Census Matters (27 Scots Poems)

1.Lumphanan’s Witches Fair is foul and foul is fair Lumphanan’s witches at their lair At Craiglash bi the warlock’s steen Echt weemin daunced wi Margaret Bean Accusin them wis William Ross Fa blamed the hizzies for the loss O nine fat kye bi sleekit spell Learned frae Auld Clootie’s lips himsel Margret Clarke, bi deevilrie Gart puir John Burnett quickly dee Whilst Janet Lucas kept a threid Tae wirk some hellish orra deed Isobel Ogg used the Black Airt Tae help her friens swick at the mairt In the Tolbooth in Aiberdeen Their tongues war lowsed bi witch’s preen Bi thoomb-screw, duckin steel, sair-pressed They aa tae witchin ploys confessed John Justice the toon hangie led Tae stakes, the witches, threwshed, ill-fed Tae thrapple them, syne set the flame Tae aa fa tried the warlock game Fair is foul an foul is fair Nae birds sing in the eildritch air In Craiglash wid’s great warlock steen Gin ye staun there, yer nae yer leen 2.The Duchess o Richmond & Gordon The Duchess o Richmond an Gordon Wi siller an lans wis blest Bit Whiteash Knowe wi its Wyndin Wauks Wis the airt that she lued best Here bilberries growe freely A capercaillie's treat An at the tap the views rax oot Far the Spey an the Heivens meet 3.Roseile Beach an pines an barbecues, Picnics seals an bonnie views Braw Roseile, the Moray Firth- War defences, sanny earth 4.The Aipple Sir Isaac Newton kent me weel I am the frien o snake an Deil Ma body draps at Simmer’s heel I am the fruit o Eden In Adam’s thrapple I’m the knot An orchard is ma birthin cot I hotter in the cider pot I am the fruit o Eden I’m tae the fore at Halloween Fin bairnies sport aneth the meen Reid chikkit wi a hairt o steen I am the fruit o Eden 5.Shall I list yer faats? : Tae a Pit Bull Terrier on a Bus Shall I compare ye tae a midden heid? Ye are mair fooshtie an mair fu o flechs: Yer leash is far ower lang fur sic a breed: Ye fleg the passengers wi gurrs an pechs, Ye are the Deevil’s kin, yer maister’s bling, Fause gowd aroon his thrapple gars fowk cowk; He thinks he’s Airchie, thon’s the comic thing Bit ithers see a bully an a gowk: Whylst ye, wi slivers hingin frae yer mou Fartin awa eneuch tae choke a stirk Wad chaw the leg frae brock, or dug, or soo, Ye are his fier in ill-tricks in the mirk: Sae lang as there are coorse cheils on life’s stage, They’ll pick a pet that is aa teeth an rage 6.Dug Chiel Dug chiel’s dowped on the street ootby a buikshop Ain o Les Miserables. His luggit bunnet cairries Sax month’s yird. His neb’s a plooky ootcrap O boozer’s blisters. His shilpit, shargeret physog’s An stibble chooks, are cross hatched lines o keech. We winna pikk o the guff that wauchts upwin It’s a stammygaster. His neives are blaik’s The swypins frae a lum. A brunt-oot tabbie’s Stukken tae his lips. Fowk coor frae him Takk peety on the dug. Nae tyke sud hae Tae lie on a shitten quilt. The stank O strang an swyte’s an affront tae stanks. Dug chiel’s finger nails cud growe hale tatties ‘Gie’s cheenge’ he prigs. ‘Takk peety on the dug.’ Nae fears. Twid ging on drugs. I’m nae a mug. 7. An Owersett based on Ballad bi John Clare A faithless shepherd coorted me, He reived awa ma liberty. Fin ma puir hairt wis pure’s the dyew, He cam an smiled an gart me grue. Fin ma peenie wad hing doon, Me he socht tho snaa blawed roon. Fin wi shame ma peenie raise He didna see ma dowie days. Fin simmer brocht nae flegs tae fricht, He cam tae guaird me ilkie nicht. Fin winter nichts aa gurly grew, Nane cam tae guaird me or tae lue. I wish, I wish, bit aa in vain, I wish I wis a maid again. I doot I doot there’s nae remeid, Fan will the green girse hap ma heid 8. Aiberdeen 2011 The chippies, the buikies, the shops an the sales The parks an the banstan, the haar an the gales The howfs an the bistros, the bollards, the docks The malls wi a rowth o new troosers an frocks The high-rise, the bakeries, the pye an display The uni, the polis, heich waves wi their spray The dug-keech, the taxis, tandooris, roch wins The potholes, the cassies, the wynds an the bins The seagulls, the sewers, the gairdens, the brigs The scaffoldin. Wirkirs aff cauld ile rigs The roondaboots, phones, an the lang taxi queues The theatres, cinemas, billboords, an doos The pizza huts, bottlenecks, sheddies an skips The beggars in doorwyes wi frost-hackit lips The benches, the roadwirks, the Dee an the Don The statues, the bussies, the braw fitbaa grun The joggers, the bloggers, the buggies, the rain That stots aff the gutterin an rins doon the drain The schools an the hospitals, larries an vans The scaffies that wheech awa speecial brew cans The hardmen, the junkies, the trains an the planes The sheddies, the suburbs, the retirement hames The offices, factories, businesses, streets That are hotchin wi newspaper venders wi sheets Tae tell ye the crimes an the sklaik o the toun Fa’s chorin an muggin, fa’s hoose has brunt doon The Sikhs an the Moslems, the Poles an Chinee We’ve a wide-luggit creel for oor citizenry 9. Sheetin Hares bi Morven Sodden up tae the gills in beer an fuskey, They ride wi the windaes open, Shotguns pyntin oot, On a dawn o sun an birdsang. Aa nicht they hae boozed an sang, Braggin o weemin taen an cast aside The bawd wis killt mid-lowp, The win aneth its paas a corpse’s cushion Shot in the heid, it lies like a teemed bottle. Its glaissy een gap-wide, takkin daith in. The sharger leaves the car tae scrape it up It’s haived on the car flair, reid mou sypin dreeps Still warm an saft, curled doonwirds in a grue The loons are heich on bravado, on testosterone The sun abeen is hett as meltin lard On the heatherie knowe, the bonnie day is butchered The loons’ spikk’s aa aboot the Setterday daunce Fit quines they hae in their sichts Foo they will wyle them, woo them, tease them Ooto their draaers, as easy as ruggin fur Frae the bawd’s hett hochs 10. The Queen oTatties I hae won prizes…I am a tattie o distinction This is ma time in the sun Aneth the grun, I practiced fur celebrity TV ads fur crisps, or Cookery shows I hae luggit inno the claik O wirms an nochtie craiturs Like hornygollachs, mowdies, Snailies, slaters. I quately swalled in the derk An coored frae the thocht o Blicht. Passover Nicht o the Tatties ower in Erin. I anely hae een fur you Takk me. Takk me noo Mash me, mell me wi butter I’m a stoater. I am the Queen o Tatties A Gowden Wunner. 11.An owersett in Scots o Fredman’s Song by Carl Michael Bellman Fin there's siller for a drappie, Nota bene: Rhenish wine! An ma haun aroon her tittie, Nota bene: An it’s mine! Blytheness it is in ma hairt, Nota bene: till we pairt. Aye, the times are aa ower merry, Nota bene: nae the best! Vratches wint mysel tae beery An the siller's rinnin faist. Some feel free an safe frae hell, Nota bene: bagatelle! Let it aa complete its gyre, Nota bene: make it stall! Age will nae convert the fire O ma deariel tae a troll. Drink an beauty gar me flee, Nota bene: till I dee 12. Heroin Blues(Updated Version of Cocaine Lil & Morphine Sue) See them on the cassies in their zonked oot state Chasin the dragon wi the pennies on their plate Honey get a hit fur me...Honey get a hit fur me (Sung to Buddy have a drink on me) Cocaine Kate said ‘I got nae shame For yer nae a celeb if ye’ve got nae fame Honey etc Doon by the harbour lyin on her back Donna’s earnin siller for her baggie o smack Honey etc Let the world gae hing, let the bairn gyang tae pot Fin the poppies are a poppin an yer mammy’s lost the plot Honey etc His pride’s doon the pan an his quine’s on the street Hoorin for the heroin tae keep him sweet Honey etc The dragon’s in the schemes far the junkies play Fowk a-sookin on their methadone tae fill the day Honey etc Weel they say the crematorium gars auld men shift But the smack-heids of the city are a-lichtin up the lift Honey etc 13.Scolty Scolty is Gaelic for ‘cleft in the knowe’ Owerluikin Deeside & fair Banchory’s howe Reid squirrels skyte like flames up the green pines Burns fu o taddies tryst wee loons an quines Tae play in the wids or climm up the knowe tap Far the gowk sings ‘Cuckoo’ an the widpeckers chap The weather can cheenge sae weir sensible claes Tae daunder, tae picnic, tae reenge Scolty’s braes 14.Denlethen Derk, wyndin pathies, brigs abeen the watter Wheesht! There’s a roe deer. Dinna makk a clatter! Steppin ben the widlan easy-fleggit deer Three hunner year syne, coaches hurled here Drivin doon tae Lunnon...Merchant, lady, lord Cannie, for a cateran micht wyte wi drawin sword Ghaisties flittin back an fore tae the curlin puil Noo it’s a puddock’s paradise wi midgies for a meal! 15.Déjà vu, Littlin Ma grandother’s like a new-fledged starlin’s littlin Moo like a diamond, sikkin meat frae the shute O the birdie’s beak. Her reedy greet faas quaet, fur noo she’s sooklin Ootbye the wizzent elm taps at the blearie windae Sae mony ferlies fur new een tae see: The curtains, fit’s agin them The derkness, fit’s inbye it The starnies, fit’s ayont them The revelations wytin in the wings O ilkie day She lies in her mither’s airms, a noddin snaadrap Her perfeck lips are weety like the dyew I see her faither in her. Déjà vu. 16. A Soldier’s Frien ww1 Dinna tell me smokin’s bad for me Bombs are bad Craters are bad Trench fit’s bad Rattens, swalled wi human flesh are bad Flech bites, trench fever, pyson gas These are REALLY bad for me! Hae ye seen a sodjer staun up An wauk oot tae the enemy jist tae get killt? Hae ye? Hae ye? Or a sodjer deein slow o mustard gas? Brunt an blistert, blin een stuck thegither Froth frae his lungs bubblin up on his lips? Dinna tell me smokin’s bad for me Whyles, fit’s bad fur ye Helps fowk thole Hell 17.The Social Wirker The office brings nae respite A rowth o files touerin up frae the desk I share wi twa, three ithers. Wires frae the laptop, the prenter, the scanner Mixter-maxter, jummelt like spaghetti The phone ay birrin, the radiator clunkin Wintin bled. My man, ay girnin aboot siller Bills fur gas an electric, car an phone an meat Bit yet he gyangs tae the howf fower nichts a wikk An the coorse winter, blin drift, ice, burst pipes The bairns pit hame frae schule bi lucky teachers… This mornin I brunt the toast, the cat cowked on the bed I’d a sair heid an the milk wis on the turn Ma first client bedd in a High Rise flat Baith lifts war brukken. Tae him, (tae aa) I say ‘Fit’s wirst wi ye? ’ The client’s life’s a snorrel o cares an waes Pitched inno the community frae the hospital Wi a pyoke o peels he winna takk fur depression Gin I’d a magic wand, I’d solve his tribbles The ashtray reams wi tabbies. He says he’s skint. The empties in the bin Gie thon the hee-haw His braith is soor, his claes are ripe wi swyte He’s on the edge o gaun back inno care I listen, takk notes, shakk ma heid an sigh The steamroller o life brakks doon his yett 18.Tounser Seagull I kick up stooshies an stramashes I’m a toonser gull, a rapper, a mugger, a radge Takk a swatch o ma iron wings, the bling O ma skyrie neb. Ma breist is fite’s A tin o emulsion peint I can thole onythin ye can haive agin me I swallae fish heids raa I skitter keech ower baldie heids an caimb-owers I teem a picnic bench wi ae hairse skreich 19.Park & Ride Ilkie Setterday nicht, back wynds in lanely airts Hae cars discreetly parked…nae side bi side Somebody’s wife wi somebody else’s pairtner Park & Ride. 20.Poem tae a Drivin Instructor Aince I cud wirk the clutch, the brake, the throttle There wis nae haudin me I wis an arra, an erne, greased lichtnin Till I skytit ma faither’s car alang the road On its reef, its windaes brukken Like a bairn’s wee stottin baa Thon fair dang the win frae ma sails I gaed frae vauntie tae feart, Creepit on ice at a snail’s crawl Fit on the brake. Larries an motors tootin Ragin tae batter by in a wheech o stoor I cud hear yer wird in ma lug, Mr. Donnelly Ca cannie at the junctions. Dinna stall Fag niver ooto yer neive, yer baldie heid Shiny’s a glaiss bool, a boozer’s neb It wisnae until ma mou struck the steerin wheel, Bluid spirkin ower the wrack o steel, chrome, Leather an glaiss, an ambulance, sirens skreichin Ferryin ma bairn tae the ward fur brukken banes That I kinna acceptit the fack: Drivin isnae a skill that tholes an aff day 21.The Flech I’m a flech. I hae ADHD I canna sattle secunts on ma dowp Bidin at peace tae me is purgatory I’m a flech. I hae ADHD. 22. Een faistened wi Preens An Owerset intae Scots o ‘Eyes Fastened With Pins’ by Charles Simic Foo hard Daith wirks, Naebody kens fit a lang Day he pits in. The wee Wife’s aywis alane Ironin Daith's laundry. The bonnie dothers Settin Daith's supper brods. The neebors playin Fitbaa in the backyaird Or jist dowpit on the steps Drinkin beer. Daith, Betimes, in a fremmit Pairt o toun luikin fur Somebody wi a coorse hoast, Bit the address somewye wrang, Even Daith can't wirk it oot Amang aa the steeked yetts... An the rain stertin tae faa. Lang winny nicht aheid. Daith wi nae even a newspaper Tae hap his heid, nae even A phone tae ring the ane dwinin awa, Undressin slawly, dwaumily, An streetchin nyaakit On Daith's side o the bed 23. At the Hairdresser: Gaelic /Scots Can ye dae it faist? An urrain dhuibh a dheanamh sgiobalta? Please hurry, I’m latchy Dean cabhag, le’r toil, tha mi fadlach I’m gyaun tae a gaitherin Tha mi frithealadh co-labhairt Nae ower muckle aff! Na toir cus dhe! It’s rainin again Tha e sileadh a ris Is it gaun tae get ony hetter? Bheil e dol a dh’fhas nas blaithe? I think I hae food pysonin Cha chreid mi nach eil truailleadh-bidh orm Are ye listenin tae me? A bheil thu’g èisdeachd rium? The watter’s ower hett Tha an t-uisge ro theth Takk a bittie mair aff the back Thoir beagan a bharrachd far a’ chuil Can I hae the bill? Am faigh mi ancunntas? Hae ye made a mistak? ? An do rinn sibh mearachd? ? 24.Wame-Mates After ‘Having Twins’, a drawing by Tracy Emin in the Scottish National Gallery Ablow her doon-hingin breists A wumman sits like a human pyramid. She is twa thirds wame, A vertical camel, hatchin In her stappit uterus Twa siblins warssle fur space Moored bi leevin towes Tae her raxxed placenta Inbye their amniotic sacs They cercle each ither Wee astronauts safe in their mither ship 25.Le Temps Menaçant After the painting Le Temps Menaçant, by René Magritte, in the Scottish National Gallery The sea is haein a widdendreme She is breengin an birlin, Wirkin hersel up tae a lather Her dwaum is o a fite torso Sailin the lift A heidless figureheid Aywis she hears a dowie note Like the hinmaist tuba on the Eirde She langs for a teem cheer Tae rest her tides on The sea fa canna bide still Rugged back and fore like a quine Atween twa lovers 26.An Owersett in Scots o a Nippick frae Mythical Story, bi George Seferis I waukened wi this marble heid in ma hauns It wearies ma elbucks an I dinna ken far tae doonpit it It wis faain inno the dream as I wis comin ooto the dream Sae oor lives jyned an it will be an unca tyauve tae pairt them. I luik at the een: neither open nur steekit I spikk tae the mou that ettles tae spikk I haud the chikks that hae passed ayont the skin I hae nae mair virr. Ma haun disappeared an cam back tae me bladdit 27.Luikin at the Corpse’s Intimmers Luikin at the corpse’s intimmers, The pathologist liftit the lid o the skull An picturs o muirs an lochans scaled ower the table A muckle salmon or twa lowped oot Wi three bobbydazzlers o stags. The hairt held the incubus o a granminnie A wheen traiveller sangs A dish o pottit heid An a puckle o versies bi Clare, Heaney, an Burns A Flemish pirate lowpit frae the wame Follaed bi a sodjer wyvin a claymore The lugs war fand tae be stappit Wi birdsang an hinneybees Cause o daith: The oor-glaiss ran oot