Ganesh's Daughter (Scots Poems)

The Spikk o the Nor East Leid The Romans focht at Bennachie gainst Calcagus chief o a clan His name hid reets in Celtic lore, a legendary brave swordsman Eumenius in the third century, caad North East tribesmen the Picti Bit verra sune the leid cheenged ower tae Gaelic, roon the Don an Dee Lothian's Northumbrian dialect, entered the touns o the Nor East Wi Scots an Gaelic, side bi side, an Latin spukken bi the priest Syne Barbour screived his poem, The Brus, a braw langamachie An Dunbar, telt o Aiberdeen an Margaret Tudor veesitin John Skinner he penned Tullochgorum, Doric wis fand in mony's a buik Whyle Willie Alexander screived his Johnny Gibb of Gushetneuk A heeze o bards in Doric follaed: Charles Murray, Flora Garry, Rorie Violet Jacob, J.C. Milne, aa in the auld wirds, couthie, bonnie Spukken bi fermer, fisher. Baillie, orra loun, an traivellin cyaard Jack Aitken gaed a heist tae Scots editin DOST, a michty darg An Dauvit Murison, Brocher born, he drave the gaitherin o wirds on Researchin place nemmes, fairs an marts, fur scholar, reader, learnèd don A Doric Dictionar Kynoch penned.Ye'll see wirds on First Bus gaun by Buchan Claik bi Buchan an Toulmin- hoards o wirds baith gleg an spry An RGU pit online lists o wirds like hornygollach jist fur fowk tae savour Ah Doric is a feisty tongue: an here are wirds tae shaw its flavour: Knapdarlach, contermaschious, smarrach, clyack, strushil, braa Hudderie-heidit, maasie, baggerel, barritchfu, hoodie craa As lang as I've a tongue tae spikk, I'll praise the wirds o my kintrie The leid that Burns's faither spakk, an Fergusson's: sae swete tae pree David Toulmin's Heirskip: Sings to the tune Drumdelgie John Reid wis born in Rathen, far his faither wirked the lan He gart John stop his larnin afore he wis a man At fowerteen years he left the skweel, his first fee for tae earn An thon began his slavery, the hard darg o a ferm At thirty fower, he cheenged his name, a screiver he'd becam Noo kent as David Toulman, takkin fame wioot a qualm Nine buiks he screived, a rowth o tales, a diary noo in prent Nae stranger tae the media, his screivens grew weel kent His life is celebrated, an tae keep his heirskip gaun The Elphinstane's ain Institute wi the Leopard magazine ran An annual competition in the leids o the Nor East In Doric, English, or a mix o wirds that kittle the breast His faimily gied their sponsorship, tae gie the darg a heeze Tae bring the entries scalin in frae fowk o a aa degrees Sae mony thochtfu stories poorin in frae ilkie neuk Noo puckles brocht thegither in the pages o a buik The entries cam frae Buckie, Peterheid an Aiberdeen Fray Morayshire, Lumphanan, frae the fish an fermin scene Some screived aboot the dowie side an waes o life an daith O immigrants, o wartime days, wi skill that catched yer braith An sae the blawin seeds o David Toulmin's wirdies seed the loam The Buchan Claik, its saut an glaur, brier tae a harvest home Straw intae gold the likes o Rumplestiltskin niver spun An sae we praise the cheil amang's, his laurels sairly won Birse Kirk Mey, an a sycamore spreids its muckle airms Sweyin her greenery, in the skinklin sun Like a granmither, walcamin bairns A bawd in the nearhaun park, lowps Blythe ben the plooed rigs An cheepers amang the leaves Gie it laldy, wee Pavarottis The sleepers in the kirkyaird Lie roon their graves o their lairds Neebors in daith as in life An aunt an uncle lie thonner Their reets entwined thegither Throw years o merriage, In fine an stormy weathers. Ae thing they niver stinted on, Wis luve, tae the bairns that cairriet on their name An ilkie inabooter, that cam tae their Birse hame Like catties tae cream, or bees tae a hinneycaimb As the Crow Flees Heich up in a birk tree a craa an his mate Wir watchin a bus stop, wis't early or late? They'd noticed that humans in their craa domain Wore squars on their beaks Wis't tae haud oot the rain? Thon peetifu craiturs need buses, quo he Fin we traivel we open oor wings an jist flee Sax Cushie Doos Sax cushies wir sattled an haein a news Abune Gregg the bakers, admirin the views They wir restin their taes an discussin their waes Their chilblains, blin lumps an their cauld weather blues Fur cushies are cursed wi afflictions o feet Through frostbite an perils o thrang Union Street They cripple alang like a pensioner gang On the scran fur a treat far the traffic is strang A Bairn Should be Lued A bairn should be lued Like a souter lues shee leather Like a baker lues dough Like a fermer lues his parks A bairn should be lued Like an oasis in the mids o the Sahara A bairn should be washed Like rain washes the stoor frae the druchty lan Like a linn baptisin a puil, doucely Like smirr weetin fogg at the peat bog's side A bairn should be pettit Like a horseman caimbin a shelt Like the win straikin the corn Like the shepherd clappin his tyke Like a quine, kissin a rose A bairn's path should be Spreid wi gowden hosannas Smeeth as a loch at midnicht Starnies should shine on the road upcamin This advice frae a mither Fa larned these truiths ower late Owersett intae Scots o I wash the sark, bi Anna Swir Fur the hinmaist time I was the sark O ma faither fa deed The sark yoams o swyte. I mynd Thon swyte frae ma bairntime Sae mony years I washed his sark an his semmit I dried them At an iron stove in the workshop He wid pit them on nae ironed Frae amang aa the bodies in the warld Breet, human, anely ane swytit thon swyte I breath it in Fur the hinmaist time. Washin thon sark I dicht it awa Foraye Noo Anely peintins survive him That guff o iles Fower Scots Owersetts o Poems bi John Clare 1.The Nest o the Cushie Doo Stravaigin the nerra path neath simple trees O some auld busse or widlan I hae aft Bin stertled pleisantly frae dwaumin weys Bi frichtened doo that, o a sudden, alaft Sprang ben the mony boughs wi clatterin noise Till free frae sic haudbacks abune its heid They skelped their clappin wings fur verra Joy An in a thochtfu mood I've whyles bin led Tae sclim thon twig-encercled trunk an there On some fyew bits o sticks twa fite eggs lie As left bi accident forelorn an bare Nearly wioot a nest, yet by an by Two birds in gowden down will leave the shells An hiss an snap at win-blawn leaves that shakk Aroon their hame far green alaneness dwalls Till fledged an syne the young adventurers takk The auld anes feartie flichts frae aik tae aik Lippenin tae pleisant reeshlins o the shade Nur stertled bi the widman's hollow strake Till Autumn's pleisant veesions dwine an shift Syne they in baulder flocks will swype an flee An brave the desert o a Winter lift 2.The Hurcheon The hurcheon bides aneth the rotten hedge An makks a great roon nest o girse and sage Or in a busse or in a hollow tree An mony a body boos an say they see Him rowe an plug his prickles fu o crabs An creep awa an far the magpie dabs His wing at dubby dyke an auncient reet He makks a nest an staps it fu o fruit On the hedge boddom hunts fur crabs an sloes An fussles like girselowper as he gaes He raise up like a bowl or makkless hog Fin traivellers hunt it wi their bowfin dogs I've seen it in their camps they caa it swete Tho blaik an wersh an gey coorse tastin meat Bit they fa hunt the park fur rotten meat An wash in dubby grun an caa it swete An ett fit tykes refuse far ere they dwall Care little either fur the taste or smell They say He milks the kye an fin they lie Nibbles their fleshy paps an sooks them dry Bit they fa've seen the sma heid like a hog Rowed up tae meet the savage o a dug Wi moo scarce big eneuch tae haud a straa Will ne'er believfit naebody iver saa bit still they hunt the hedges aa aboot An shepherd tykes are trained tae hunt them oot They haive wi brutal force the stick an stane An naebody cares an still the strife gaes on 3, Simmer Gloamin The puddock, fearful, lowps across the path An teenie moosie leaves its hole at eve Tiptaes wi timid dreid aneath the swath Ma reeshlin steps awhile their joys deceive Till past and syne the cricket sings mair strang An girselowpers in blythesome moods still weir The short night trauchelt wi its fretfu sang Up frae the mowdie-hillock lowps the bawd Swicked o its chusen bed an frae the bank The yalla yeitie flichters in short flegs Frae aff its nest hid in the girse sae rank And draps again fin nae mair soun it hears Sae natur's human link brings eynless thrall Proud man still seems the enemy o aa 4. Ballad O maen nae mair luve, maen nae mair Nur murn fur eirdly treisure Fa feels a shipwrack on the shore Or meets despair wi pleisure Lat nae oor wints oor tribbles pruve Tho it is cauldrife weather Nur singly strive wi fit oor luve Can better thole thegether Yer luve is pruved, thy wirth is such It canna fail tae bless me Gin I lose thee, I'd nae be rich Nor puir gin I possess ye ………………………………….. A Footerie Fash Faa, faddom, fadge & faem Faimly, fairfaa, fairin, fain Fairly, fairmer, faither, fan Fand & fankle fantoosh, funn Fardel, fareweel, fashed & fashious Fyauch an fearful, fause & feckless Februar, fecht, feeroch & feenish Fegs, feint, ferlie, fell & fleerich Fey & fidgin-fain an ficher Fier an fitbaa, flaff & flauchter Flech an flee, fleg, fegs & flichterin Flichtermoose, flooer, flittin, flitterin Flang, foraye, forbye & flyte Foggy-bummer, fooner, flype Forebears, foremaist, fower, foreneen Ferfochen, forgie fowerteen Forhouied, forrit an forjaskit Fou & fud, fool, frienly, fremmit F's a soun ye aften hear Maist aften eesed tae makk a sweir Caa o the Wild: On Monday, a phaisie veesited His feathers, as sheeny's silk Wi gowden een an a regal step An mainners mild as milk On Tuesday a rubbit lowpit in Her lugs cocked heich in the air Her fuskers jinked, she wis set tae rin Tae flee at the wee-est scare OnWednesday a pertrick cried inbye Snappin the seeds, rael mirky A squirrel sat on the bough abune A contermaschious birky On Thursday a roe wi horns like lums Cam steppin abune the lawn An a cocky mertrick, rigged in broon Jouked in wi a soor luik on On Friday, a snochrin brock sniffed roon Fur leavins, fine an tasty Bit bide awa frae the strippit vratch Fur his bite is unca nesty On Setterday a sparrahawk, An a tod baith drapped in raikin On Sunday naebody cam ava The gairden wis forsaken! In the Nursery Ma hauns are as green as a zombie Frae the bottle-green dye in the class Cause the watter for bairnies tae splosh in Luiks like terminal gangrene alas We canna use play dough tae soss in Since ane o the craiturs his wirms An the jigsaw's bin haived tae the heivens Wi twa o them nae takkin turns Ye'd think that a tyke hid attacked me A bite in ma shank frae a quine Niver get in the wye o a littlin Wi her birse up abune ninety nine The winter's the Sizzen fur snotters Wi stringles frae nostril tae moo An they'll dicht their wee snoots on yer ganzie Whyle their hippens are hingin wi poo Fin they're roosed, they will daunce like a dervish Eneuch tae weir holes in a rug An sharin's a wird that's a stranger They'd rather skelp friens on the lug Bit fin they are asleep or begrutten An the snotters are dichtit awa In yer bosie they'll lie like wee angels As they are, fin they're anely jist twa Balvaird Castle scheduled monument: Perth & Kinross Owner- Brady Brim-DeForest A mediaeval touer hoose Heich in the Ochil Hills it's fand Named fur the tounship o the Bard Sir Andra Murray ained the land Sooth lay a gairden filled wi flooers A pleisunt orchard raised wi care An stables. Here the laird rade oot On his best shelt tae takk the air Recumbent statue in the keep (Wis't Lady Margaret Barclay?) lay An dis her ghaist wauk ben the stanes Myndin upon her waddin day? The Ochil Hills are roon an steep Streetched frae the Tay tae Stirlin toun Twa thoosan peaks, deep steeped in myth Green as a eildritch fairy's goun The burns are scentit swete wi moss, Heather an birk an sauch are there, Corbies an jaikies reest in trees Fine bield for ony lairdie's lair The whaup flees ower the Ochil Hills A lanesome cry, that's sair lamentin The win gaes ripplin ben the girse Like clarsach wi bird music blendin The Ash Tree of Ettrick Forest, St Mary's Kirkyard, Selkirk, This ash tree is a relict O auncient Ettrick wid The Norsemen caad it Tree o Life It grows auld graves amid Its winged seeds drap like birdies Amang the seelent deid Its ash leaves hap their lairs, Each ootraxxed limb an heid It owerluiks a bonnie loch James Hogg, the bard, explored His gransire Will o Phawhope Spakk wi the seelie horde An dae thon eildritch craiturs Daunce yet aneth its the boughs Is thon Ash Tree their tryst-neuk Their bield on Selkirk's howes? The Holm Oak Twa hunner year auld, in County Down Auld Homer, an aik tree growes At the Fairy Glen in Kilbroney Park There's glamourie in its boughs It inspired the buik o Narnia At the fete caad Fiddler's Green Fowk gaither tae daunce an sklaik an sing It's the hub o the culture scene Charles Dickens thocht it winnerfu It's even met the Queen Auld Homer, castin his Irish cherm As strang as the best potcheen Oak Józef In Poland stauns a muckle aik In the province o Podkarpackie Sax hunner an fifty years it's bedd In this neuk, baith stoot an cannie Fin Nazis scoored the lan fur Jews Twa brithers fan this tree They hid in the foun o the hollow wid An keepit their liberty They escaped frae the Fryszstak ghetto, Or a nearhaun labor camp, An niver jyned the sorrafu sowels Gart tae coorse Treblinka tramp This aik should hae gotten the croix de guerre Or at least the Victoria Cross Fur savin twa frae the killin machine That wis the Holocaust The Ding Dong Tree The Ding Dong Tree at Prestonpans Wis up fur bairnies' ploys It's nae verra auld this copper beech It's the best o playgrun toys The Ding Dong Tree at Prestonpans Wis used fur pig an tag An littlins sheltered aneth its airms Wi their sannies an schulebag Fin it gangs tae the fields o Paradise A wee copper beech is wytin Tae takk its place, a saplin braw Baith blythesome an excitin!