog child birthed by peat and pine
An adder curled in my hand like a diamond torque


Hide and Seek
I sat in the hide for an hour onsquirrel watch
A dunnock bounced over the moss like a ping pong ball
Chirrups cheeps and trills poured from invisible beaks
Every bush and tree had its resident soloist

Suddenly, two squirrels, caramel and cream
Zipped up a lichened bough like Fagan's pickpockets
Swiping seeds from the birdfeeder

I eavesdrop on their little lives
Like a bug in a phone…A voyeuse of a kind
The squirrels stir the green god Pan in me


Scottish Spring 2018
A clump of frogspawn, jettisoned under a tree
On a bed of grass, ten yards away from the pool
A stillbirth of tadpoles, in their jelly tomb
Like somebody's garbage tipped out
40 tiny frog souls tossed aside
Surprise to Spring's requirements in Argyll

In Wallace's old stamping ground
Fower lambs lie staring into each others' eyes
Like poker players gambling for high stakes

Catkins raise their boxers' gloves
Baby punching the sky at Aberfoyle

At Tighnabruaich beach, the sea sucks
Pebbles round aslong sucked lozenges


Eccentrics
Howard Hughes filled cupboards
With bottles of urine
Arranged the peas on his plate in perfect order
Binge watched movies for months
Mormon aides wore surgical gloves to feed him

Hitchcock gave a six year old girl a doll
(Made to resemble her mother)
In a coffin

Brando competed alongside a baboon
In spitting prowess. Plugged his ears with bread
Was proud of his farting powers

Salvador Dali examined his own excretia
Received messages through his moustache

Genius frequently comes with side effects
It should state on the tin ‘Beware!
Genius can seriously damage your mental health'


William Carlos Williams (Obstetrician, poet)
On the way to visit a patient
The muse would strike
Another little winner in the bag?

He'd pull over to the hard shoulder
Jot a poem on his prescription pad


Marilyn Munroe
Poor Norma Jean
Hick from the sticks
Dumb blonde
Sexy star of Hollywoodflicks
Breathy, buxom, voluptuous
Wiggled her way into a president's bed

‘Like kissing Hitler' Tony Curtis said
And by the age of 36
The screen siren was dead


Music(2)
Music is the key tae a chaumer reamin wi licht
The windaes luik ontae Tir nan Og
It's a rockin chair at gloamin in a derkenin wid
It's a biker in leathers revving up his Harley Davidson
It's a laidder up tae a wattergaw
It's a mither's pap, wechty wi milk
It's a lum blawin flooers instead o rikk
It's the girse that growes green frae the mools
It's a coral reef far fireflauchts flichter ben
It's a necklace o myndins strung wi luv
It's a skier free wheelin doon Etna
Music's weered inno ma DNA
Like faither's lugs an the clarsach o his thrapple
I'm its puppet. It yarks ma towes


The AnimalMusicians
Puddock's a baritone craikin laigh
Girselowper's playin percussion
Merle's a soprano singin heich
Flech's in a hip-hop session
Mappy's a drummer, aye duntin his paws
Teuchit'san opera singer
Whale hums a coronach waefu an saft
Hoolet's a jazz humdinger
Coo blaws the tuba deep an lood
Moose tinkles a wee triangle
Wyver strums on a clarsach douce
Dyeuk plunks on a jingle jangle
Futterat conducts frae tap o the dyke
The bats jist dingle dangle



Threnody for the Dead
The last post pierces the air at the Menin Gate
Military music, simple, sharp and cold,
The sun, a poppy. Do the dead have ears to hear?

As a child I followed the soldiers from the barracks
The village alive with march, slow air and maleness
Bandsmen swaggering out in heavy tartan,
The skirl of the drones striking a fire in the blood
Pipe Major flinging his mace. Young girls adoring.

The ghosts of pipers leading men over the top
Pass greyly by behind the eyes of the crowd
The bloodied music the prelude to whizzbang and shrapnel
In the silence at Menin, unplayed, The Flooers o the Forest


The Music Hall
Music's the mortar of the Music Hall
Acoustics echo where the rafters meet.
Down in the pit, the orchestra gives all

Audience, families, packed in box and stall
Listen enchanted to the rhythmic beat,
Of opera, jazz, clapping a curtain call

The North Sea swishes in the winter's squall
A music of its own, watery, unique.
The city purrs outside, car and footfall

Inside the building, like a glitter ball
Lights flash on tuba, trumpet, panpipe sweet
Crescendos soaring, solos minimal
Musiczings boundless, an unbridled treat


Nae Mair the Ootlinn
North East Scots- the Mither Tongue
Doric, Toonser, Mearns, Dundee
Nairn & Buchan, Deeside, Fisher
Gies us oor identity

Sang & fiddle, history, lore
It's oor cultural heritage
As gweed a leid as Gaelic, Inglis
Tae perform on media's stage

Nae mair ootlinned in the stable
Staunin in the stirkie's staa
Takk it intae skweel, kirk, college
Uni, Holyrood an law

Atween the Tay an Moray Firth
The past's weel stored: stride forrit strang
Tae train an plan fur littlins, halflins
Business & wirk: the hale jing bang


Noh
A Noh performance is a hurricane shaking prayer beads
It's ablizzard rattling the blossom of cherry trees
The notes, fragile as elephants walking on stilts
The keys, white swans under a black pool
The chorus are butterflies pinned on a waving curtain

Cacophony's rubbed smooth by drama
Stark beauty of old ghosts and dreaming bones
Feather mantles flutter to the heart beat drum
A flute like a cormorant's throat, nets sorrow
A ladder leads to cypress woods and spirits
Ivory masks thud into the soul like nails
The sounds lifting and falling like typewriter keys


Community Hall
Dead flies and fluff inhabit the strip lighting
The frieze is peppered with staples
Drawing pins stud the paper

Collage peels and curls
Curtains wilt on their hooks
The paint on the radiator's cracked like a dropped egg

Cut backs, patch ups, make do and mends
Held together with a lick a spit and a prayer
Seats are stained with a mixture of pee, dried pee

Outside a pit bull with a head like a boulder
Snarls at a cat.
Clumps of dog faeces decorate a pavement,
Veined by thrusting tree roots.

Pot holes ravage the road
And a boy on a yellow bicycle
Mournfully circles a lamp post
Like a sad, abandoned moth

Fairm Neth the Staunin Stanes(North Gellan, Tomnaverie)
Beery me near its reets
Neth the taigle o whin an thrissle
Bluidlines rinnin deep

Ma forebear's fitpreints lie
In the Howe o Cromar
Their braith blawn intae the dykes
Catched in the Culsh Eird Hoose

Their stories telt roon the ingle
O yestreen. The wag at the waa
Keepit time tae their wersh lives

Plooin the dubby grun
Fullin the beasts' trochs,
Tappin it aff wi a dram

Their shaddas cross the braes
The midnicht turns o the burn

Starnies glent ower Coull
Far their aisse lies happit
Far their cauld banes fiten

A littlin, I toddlit thonner
Far the deid lie quaet like tummlit aipples
In this hinneypot o Mar
The Howe's breid basket

The lammies bleat
It's spring. Foo mony springs will I see?