10 Scots Poems From The Poetry Lesson

1.Ettlin at Jealousy: An Owersett in Scots o a Poem bi Marina Tsvetayeva Fit like's her life wi the ither ane? Easier, is't nae? Ae straik o the oar Syne a lang coastline, an sune Even the myndin o me Will be a floatin isle (in the lift, nae on the watters) Speerits, speerits, ye'll be Sisters an niver luvs Foo's yer life wi an ordnar Wumman wioot godhied? Noo that yer ruler's bin dinged doon (an ye hae stept doon) Foo's yer life? Are ye fashed Flinchin? Foo dae ye rise? The tax o daithless vulgarity Can ye thole it, puir chiel? ‘Squallochs an stooshies- I've haen Eneuch! I'll rent ma ain hoose.' Foo's yer life wi the ither ane Noo, ye that I chuse for ma ain? Mair tae yer taste, mair tasty Is't yer meat? Dinna girn gin ye cowk. Foo's yer life wi an image Ye, fa wauiked on Sinai? Foo's yer life wi a rareity Frae this warld? Can ye (truith be telt) Lue her? Or dae ye feel affront Like Zues' reyns on yer broo? Foo's yer life? Are ye Weel? Foo dae ye sing? Foo dae ye thole the grue O an undeein conscience, puir chiel? Foo's yer life wi a daud o market Gear at a heich price Eftir Carrara merble? Foo is yer life wi the stoor o Plaister noo? (God wis hackit frae Stane, bit he's blootered tae smithereens) Foo dae ye live wi ane o a Thoosan weemen, eftir Lilith? Stuffed wi newness are ye? Noo yer grown cauld tae magic Foo's yer life wi a Yirdly wife, wioot the secunt Sicht? Tell's, are ye blythe? Nae? In a nerra lair? Foo is Yer life ma dearie? Is it as Hard as mine, wi anither chiel? 2.Midden Tree Twenty fit in heicht, the gean tree stude Twenty year auld, a trunk o poorple grey Scrattit aroon its girth wi creamy scoors Green leaves teethed wi jaggy pynts That dwined tae crammosie in the cauldrife Faa Its leaves gaed maet for gollachs, flichterin mochs In spring its flooers gied nectar tae the bees The geans war ryped bi blackie, mavis, craa In April flooers war petals, bridal-braw Hingin in boorichs, somelike fairy quaichs Drappit fruits war snappt up bi brocks An hurcheons snocherin oot frae dubby sheughs The timmer brunt rocht weel- a scentit lowe Hard hinney-coloured timmer The resin chawd bi bairnies plunkin skweel The verra stalks war byled, tae treat the kink hoast Ayont the tattie park, aside the dyke Hard bi the midden stude the muckle gean The midden held the ferm's orra trock Deid kittlins, fooshtie stock, bymshayvelt cloots Sharn, walie dugs wi chippit paws, ane heidless A suitcase wi the boddom duntit oot 3.Kings College Revisited I lue the wye the win blaws ben the trees I lue the wye Dons spreid philosophies I lue the ivy creepin ben the waa The cloisters, quad, a scholar's quaet fitfaa Bit maist I lue the sna that flicyhters saft Like swansdoon, happen aathin fore an aft Until, aa roon the college, zebra trees Staun cranreuch bricht in pearls an ebonies 4. Twa Scots Owerset of poems bi Miklós Radnóti Postcaird 4 I drappit aside him. His corp rowed ower. It wis ticht as a towe afore it snaps. Shot, back o the heid- 'This is the wye ye'll eyn. Jist lie quaet, ' quo I tae masel Patience flooers inno daith noo. 'Der springt noch auf, ' I heard abeen me. Derk yirdy bluid wis dryin on ma lug. Szentkiralyszabadja October 31,1944 I Dinna Ken I dinna ken fit this kintra means tae ithers, this wee kintra Fenced in bi fire, ma birth airt, warld o ma bairnhood, sweyin hyne aff I grew oot o her like the young branch o tree, an I hope my corp will sink doon in her. Here, I‘m at hame. Fin ane bi ane, busses boo at ma feet, I ken their names an names o their flooers. I ken fowk fa wauk the roads an far they're gaun an on a simmer evenin, I ken the meanin o the pain that turns reid an treetles doon the waas o the hooses. This kintra is anely a map for the pilot fa flees ower. He disna ken far the poet Vorosmarty bedd. For him factries an roosed barracks canna be seen on this map. For me there are girelowpers, kye, kirk steeples, douce fairms. Throwe binoculars, he sees factries and plooed parks: I see a wirker, shakkin, feart for his wirk. I see wids, orchards thrang wi sang, vineyairds, graveyairds, a crined auld wumman fa quaetly greets an maens amang the mools. The Industrial plant an the railway maun be connached. Bit it's anely a watchie's sheddie an the chiel stauns ootbye sennin messages wi a reid flag. There are bairns aroon him, In the factry yaird a sheep dug plays, rowin on the grun. An there's the park an the fitprents o luvers from hynie back whyles kisses tasted like hinney, whyles like blaeberries. I didna wint tae takk a test ae day, sae on ma wey tae schule I hirpled on a stane at the lip o the sidewauk. Here is the stane, bit frae up there it canna be seen. There's nae instrument tae show ony o it. 5.A Scots Owerset o the poem ‘School' bi Miroslav Holub A tree cams in, booin, an sez: I'm a tree A blaik tear draps frae the lift an sez: I'm a birdie Here noo, nearin alang a moosewab Cams a ferlie like luv An it sez; I'm seelence Bit syne there sprauchles afore the blaikboord A national democratic Shelt in a westcoat Sayin ower an ower Cockin its lugs tae likie airt I'm the virr ahin history An We aa Lue Progress An smeddum An The roose o fechters An syne fae ahin the classie door Treetles a thin Burnie O bluid For here starts The quarterin O the blameless 6.The Hierarchy o Wirds Fantoosh, genteel, pernickety, heidbummer Weel-heeled, siller-speened prood and vauntie, Cock-crannied, mim-moued, braw-like bosker A stoater, a stammygaster, minted lairdie Reid biddy, rammy, stooshie, pyocherin Oxter-stank, spayver-spunk, , knapdarloch, nyaff Orra, bumshayvelt hallierackit snocherin Bowfin, mingin, snottery-nebbit scruff Torn-faced, skitter-pot, fooshtie scunner Gallus, blether-skite, bampot, dour Chanty-rasslin numptie, haiverer, teuchter Girner, sklyterer, slorach, hoor 7.Con chó / A Dug owersett in Scots o a poem bi Nguyen Do. Frae an Inglis translation o the Vietnamese bi Paul Hoover & Nguyen Do he's dowpit thonner day bi day — a hungeret dug he spens aa his virr, rinnin brakk-neck roon his hame bowfin at taeds, gurrin at wyvers reivin flooers cause he thocht they wir meat, byled rice thon's him a wechty rain floods his een tae keep on bowfin is eeseless anely the girse lowpers takk tent! aneth the sit-ooterie, he manes an raxxes oot on his wyme tae lick at the watter; foo guid the taste o watter is! syne he faas asleep, dwaumin an fu o leisur aneth a sweet guava tree, alang the sit-ooterie, there's a burn o rainwatter as in his dwaum he cocks ae fit up peein like a hero! Pleiku, Rainy Sizzen,1988 8.Versions in Scots o Prose an Poems bi Baudelaire Le Spleen de Paris XLIII: Le Galant Tireur, version in Scots of The Merksman As the cairriage breenged ben the wid he telt the driver tae dauchle in the airt o a sheetin raw, sayin that he wad like tae hae a fyew shots tae kill time. Isn't the killin o the monster Time the maist ordnar an legal darg o a chiel? —Sae he genteely gaed his haun tae his lued, douce, an scunnersome wife; the oorie wumman tae fa he owed sae mony pleisurs, sae mony sairs, an mebbe, forbye, a muckle skelp o his genius. A pucklie bullets gaed wide o the intendit merk, ane o them finged far inno the heivens, an as the chermin craitur lauched deleeriously, takkin the rise o the mistak o her man, he turned tae her wi a grue an quo: 'Tak tent o thon dall yonner, tae the richt, wi its neb in the air, an wi sae vauntie a luik.Weel weel, ma dearie, I will makk on tae masel that it's yersel! ' He steekit baith his een an pued the trigger. The dall wis snodly heidit. Syne, booin forrit tae his lued, douce, an scunnersome wife, his aybydan an peetiless Mysie, he kissed her wi respek upon the haun, an addit, 'Ochone, ma dearie, foo I thank ye fur ma skeelieness! ' L'Albatros, version of The Albatross Aftimes, fur a wee fun, the chiels o a crew Catched an albatross, thon muckle sea bird That latchy-like follaes a ship As it rowes ower the deep satty sea New dowpit doon on deck Thon king o the lift, hyterin, affrontit Dowie, lat its braid fite wings Draiggle aside it like oars Thon winged traiveller … Foo dweeble an unca he is Sae braw afore, noo sae gypit an ugsome Ae chiel ettles tae stap a cuttie pipe in its beak Anither hirples, takkin the rise o the styterin bird A bardie's like this laird o cloud an lift Fa's sib tae the storm an lauchs at fortune's arras Fin cast doon on the yird, he gets the hee-haw His muckle wings a hinner tae his waukin. Vers Pour Le Portrait De M. Honoré Daumier, version of Verses for Honoré Daumier's Portrait The chiel fa's physog this shaws In airt mair tentie than the lave Teaches us wycely the best wye Tae lauch at oor ainsels He stauns apairt in mockery His smeddum's byordnar In peintin Coorseness an its ill hairst Sae pruvin the brawness o his hairt Melmoth or Mephistopheles His lauchter isna sib tae theirs The lowe o Alecto fleers Tae birssle them, yet gars us jeel They cam tae regret their lauchter Sae sypit in twa-faced sleeness While his clear, ootsheenin smile Shaws him tae be a chiel baith honest an guid The Voice: La Voix version in Scots Ma crib wis neist tae the librar, a Babel Far makkie-on hodged aside science, myth an fowk spikk Greek stoor wi Roman aisse wis seen in thonner An me, anely the heicht o a folio Fin twa voices spakk tae me: ‘The Yird's A cake, ' quo ane, ‘an stappit wi sweetness. I can makk yer hunger full yer wyme Foriver an aye wioot devaul.' Anither telt me, ‘Come awa, wanner ben dreams wi me Ayont lear, thocht or the ordnar.' Thon voice sang like the win ben the shore An tho douce-like, fleggit me mair I made repon, ‘Sweet voice! ' an frae thon day Could niver tell ma Sorra or ma Weird Ayont the muckle vista o this life I see fey warlds, at odds wi ma ainsel Delichtit prey o ma secunt sicht I rug muckle snakes, bitin ma cweets An like an auncient druid frae thon time I've lued the desert, fand the sea celeestial I've grat at ceilidhs an lauched at kistins An fand in wershest wines a slokin sweetness Lees for facts I lue tae swallae hale An aftimes faa in a hole, fin glowerin at starnies Bit the voice is pleased. Keep dreamin, it is kent Nae wyce chiel dreams o beauty as weel's a gype. To A Girl From Malabar: Une Malabaraise: Scots version Yer feet are brawer nor yer hauns, an sonsier. Yer hurdies are creashier nur fite hochs. Yer makk is douce an fresh tae a thochtfu chiel Yer velvet een are derker nur yer skin. In hett blue lans far yer god gied ye life, Yer darg, lichtin yer maister's pipe an makkin siccar The coggie's weel stappt wi pure watter, the pottie, wi scent Or wheechin aff the mozzies, thonner ye gaed Fin dawn sang throwe the reeshlin girse tae buy Plantains an pineapples frae the nearhaun market Aa day, barfit an free ye wannert Thrummin auld unkent tunes an fin at the hinnereyn The sun gaed doon, bricht reid ootower the lan Ye flang yersel doon on a bass o seggs Yer floatin dream wis fu o hummin birds Aa blythe an flooery as ye are yersel Foo, blythesome bairn did ye cam here tae France This lan heezin wi fowk… bi fit mishanter… Fin tae yer tamarinds ye bad fareweel Bletherin wi the sailors o the crew? Bit noo, hauf-nyakkit, rigged in dweeble muslin Cauldrife haar an snaa blatterin yer chitterin skin Coorse steys ruggin in yer wyme Foo ye maun miss yer tint auld wyes o freedom Noo ye maun pyke yer denner frae the dubs An sell the perfumes o yer flesh an bluid In oor fool haars, wi yer forehooied een Ay ettlin tae catch a glisk O ghaistly palm trees sweyin A Thocht: Recueillement, Scots version Takk tent, Sorra, keep a calm sooch Ye prayed fur gloamin; it faas, is here A derksome air enfaulds the toon Bringin peace tae some, wersh thochts tae ithers Fin the worthless boorich o fowk Wheeped on bi pleisur, thon torturer wioot aa mercie Gyang tae gaither wae in slavish rejoicin Gie me yer haun, Sorra, cam wi me Hyne awa frae them. See the deid years hingin In orra duddies on the balconies o the lift See foo Regret, smilin, breenges up frae the deep waters The deein sun gyangs tae sleep in a close-heid An like lang grave-cloots treelipin frae the East Lippen ma jo, hear the saft nicht comin 9.Flodden Field Fower days ye lay far ye fell in the dubs o Flodden A henwife hirpled by blawin her neb wi her thoomb Teethless an humfy backit, she rypit yer purse o siller Yer twa ee sockets, sichtless, (hoodies maun ett as weel) Gapit at this mishanter tho yer twa deid lips bedd steekit Craas, bluid-beakit, powked yer intimmers oot A glut o deinties (heich born lords dine weel) Aa aroon lay kinsmen, a jeelin hairst, Laid oot like an armourer's rowp in a charnel hoose Shields, pikes, muskets, cannon, laired in the clorty muir Aroon some friens war maenin takkin a snail's time tae dee An English page loon ryped yer iron gauntlets An aye the weety smirr fell on the gralloched shelts An mithers' sons forby 10.Korean Poetry: Owersetts in Scots frae Inglis Translations In the Field Filling Up with Snow translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid By Seo Jeong-ju: It's aa richt, It's aa richt, It's aa richt, It's aa richt- the snawflakes drap in drifts, wrappin roon even the soun o teeny pheasants an quails gyaun hame tae their nests. It's aa richt, It's aa richt, It's aa richt, It's aa richt the snawflakes drap like cotton oo, wrappin roon even the soun of young quinies wi reid chikks gyaun hame tae their nests. It wraps roon even the soun o ilkie weird gyaun hame, the greetin, the lauchin, the wechtit doon fowk noo risin up strangly. Tae the sonsie anes, sonsie tear merks, tae the wee anes, wee lauch lines; the soun of muckle stories an tooshtie stories gyaun hame, fusperin saftly. It's aa richt, It's aa richt, It's aa richt, It's aa richt the snawflakes drap wioot devaul, Wrappin roon even the soun o mony Bens- the Blue Bens* gyaun hame. The Snowy Night by Moon Tae-jun: Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid Ochone, ma dearie wha had glaiss-grey een; ochone, the siller scales that bleared yer een. The nicht snaw faas. Ochone, ma puir dearie wha wrapped ma craig wi a fite towel an dichtit ma face, a blissed quaet draps doon upon the lanely yird I steek ma een tae mynd the time yer hauns dichted ma face. The Word of the Wind by Mah Jonggi (1939-) Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid Eftir aa o us leave, Gin ma speerit gyangs by ye, Dinna think even fur a meenit it is The win that sweys the spring boughs. The day I'll plant a flooer On a neuk o the shadda Whar I got tae ken ye; Whan the flooer briers, Aa the dowieness that grew frae oor kennin Will cheenge inno petals an flee awa. It will cheenge inno petals an flee awa. Though it is ill tae thole, hyne aff an eeseless, How can we meisur aa the ferlies in the warld Wi anely a wee ruler? Whan ilkie noo an then ye turn yer lugs tae whar the win blaws, My dearie, dinna forget even gin ye grow trauchelt The wird o the win that cams frae hyne awa The Leper by Seo Jung-ju (1915-2000) Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid The sunlicht frae the lift Filled the leper wi sorras He ett up a bairnie Whan the meen raise ower the barley park.* Aa nicht he grat reid cries like flooers. The Flower by Kim Chun-soo (1922-2004) Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid. Afore I cried her name, She wis naethin Mair than a meevement. Whan I cried her name, She cam tae me An becam a flooer. Like I cried her name, Will some body please cry ma name That suits ma licht an scent? I lang tae cam tae her An cheenge inno her flooer. We aa wint tae becam somethin. Ye, tae me, an me, tae ye, Lang tae becam a glisk that winna be forgot. By the Winter River by Ahn Do-hyun (1961-) translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid The river tuik peety on the dweeble snawflakes, that lowped doon inno nane ither than the river watter an disappeared, thawed wioot makk. Sae, it breenged an birled, tae cheenge its poseetion afore the snawflakes strukk its watter. Ilkie time it birled, the river watter made a wud soun. Unkennin, the innocent snaa drapt eynlessly an the river, frae the nicht afore, sterted tae jeel tae thin ice, beginnin frae its edge, sae it micht save the snaw wi its ain body. Winter. Snow. Tree. Forest by Ki Hyung-do (1960-1989) Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid The snaa biggs up here an yonner, wioot bein able tae win aa the wye oot o the wids. "Is it yersel? Dinna hash." Dunt. He faas doon, knelled by a sherp blade. I gyang hame, ruggin the tree. As I hack aff the twigs, I lippen tae the seelence o the tree: "I'm here. Daith is unmasked life. Oor lives, oor winters are like thon, tae." We kinnle a lowe towards the skaith that's some like oorsels. The nicht in the wids ayont the windae breenges its body for a deeper quaet. Till I confirm ma clean daith I willna be here, keepin a bonnie distance frae whaiver strikks a lowe, an warmin ma hairt bittie by bittie. The mornin risin in the late winter is whit cams tae makk the maist perfeck natur. Eftir, agin the airt the snaw thaws an rins oor spring will cam.