Scots Poems From The Love Jam Of Nostradamus Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Doric owersett o theRoma Poet Papusza's Tears o Bluid

In the wids. Nae watter, nae lowe- a muckle hunger
Far could the bairns sleep? Nae bowie.
We couldae kinnle the lowe at night.
Bi day, the rikk wid be seen bi the Germans.

Foo tae live wi the bairns in the cauld o winter?
Aa are barfit

Fin they socht tae slay us
First they set us tae hard darg
A German cam tae see us.
‘I hae ill news fur ye.
They wint tae slay ye the night.
Dinna tell onybody.
I'm a derk gypsy as weel,
O yer bluid- a true Rom.
God help ye'
In the blaik wids…
Haein spukken thon words,
He bosied us aa…

Fur twa three days nae maet.
Aa gae tae sleep hungeret.
Nae able tae sleep,
They glower at the starnies…
God, foo braw it is tae live!
The Germans winna lat us…

Ah, ye, ma wee starnie!
At daybrakk ye are muckle!
Blinn the Germans!
Bamboozle them,
Lead them awaa,
Sae the Jewish an Gypsy bairn can live!

Fin deep winter cams,
Fit will the Gypsy wumman wi a wee bairnie dae?
Far will she finn claes?
Aathin is cheengin tae tatterwallops
A body wints tae dee.
Naebody kens, anely the lift,
Anely the river hears oor maen.
Fa's een saw us as the wae?
Fa's mou banned us?
Dinna lippen tae them, God.
Lippen tae us!
A cauld nicht cam,
The auld Gypsy wummen sang
A Gypsy eidritch tale:
Gowden winter will cam,
Snaa, like wee starnies,
Will hap the eirde, the hauns.
The blaik een will jeel,
The hairts will dee.

Sae muckle snaa drappit,
It hapt the road.
A body could anely see the Milky Wey in the lift.

On sic a nicht o cranreuch
A wee dother dees,
An in fower days
Mithers beery in the snaa
Fower wee sons.
Sun, wioot ye,
See foo a wee Gypsy is deein frae cauld
In the muckle wid.

Aince, at hame, the meen stude in the windae,
Didnae lat me sleep. Somebody luikitinbye.
I speired — fa's thonner?
— Lowse the yett, ma derk Gypsy.
I saw a bonnie young Jewish quine,
Chivtterin frae cauld,
Speirin fur maet.
Ye puir craitur, ma littlin.
I gaed her breid, fitiver I had, a sark.
We baith forgot that nae hyne awa
Wir the polis.
Bit they didnaecam thon nicht.

Aa the birdies
Are prayin fur oor bairnies,
Sae the coorse vratches, monsters, winna kill them.
Ach, weird!
Ma unchauncy weird!

Snaa drapt as thick as leaves,
Chokit oor wey,
Sic wechty snaa, it beeried the cairtwheels.
Ye hid tae trample a track,
Push the cairts ahin the shelts.

Foo mony waes an hungers!
Foo mony sorras an roads!
Foo mony sherp stanes stobbit oor feet!
Foomony bullets finged by oor lugs!


The Ballad o Torry

St Fittick's boat wis shipwracked at Nigg Bey
In AD in the 7th century
An ower the years, a bonnie kirk wis biggt
A slit look-in, fur fowk wi leprosy

An later the wee clachans wir cried Torry
Their feudal lord the Abbot o Arbroath
The name cam frae the Gaelic wirdieTorr
Meanin a roundit knowe, a place fur growthe

Three mermaids were seen sweemin in the Bey
Heard singin psalms, until they disappeared
An whyles the eildritch Shellycoats wis spied
Aa dressed in shells, baith ugsome an far feared

In eichteen seventy sax, a ferry cowped
Thirtytwa passengers wir swyped awa
There'd bin a Fair in Torry on thon day
Bit overcrowdin spelt the boat's doonfa

Frae nine year auld tae fifty years, the drooned
Gaed fur an ootin an met in wi Daith
Bairns, mithers, faithers, granparents
Unlike the fishes watter supped theirbraith

Eichteen thirteen, an April Feel's Day gale
It drave the whaler, Oscar, tae its wrack
An mair than forty drooned in GreyhopeBey
Mids sna an storm, a blizzars coorse an black

Ae widda lost her husband an three loons
Gaed beggin alms frae neebors door tae door
An neebors wirnae slae tae help her oot
Kennin that daith lay sleepin jist affshore

Girdleness Lichthoose, Stevenson vrocht weel
Fa could forget the lowin Torry Coo?
The foghorn that lay near the lichthoose side
On foggy nichts its eildtrich maenin moo

Torry his bin the hame o mony things
O shipyaird, fish hoose, satt, kelp frae the bey
O whalers, salmon, trawlers an research
Craiginches Jyle, kirks, skweels, the battery

Sune there'll be cruise ships anchorin at Nigg
Tae watch the dolphins lowpin frae the waves
The ruined kirk, St Fittick's belfry bides
Guairdin the sleepers peacefu in their graves

An still the tounsfowk traivel up tae Nigg
Fur picnics, gaitherin buckies frae the puils
Jist twa or three streets left, o Torry's past
Ile wirks hae taen the place o fishin creels

In nineteen forty,12th July, they cam
Black Friday, German bombers, scorin hits
Strikkin the Neptune Bar, Hall Russell's yaird
Ae Heinkel fighter plane, crashed, wis blawn tae bits

Victoria Road, the primary skweel wis bombed
(Victorian ghaists there wanner, sae fowk tell)
Wellington, Walker, Greyhope Roads aa shelled
In Siren City, blitzed in Hitler's Hell

Walker Road Skweel, hae filmed a famous tale
Aboot a pistol duel twis held in Torry
An Tullos ower at Nigg, hae murals braw
Tae makk the skweel luik colourfu an bonnie

The Aiberdeen whale fishin fleet wis thrang
Whyles fifteen boats wi fifty hands in aa
The Dee limped hame, a crew o fortysax,
Dwined doo tae nine, the lave deed in the snaa

Efter the coorse tsunami hit Sri Lanka
Joyce Falconer veesited an gaed her aid
A fishin boat, she funded fur the fowk
‘The Torry Quine' o sic are legends made

Noo Torry's cheenged, as it his aywis daen,
Welcomin in new fowk tae sattle doon
Romania, Poland, Russian, Latvia
Ye'll hear the claik aa throw this herbour toon



The Ballad o Banchory

The first castle the Burnetts bigged
Wis in the mids o Loch o Leys
His son wis sax fin Burnett deed
His widae, Agnes, held thekeys.

Sir Roger de Bernard, frae France,
Wi his young dother, Bertha, cam
The young laird noo wi seventeen
Bertha wis bonnie, meek's a lamb

Her faither left her in the care
O Leddy Burnett an her loon
Because the young fowk wir in luve
She pysoned Bertha, that richt sune

The lassie's faither heard o this
He caad doon curses on the heid
O Leddy Burnett by fa's haun
His bonnie dother'd bin struck deid

The Leddy Burnett, cursed, wis doomed
The young laird wed anither lass
A Janet Hamilton, an biggt
Braw Crathes, raised frae muir an grass

Bit aince a year, fin midnicht chimes
A ghaist frae far the Loch o Leys
Aince lay, wauchts up an crosses ower
Tae Crathes, thrang wi memories

Crathes Castle,set on grun
Wis giftit frae King Robert Brus
Held fower hunner years mair
Bi Burnetts, a great stately hoose

The castle haudsportraits inbye
Peintit renaissance ceilins, tae
The Chamber of the Muses, an
Nine Worthies, Green Lady o wae

Waaed gairdens, widlans, watter, parks
Wi graivel paths an scentit flooers
A croquet coort wi Irish Yews
Heich hedges shadin bonnie booers

Ca cannie, fur ye'll mebbe spy
A ghaist nursin her ghaistie bairn
The famed Green Leddy seelent wauks
An oorie tales the ghaisties earn

Wirkmen hae fand aneth a hairth,
Twa skeletons, a bairn an mither

An naebodykens fa pit them there
Twa bodies beeriet there thegither

Langsyne the Brus chuse de Burnard
AsRoyal Forester of Drum
Gied him the auncient Horn of Leys
Tae shaw the warld in years tae come

St Ternan was a Pictish priest
A college or "Banchor" he biggt
He taught Religion, fermin, tae
An at his fair in June, fowk jigged

The Strathspey king wis born nearhaun
An James Scott Skinner wis his name
A fiddler o repute wis he
Composinreels o fire an fame

Three miles sooth wast o Banchory
Stauns Nine Stanes Cercle in the wid
Fower thoosan years they've stude an mair
In centuries o mystery hid

Gin salmon lowps ye'd like tae see
The Brig o Feugh's far fishies sweel
Or gyang tae Potarch Brig, for there
A kelpie haunts the deepest puil

Or wauk in Blackhall's auncient wids
Far langsyne fowk played archery
A mix o conifers an muirs,
Wee burns an braes far birds flee free

Gin sclimmin knowes is your delicht
Then Scolty's braw, a gentle grun
There is a touer on the tap
Tae ane fa focht wi Wellington

Or sclimm the tor o Clachnaben
It's kent far as the Divil's bite
It tasted soor…he spat it oot
It stauns on its accursed site

Owerluiks Glen Dey far witches met
Wi Colin Massie at their heid
Fa cheenged intae a bawd at will
A warlock fa inspired dreid

In eichteen ninety, Xmas Eve
Nordrach on Deeat Banchory
Wis opened, an for mony years
Took patients smittit wi TB

Somerset Maugham an Chaplin baith
Bedd fur a whyle in this braw toun
The Tor-na-Coille hoosed Royalty
A pleisur place far sports aboun

Fit draws fowk here frae aa the airts?
The Banchory Fair, the Railwey line?
The Dee, the golf, the sheetin, boats?
The lavender, scentit sae fine

The mountain bikin up the trails
Glenlogie Ballad, Banchory's star
Or hear the tales o lumberjacks
Frae Canada in the World War
Drum Castle, wi its poems an tales
The hyne aff peaks o Lochnagar
Picnics in playpark bi the Dee
Draw fowk tae Banchory, frae afar


A Koala wi bad Halitosis

A Koala wi bad halitosis
Got really far up people's noses
Till he swallaed a mint
An his teeth gaed a glent
An his braith cam oot smellin o roses


A Puggie wi twa muckle lumps

A puggie wi twa muckle lumps
Discovered they really wir mumps
Bit his wife caad them flat
Wi a hard cricket bat
Fin she walloped him twice wi twa thumps


The Ringin Stane o Glen Gairn

I chappit on the ringin stane
An tinklin notes flew oot
Abune the busy heather braes
Far bummers bizzed aboot

The stane is eildritch, thon's a fack
A rig bane's doon its back
I think it is a fossil cheil
A traiveller wi his pack

A thoosan years an mair, its stude
Since prehistoric man
Aince knelt aside the ringin stane
Fin life first here began


Liechtenstein

I've niver bin tae Liechtenstein
It's affa affa wee
It's the saxth-smaaest, in the warld
An practically crime-free

They dinna even lock their doors
Prince Alois an his faither
Aince yearly hae their subjects
Tae their castle fur a blether

It makks fause teeth: its claim tae fame
An ye can choose tae rent
The entire kintra fur ae night
(chaiper, tae pitch a tent)

Here cuttin girse or pairtyin
Are bannedfrae noon a while
An eftir 10pm at nicht
Fur quaetness is their style

The Liechtensteinerinnen
(weemen wi names like Lux)
Wir anely granted richt tae vote
In nineteen echty sax.

I've niver bin tae Liechtenstein
I dinna think I'll gae
I'll takk ma teeth frae NHS
It's nae sae sair tae pey


Donald Dinnie

Donald Dinnie wis a man
A heavywecht like Desperate Dan
Anfowk fa humf the Dinnie Stanes
Are aften kent tae raxx their banes

The Brig o Potarch
The Brig o Potarch is stoot an stinch
The stanes are happt wi lichen green
San martins flichter ben the Dee
O a the riveries, she's the Queen
She is the hame o salmon, troot
O kelpie hid in dimplin puil
An michty is the thunner-knell
Fin her fite waters brakk an sweel


Sharn

A coo keechs like a leddy
She lifts her tail alaft
Oot-skitters sharn like drappit scones
Tae plunk doon broon an saft

Glen Gairn Haiku
The mountain stanes are greetin
Tears treetle weetly
Doon its rocky chikks


The Murderet Bairn

In eichteen twinty fower, in May
A brither an sister playin
Fand in a puil o watter
A babby, deid an floatin

The bairn wis wee an nyaakit
In the Moss o BovagliMonour
Hawks hid etten atween its shanks
Its gender wis unsure

The sister skirled fur her faither
Syne aa o Bovagli kent
Fit Janet Stewart his servant's
Wecht gain, richt clearly meant

She named Ben Forbes as its sire
Servant at Crathienard
He wis taen tae the Abergeldie Laird
Fa searched the maitter hard

Dr Robertson cam tae the glen
Near Peter Gordon's hoose
Wis in three feet deep o a mossy pot
Steepit in peat-bree juice

He saw fur himsel the murderet bairn
Its een tae Heiven wir liftit
Tho nae kind Angel saved it frae
Its weird that the Deil decidit

Arthur McHardy tuik the corp
Tae Balnacroft ower nicht
Neist day it wis taen tae Ballater
Tae be examined richt

Post-mortem by the gweed doctor
Showed the bairn hid bin born alive
Did it bleed tae daith frae an untied cord
Or smored, sae it widnae thrive?

Janet an Benjamin hid met
As servants at Crathienard
She said that fin the birth wis by
He tuik it tae discard

Willie Rattray the Ferryman
At Boat o Monaltrie spakk
Wi Reid the boatman at Clachinturn
Till her version o maitters brakk

Fur baith men telt the ragin Dee
Could niver hae bin crossed
Nae livin sowel could hae reached the quine
Thon nicht, or they'd hae bin lost

Bi Abergeldy she wis sent
Tae the Aiberdeen jyle fur testin
An a midwife fand, bi her bodily signs
She'd gaen birth wioot question

Noo fower month efter, Benjamin Forbes
Wis cleared bi the coort an freed
Bit Sheriff Simpson fand the quine
Guilty. He judged she leed.

Fur killin her wee bit innocent bairn
Fower month wis the sentence gaen
The followin year, in a Perthshire coort
She'd killt a bairn again

An mony's the wee bit bairnickie
Born tae a cruel mither
Are the ghaists that flit in the wids an muirs
In the wins that shakk the heather


An Aiberdeen Epitaph

Here lie the banes o Elizabeth Charlotte
Born a virgin, deed a harlot
She wis aye a virgin at seventeen
A remarkable thing in Aberdeen


Epitaph for William Nicol (1744-1797)by Robert Burns

Ye maggots, feed on Nicol's brain,
For few sic feasts you've gotten;
And fix your claws in Nicol's heart,
For deil a bit o' t's rotten.


Thochts based on a poem by A. Pushkin, in 1829

Gin I should wauk the stoory streets,
Or enter mony an eident kirk,
Or sit amang the younger fowk,
Thochts steer aboot me in the mirk

I ken the passin years are fleetin,
Mony or less the days micht be,
We aa maun slip aneth the mools,
Daith faces aa mortality.

Fin I luik on a lanesome aik
I think: oaa the wid, the Laird
It will ootlive ma puny age
As grandfaither, deep in the yird

Gin I gie bosies tae a bairn,
Richt eftir thon I think: adieu!
I will gie up ma place tae ye,
I'll dwine, yer flooer will bloom anew .

An ilkie day, an ilkie oor
My thochties takk a dowie path,
Ettlin tae guess the time an date
The year brings oncamin daith.

Far will ma weird sen daith tae me?
In war, in traivel,on the seas?
Or will the nearhaun glen ootbye
Receive ma sowel blawn on the breeze?

An tho untae the menseless corp
It disnae care fit lair is best,
Yet I wad in ma best lued glen
Still wish ma yirdly aisse tae rest.

An lat it be aside the mools
That young life will foraye be playin,
An Natur, careless an unkennin
Aybydan be in brawness sheenin