Scots Poems From Flashback

1.Scurries Rule OK! Scurries skyte aroon the schules Fleggin bairns an brakkin rules Pooin on the teachers’ cars Chorin chips an candy bars Some fowk caa them rats wi wings See them lowp like burst bedsprings Scurries divin doon the road Niver heed the highway code 2.Ten Scots Owersetts of Early Irish (From English Translation) Sliabh gCua: Irish, Anon,9thC Sliabh gCua, bield o wolves Roch an derk The win keens roon its glens Wolves skirl doon its corries The wud broon deer bells in Autumn, aroon it The heron skreichs ower its crags Blackie’s Sang: Irish Anon 8-9thC The bird has gien a fussle Frae the tap o its bricht yalla beak The blackie frae the yalla-tufted bough Cheeps oot its cry ower Loch Loígh The Randy: Irish Anon,9th C I dinna ken fa Edan will lie wi the nicht Bit I dae ken That fair Edan winna lie alane Daith: Irish. Anon 9th C Whether foreneen or gloaming, Whether lan or sea Tho I ken I’ll dee Ochone, I dinna ken fan. The Monk’s Tryst: Irish Anon,9thC? The douce wee bell That rings on a winny nicht- I’d rather tryst wi it Than tryst wi a jaad On Mael Mhuu, the Poet: Irish, Anon,887 The sweet yird hasnae yet happit There hisnae yet cam tae the Tours o Tara (Nor has Ireland in its mony fields Yet enfaulded) a chiel Like the pure, kind, Mael Mhuru. There hasnae ane drunk brave o Daith There hasnae ane reached the sibness o the Deid The plooed yird hisnae yet closed Ower a sheannachie mair winnerfu than he. Storm: Irish. Anon 8-9thC Cauld is the nicht in the muckle Muir The rain dings doon Nae hauf-meisurs; A roar bi the caller win Delichts an skreich ower the bield o the wid Flood-tide: Irish ‘Finian’ 9th C Luik afore ye tae the Nor East At the sea’s glamourie Hame o craiturs Hame o selkies Reamin wi ferlies It has taen on flood-tide The Win: Irish Anon 8-9th C It has brukken us It has caad us tae smithereens It has droned us O King o the Star Bricht Kingdom The win has etten us up Like twigs, in the crammosie Lowe o Heiven Yuletide Cauld: Irish Anon 11thC Cauld, cauld, jeelin this nicht in braid Moylurg, The snaw is heicher than a Ben The deer canna win at its meat. Aybydaun cauld! The storm has spreid on ilkie side The plooed brae is a burn, an ilkie ford is a reamin mere Ilkie teemin loch is a muckle sea Ilkie mere is a reamin loch Shelts canna cross the ford o Ross Nae mair can twa feet win ower The fishies o Ireland are traivellin There isnae a stran far the waves dinna clatter There’s nae a toun left in the lan Nae a bell is heard, nae a heron skreichs The wolves o Cuan Wid Dinna get peace tae sleep in their lair The Jenny Wren fins nae bield for her nest On the tap o Lon Wae faas on the boorich o wee birds Frae the coorse win, the cauld ice! The blackie wi its pit-mirk back Fins nae bank tae its likin Nae a bield for it, in the wids o Cuan. Warm is oor pottie on its hyeuk Hitherin-thitherin the blackie on Leitir Cró Snaw has blattered the wid here It’s hard tae sclimm up Ben Bó The erne o broon Glen Rye Maun thole the wersh, wud win Great is its wae an sorra The ice will steek its beak It’s daft for ye- takk tent o’t- Tae rise frae yer bed an bowster There’s a rowth o ice on ilkie ford Thon’s the wye I cry ‘Cauld’ 3. Three Scots Owersetts made in Trinity College An 11thC poem in honour of St Colum Cille (521-597) Ma hairt is trauchelt wi screivin Ma sherp quill isnae steady Ma thin-beakit pen powks forrit A blaik skelp o sheenin derk blue ink A burn o the wyceness o Blissed God Rins frae ma fair-broon bonnie haun On the page it draps its load o ink Vrocht frae the green-skinnt holly Ma wee dreepin pen traivels Aroon the acres o sheenin buiks Wioot devaul, for the wealth o the great An ma haun’s fair ferfochan wi screivin 16thC Irish Riddle on the Makkin o Vellum Ane o ma faes eyndit ma life Sapped ma warldy virr, Eftirwards, steeped me watted in watter Laid me doon in the sun, far I sune tint The hairs I eased tae hae. An syne The hard knife edge cuttit me Fingers faulded me and a birdie’s feather Screived aa ower ma licht broon physog Wi draps o delicht Syne, for the lave, a cheil Raxxed me ower a boord, booed hide ower me Paintit me wi gowd, and sae I glimmered Winnerfu in smith-wark, wire ringed roon. Say fit I’m caad, eesefu tae men Mystery’s ma name, A help tae heroes an Haly, sae I am. The Screiver: screived in Priscian’s Latin Grammar by an Irish monk at St. Gallen, Switzerland, mid 9thC A hedge o trees rings me roon A blackie sings sae doucely Abeen ma weel-ruled buik The birds sing far an wide In a green hap o leafy branches The gowk sings her bonnie chant Hain me, Lord, on Judgement Day Blythely I screive aneth the trees. 4. The Fiddle: Fa canna be meeved bi music Is a daud o ice or stane Fin a fiddlers boos his bowstring He has me, bluid an bane Fin first I heard a fiddle Ma hairt it sae inspired Ma fingers sterted clackin Ma feet, they gaed on fire Fin neist I heard fiddle, Tears in a een did stert For it telt o grue an sorra Fin luvers brakk apairt 5.One Scots owersett of an Irish poem translated by James Stephen A Glaiss o Beer The skinnymalinkie She in the howf ower thonner Near killt me for speirin the len o a glaiss o beer May Auld Clootie grup the fite faced hoor bi the hair An threwsh ill mainner ooto her hide fur a year Thon hauf-baked vratch wi the teuchest jaa ye’ll see On Vertue’s road, wi a voice that wad roose the deid Cam skirlin an skreichin the meenit she luikit at me An haived me ooto the hoose on the back o ma heid! Gin I socht her maister, he’d gie me a coggie a day Bit She, wi the beer at haun nae a pick wad arrange! May she mairry a ghaist gie birth tae a kittlin an may The Heich King o Glory see that it catches the mange!