Scots Poems From Forhooied

Forhooeied: (Raglan Road) The poem Raglan Road by Patrick Kavanagh was set to the music of the traditional song "The Dawning of the Day" (Fáinne Geal an Lae) . An Irish-language song with this name (Fáinne Geal an Lae)was published by Edward Walsh (1805-1850)in 1847 in Irish Popular Songs, and later translated into English as The Dawning of the Day, published by Patrick Weston Joyce in 1873. Fin an Irish bard gies up his hairt He takks rejection sair For a student quine, een derk as wine Frae Kerry he cam tae care Bit she wis a blythe young twenty twa An the siller wis in his hair His life hauf by, hers aa afore Wad be unca hard tae share He'd watch her steppin by his yett ‘Wid ye read ma poems ava? ' ‘Is it jist o bog an steen ye screive? She speired o Pat Kavanagh He set luve doon, like a gift o flooers In the back eyn o the year Bit she wauked on bye, an luikit agley As it wir on a mournin bier An his unsocht luve, tuik the form o wird An it steppt like a ghaist wi a jeel An it spikks tae aa in grief's coorse thraa Fa hae lued an lost as weel Nurse o the Feys Nearhaun Coolgarrow aince there bedd A fermer, wife an bairnies three Their coo wis sick, the wife she gaed Tae buy an elfin remedy Thon verranicht the mither left…. The bairns vowed that the hoose wi fu O mannikins an wifiekins Aa wee, an green, an braw tae view The fermer he wis richt sair made A neebor helped his family Sax wikks syne tae the neebor's hame A Derk Cheil rode onfite sheltie ‘Ye're needit' quo the elfin cheil ‘Aa richt- far are ye takkin me? ‘It's nae fur ye tae speir or ken' He touched her een…she cudnae see Fin they their destination won He touched her een, she saw again She got a phial o fey green ile Tae rub aa ower the fairy's bairn She stude inbye a castle gran Wi elfin lairds an leddies fine An aa the tables wir laid oot Wi deinties an wi casks o wine Her ee wis yoky, she did dicht It, some green ile gaed gaed sypin in Bit och! The castle it wis cheenged An aathin wis as dreich as sin The castle it becam a cave An oorie airt stap fu o waes The baby wis a shargaret scrat The leddies, dressed in orra claes The Banshee (1) In Ireland, an omen that sometimes accompanies the banshee is the coach-a-bower(cóiste-bodhar) - an immense black coach, mounted by a coffin, and drawn by headless horses driven by a Dullahan The Irish bansheechuses tribes, Winane bit them will she gae Afore that ane o the nummer dees She claps an maens wi wae Ye'll hear fowk keen at a kinsman's daith Fowk murninin pit mirk duddies An whyles the banshee sens a coach That's pued wi heidless cuddies The Dullachan rides withoot a heid He hauds it heich in his haun An gin ye meet him on the road Ye're leavin the warld o man The Banshee (2) The Scottish Baobhan Sith, is known as the White Women of the Scottish Highlands. They took the form of a beautiful woman, waiting to seduce young travellers and drink their blood. The Baobhan Sith were said to shapeshift into wolves to stalk their prey. Legend has itthese women had hooves instead of feet. Gin ye should meet a quine in fite Hyne in the Heilans, lad, takk heed Gyang forrit faist, gin ye devaul, She'll teir yer thrapple, sook yer bluid Fowk say she'd hooves insteid o feet Happt bi her flowin silky claes Bit she cud cheenge intae a wolf An wi her fangs, she'd eyn yer days Lessons ‘I'll shaw ye things nae dominie will shaw ye, ' Ma faither said, ‘things ilkie Scottish bairn should gyang tae see.' He wis a self-larned cheil Left skweel at eleyven, aywis readin, Sookin up new information Keepit a library stappit fu o kennin He tuik his bunnet aff in Burns hoose As gin he stude in kirk, or solemn meetin Hallowed hame o his hero Fa's sangs an poems aa o his life did sweeten Anither day he drave me tae Culloden Tellin the tale o Jacobites last staun An Butcher Cumberland wersh deeds ‘Fause Campbells', quo he, ‘lie neth taintit grun' At Glencoe, ye'd hae thocht the warld wis greetin A dowie tale o treachery an killin Eildritch an lanesome, solemn stauns Glenfinnan Stirlin wis steep, a tayyauve tae pech up, sclimmin Embro. He gart me spit upon its hairt Fur luck, ootbye the braa kirk o Saint Giles I warssled up the steps o Walter Scott At Scone, Dumfermline, faither wis aa smiles Waukin in fitsteps o oor Scottish Kings Fit price Balmoral, far the lintie sings? Hame grun, he telt o hingin tree o Mar Blaik Colonel's castle, Farquharson an Dee French Kitty Rankine, Abergeldie's witch The unca weird thon bonnie quine did dree Tell me: fit dominie could better thon? Glen Quoich- the Earl o Mar's steeny punch bowl? Fit I-pad, i-phone wauchts the scent o heath The kinno lear that burns intae yer sowl? The Winnerfu Tune (Owersett from an Irish Poem) Maurice Connor o Munster Blin piper o honour Wis famed fur his pipin Sae braw an excitin His Hen's Concert wis fine His Erne's Fussle, divine Bit ae winnerfu tune Could gar aa in the room Daunce like strae in a storm Somelike newly threwshed corn At fair waddin an feast He aye heidit the list Bi his auld mither led Like a dug tae its bed Noo ae bonnie day At Ballinskellig Bay A humphy backed maister O dauncin, did offer Young Connor a drink An as faist as a wink He drank a hale bottle Piped up at fu throttle Faither Florence Conry Rhymed the lave bonnily For the silkies in motion Like waves frae the ocean On finned feet cam jinkin Aa lauchin an prinkin A rowth o blythe fish Partans braw's ye could wish The rare soun they chased The pechin cod raced The gunner an fleuk Furled ben air like a heuk John-Dories can stottin Hake ran watter-drappin Bricht maukrel cam sweengin Like wattergaws wingin The whitin an haddie The spottie, the buckie The flat physoged skate Ling, sole, early an late Wi herrin like flooers In siller-bricht shooers Wi jeelyfish, sprat, Till the san wis a mat O ocean breets shooglin Tae Connor's tune jigglin The oyster clacks mell Castanets wi each shell A stramash, a melee This incam frae the sea Till on the seaside Steppt a quine frae the tide A cocked hat on her heid Sea green hair, fey, indeed Wi teeth o fite pearl Fit fur princess an earl Lips o coral sae reid Cam tae Maurice an said ‘I'm a laddy o honour Cam here Maurice Connor Be merriet tae me An these things I shall gie Siller ashets, gowd dishes Ye'll be king o the fishes! ' At first he said ‘Na Twidnae suit me ava Tae swallae satt watter Or ett frae gowd platter.' Bit his mither lamented Fin Maurice consented (nae wintin a cod As a granbairn….foo odd) ‘Wheesht mither, ' cried he ‘I am set for the sea.' A wave lowpit ower The sea quine an piper His mither, wi grievin Deed wikksfrae his leavin Frae the Kerry coast wingin Some nichts, Connor's singin Is heard ower the san ‘Crystal watter, lued stran I hae pairtit frae ye Tae bide wi ma leddy Takk tent ane an aa Dinna ficher ava Wi the eildritch an oorie Mynd Maurice's story Bairnhood I wis the bairn in the glen fa wauked alane As heich as the deid-man's-bells That foggy bummers ryped fur crummly pollen I wippit gowan bracelets roon ma airms Threidit ragged robins throw ma hair Paiddlit aneth the saughs far midgies daunced Pued the sticky willies frae ma frock I wis the bairn in the glen fa wauked alane The sun rowed me in its airms The mappies beat doon roadies fur me tae traivel Lupins wyved a walcom alang the Dee I wis niver feart or trauchelt in thon airt I beeriet ma nebinno the emerant fog Saft as oo it wis, an puddock damp Wee gleg bandies flichtered in the puils Ma shanks, ma barkit shins, Tanned bi the simmer's heat The muckle Bens stude roon like guairdians Ma kin, as close as life-bluid tae ma hairt Ma mou wis swete wi rasps frae the girssy sheuch Hyne awa frae the antrin cars ben the road A different pace o leevin aathegither Burn o Vat The auncient cave o Burn o Vat's Far teenie linns cam treetlin doon Atween the steens they cowp intae Sma glentin puils o copper broon The ferns wyve like some braw Pasha's fan. Nae pikk o win tae steer the trees A wyver spreids her eildritch wab Far wauchts o dauncin midgies heeze A dragonflee wi emerant wings Flichters as shafts o sunbeams shift Butterflees daunce in coortin pairs, As waves like skinklin starnies flit This is a hinneypot o peace, Wi lauchter, far tanned bairnies plash An plyter…a swete swatch o time. Ae blink an bairntime has passed The Great Sheep Panic There's naethin sae glekit as sheep They've the harns o a wirm-etten neep A back-firin car, is the stert o war An they're aff like a driverless jeep Drumneachie Ferm The ferm wis a peat shed, a stack o hackit kinnlin The ferm wis reeshlin corn and a tattiebogle The ferm wis buits lined up bi the lowe fur blaikin The ferm wis washin skelpin in the win The ferm wis a bee skepp bizzin in the gairden The ferm wis twa reid kye, their udders stappt wi milk The ferm wis swippert collies, hair as sheeny as glaiss The ferm wis parritch bowls, an cream tae poor frae the joog The ferm wis simmer days an cousins lauchin The ferm wis dookin doon in the burn bi the dyke The ferm wis the stank o girse, o sharn, o violets The ferm wis the taste o hinney, o hotterin hotch potch The ferm wis a brooch, preened in the hairt o Birse Hoof, Horn & Claith (Aiberdeen's Caimb Factory) A hunner dauds o horn, vrocht ilkie wikk Whale been, kye hooves, tortoise shell smeeth an mirled Some, shipped in frae lans hynie awa Tae Aiberdeen, caimb makkers o the warld Nine million plain an decoratit ferlies Twa thoosan different designs tae please the ee Speecialist caimbs to redd up Afro hair Caimbs fur men's beards, mowsers, an braw leddy Foondit in echteen thirty, the business thrived Won medals in Lunnon, Vienna, an Paree Adelaide, Melbourne, Antwerp an Chicago Wis hailed frae Kuala Lumpur tae Sydnee Horn an hoof frae the slauchterhoose, made eese o Sawn, washed, dried, polished an buffed as weel (the affcast bits vrocht knife an brolly haunles) Shined up wi walrus skin rowed roon a wheel A thoosan cheils an wumman, quines an loons Tcyauved wi stoorie, noisy, guffin warks Ae quine sooked intae a muckle machine, back brukken Deid an ithers hid skaiths an swytin sarks Aathin vrocht, frae speens, beakers, an fruit knives Shee horns, letter openers, hair brush, bangles Bagpipe mooth pieces, sic a rowth o ferlies Caimbs tae smeeth the empire's knots an taigles Anither industry the toon surpassed in Crombie's textiles, weel kent in its day Ran a naval blockade, across the ocean Tae gie the Confederate airmy its claith o grey Crombie wyved the British airmy greatcoat They clad the WW1 sodjers,for daith Their wyve his warmed the back o Tsars an ithers Frae Beatles, Cary Grant tae Gorbachev Skimmin Steens The muckle risin meen's a lippenin lug Luiks ower the warld an gies the tides a rug Granminnie wis the meen abeen ma warld The lippenin lug, licht shone in the derk Granminnie skimmed her wirds abeen ma heid Tae daunce abeen the surface o ma harns Stot, stot, like fingin steens across a puil Wirds spak in bothies, ingle neuks an barns They sank intae the hairt, left ripples widenin Memories o wirds langsyne faan ooto eese An like a staunin steen that's tint its cercle I spikk them yet, deep seedit in ma breist The Black Daith Wis it caused bi the meevements o the planets? Wis it caused bi orra guffs an smells? Wis it aa punishment frae God? Wis it caused bi enemies pysonin wells? Wis it caused bi glowerin at a victim? Mebbe frae weirin pyntit sheen? Did incomers cairry the pest in wi them? The Pest: the killer that cam unseen. Cures tae try: sup vinegar, mercury, Arsenic, traicle that's ten year auld Rub the skin wi ingins or wi herbs Try hacked up snake, tae clart fin yer twa fauld Wi grue. Cut up a doo tae clap upon yer sairs Mebbe dowpin doon aside a sewer micht dae the trick Tae drive the fever oot…Or wheep yersel Or burst the orra buboes wi a prick A gweed physician cheil will drinkyer pee An bi its taste he'll ken fit is adee Buchan in Februar It's dreich, cauld, blae Scraped bald as a hen's egg The wersh win's straicht aff the sea The clouds are glowerowerums, Gurly an gray Reefless wracks o hooses Staun nyaakit tae the snaa Watter lies in the parks Like ashets o ice The sun's a blearie cataract A frostit, eildritch ee A puir palette, peely wally hues Skeletal trees raxx bare As deid men's fingers Spurgies, like baas o caddis Cheep in the whins A murder o craas Pyke at the shargeret girse Plooed parks sype their poorins Inno the sheughs Brae-taps are claithed in fite Winferm airms yark roon like birlin cairtwheels Brrr…it's a Buchan Februar Weir thicker ganzies The grun's as flat's an oatcake aff the griddle Mid-Winter Hurl Twa buses hinna turned up The bus is stappit I squeeze intae the last free seat Facin the aisle, nae forrit A cheil stauns squashed aside me His baas press intae ma shooder He guffs o swyty oxters, Mingin buits Ma een are level wi rucksacks, pyokes, Dowps an hurdies Luikin up, I see the hair in fowks' nebs, Like a wee bairn in a warld o adults Wee bairns maun see the warld frae this perspective Aathin frae stammache doon A warld o Gullivars Politics: A Scots Owersett of the poem by W.B.Yeats Foo can I, thon quine staunin thonner Ma attention fix On Roman or on Rooshian Or on Spanish politics? Yet here's a traivelled cheil that kens Fit he spikks aboot An there's a politician That has read an thocht An mebbe fit they say is true O war an war's alarms Bit o that I wir young again An held her in ma airms Scots Owersett of a Poem by Maya Angelou I keep on deein again. Veins fooner, openin like the wee neives o sleepin Bairnies. Memory o auld kists, Fooshtyflesh an wirms dinna convince me agin The challenge. The years An cauld defeat bide deep in Lines alang ma physog. They blear ma een, yet I keep on deein, Because I lue tae live.