Scots Poems From Giraffe

Wirds Cam, lat us spikk in the leid o oor forefaithers Lat us sing oot blithely usin the guid Scots wirds Spik it in luve, in rage, in clishmaclavers Spik it oot loud, that at last it will be heard Wirds that are teuch as a crag o granite rock Wirds as lichtsome as ony wyvers moosewabs Wirds that are close as bluid, as prayer, as kiss Wirds heard in lauchter, heard in a murners' sabs Cam, lat us spikk in the leid o oor forefaithers Lat us sing oot blithely in the guid Scots wirds Spik it in luve, in rage, in clishmaclavers Spik it oot loud, that at last it will be heard Wirds in the sklaik o fermers, media bodies Wirds that are spakk bi the antrin dominie Wirds pit in the bairn rhymes o the nation's littlins Fand whyles in a meenister's langamachie Cam, lat us spikk in the leid o oor forefaithers Lat us sing oot blithely in the guid Scots wirds Spik it in luve, in rage, in clishmaclavers Spik it oot loud, that at last it will be heard Wirds that are dear, thon spikk weel lued an couthie Wirds fur flytin, wirds as swete's the dew Wirds as precious as Willie Dunbar's rhymin Wirds wi smeddum, caller, an thrawn an true Cam, lat us spikk in the leid o oor forefaithers Lat us sing oot blithely in the guid Scots wirds Spik it in luve, in rage, in clishmaclavers Spik it oot loud, that at last it will be heard The Buik o Deer: Exhibited Aberdeen Art Gallery 9/7/22-2/10/22 A sacred buik, tenth century Wis screived bi the monks o Deer Twis a pre-Norman manuscript In the Pictish rulers' sphere Celtic picturs, Latin texts Gaelic in a monk's haun Survived richt doon the ages Frae the mists o guid Scotland This pooch sized treisured Gospel buik Has kent a rowth o hames Frae the Varsity o Cambridge Mony on it laid claims The monastery at Deer wis run Bi the Cistercian order Here fifty monks wid pray an wark Wi eident haly ardour The fower evangelists are drawn Inbye the sacred pages Picturs o draigon, corbie, chiel Vrocht bi thon auncient sages In time the yird micht yield its hoard Thon biggins still untracked Far langsyne, ben their Abbey waas In prayer, the brithers wauked Growin auld Ma taenails hae grown as hard as rock Ma skin flakes aff like poodery chakk Ma snoot his stertit sprootin hair Twa shelt mou bags are ma brassiere Ma een wi cataracts are blearie Ma lugs are deef as a timmer cheerie Ma kyte spreids oot like a plate o jeely Ma bowels can open betimes ower freely Ma hair is hudderie, it's run amuck In fack, the hale o me's gaen tae f… The Auld Fowks' Hame Devaul at the front yett Press the bell an wyte Weir yer anti-covid mask The nurse'll lat ye in. The lichts are on aa day, Like gloamin time, sae cosy The heatin's a hett dwaum The merchandise dwines easy There's a faint guff o pee There is a rowth o zimmers Cerclin like cowboy waggons Bit nae a fear o ony steer Daith causes a minor stooshie Curtains hap the corp The body's wheeched awa upon a trolly The unnertakkers are baith faist an skeely Puckles o fowk are sleepin Heids sidiewyes they slump like thrappled chuckens Aabody weirs bauchles ower their bunions Time fur tay an pieces, The rattle o speens in cups The veesitors hae gaen Back tae their ain consarns The consarns o the leevin Slawly, the fees o the Hame ett up Fit's left o ony inheritance The option is tae dae the darg thirsels The sleepless nichts, the Altzheimers, the hippens The parents they leave ahin Are in Daith's wytin room Auld Annie's in her cheer, her heid draps doon Time fur her peels, teeth in a joog, her goun. Calfie Aywis ma aunt Belle tuik me Tae veesit the new incomer Laid aside his mither The day auld calfie He lay in a taigle o strae Like a fish catched in a net Ower young tae ken fleg or roose Aa mou, an the bleat o hunger His mou fu o milky bubbles His jack knifed shanks Aa hyterin an warssles His warld, at saxes an sivvens Virr grew like a driven drill Throw ilkie skirp an girsle o his hide He wis the perfeck blueprint o a bull His een, wi speirins fu Thonner in the staa, sae vulnerable The Moch I like tae gae furth incognito Be anon like a zingy mosquito Gin ye feel a wee draucht As a waucht fore an aft Dinna worry, I'm hermless, amigo The Terrible Cook Aince I cooked a pottie o mince Twa days in the summer it sat Fin I heatit it up the mince meeved Wi maggots, baith shoogly an fat Aince I byled twa eggs in a pan Thinkin they wid taste fine wi breid sodjers I lat them byle dry bi mistakk An they endit up broon, hard as boulders Aince I ettled tae makk lentil soup Nae readin the richt quantities An the lentils swalled up ower the pot I wis wydin through soup tae ma knees Ance I steered up some joogs o hame brew At midnicht I heard an explosion The brew wis like dynamite, strang The ceilin wis dreepin in potion Noo I buy ready meals frae the shop The microwave's bin ma salvation As lang as I keep the times richt Or the meal turns intae a cremation Ma Cousin wis a Deevilick Ma cousin wis a deevilick Tae sin wis his delicht He filed his horns tae his skull His hooves, kept ooto sicht His forkit tail wis hidden Fin he lat lowse a fart It smelt o fire an brimstane Suspicious, fur a start He leed, he reived, tormentit Wee beasties…pued their wings An niver aince wis punished Bi bites or sooks or stings He blew up wee green puddocks Until they burst, gaed BANG He thrappled baby birdies An chokit ooto their sang His ma thocht him an angel Sae blin she cudnae see The deevilick in her dearie Thon ace o deevilry Dauncin Hens See the hens line dauncin! Wi a tuck-tuck-tucky Till the eggs are comin An they're cluck-cluck-clucky Then it's aff tae the hen hoose Tae fire oot double yokers Wi a rat-at-at-tat-tat Frae thon high pouered broody cluckers Hens in the fairmyaird Hens in the shed Oh it's hunt the eggies In the gangrel's bed The Hurcheon The hurcheon has an itchy dowp His prickles help tae scratch it He'll hae a flech, bit, pick him up Ye can rest assured ye'll catch it Root-toot-toot- tootin: the Hoolet Root-toot-tootin wis aywis hootin He'd een like satellite dishes An tae flee tae Mars an veesit the stars Wir twa o thon hoolet's wishes He hitched a life on a rocket ship An aff tae Mars he flew Naethin wis there bit stoor an win Nae a midge nor a cockatoo The meen wis waur- a birlin steen Nae a moose or a cheese fur peckin Sae he flew back hame an tuik the bus Tae a tree in Ecclefechan For och, quo the hoolet as sure's ma nemme Is Root-toot-toot-hoot-tootin Staycations' are best- ye can keep the rest Space traivel is warld pollutin Oor Cat Twa threids an a thrum her purrs vibrate An cures a melancholic state In aa the warld, fit makks it rosie's A purrin kittlin in yer bosie Rainy Days Hair like cat's sookins Brollies dreepin like linns Fowk shauchle ontae the bus Like drooned rats The windaes are gummy an fogged Runnels o watter Rin doon their faces like tears Passengers sit in weet claes Disjaskit an scunnert It's weather fur dyeuks or trooties The lift is blae as a heidstane Bus wheels splyter ben puddles In pot holes the cooncil canna afford tae plaster ower I Hae News Fur Ye: Ninth Century Irish poem Anonymous: (Screived bi a monk on the edge of his manuscript in the 9th century, Ireland) I hae news fur ye: The stag bells, winter snaas, simmer has gane Win heich an cauld, the sun laigh, short its wye The sea rinnin heich. Deep reid the heath; its marra is tint; The wud goose has raised its ordnar skreich, Cauld has grippit the birdies' wings; Sizzen o ice, this is ma news. Scots Owersetts of 6 Italian Poems Alla Sera/ To Evening by Ugo Foscolo Mebbe because yer the verra makk o thon daithly quaet Sae lued bi me, ye hae cam, O gloamin! An fin blythe simmer clouds An the douce wast win are yer fiers, An fin frae snawy meevin heichts Ye sen shaddas an derkness intae the warld, Ye sclimm doon, socht aywis, an saftly haud The secret weys o ma hairt. Ye makk ma thochts wanner, thochts That intae aybydaun naethin; betimes This coorse time flees, an wi it, the thrang Of cares that ding me doon; An whyle I luik on yer peace, thon warlike speerit Sleeps, that roars inbye me. Il Lampo/The Lichtnin byGiovanni Pascoli An lift an eirde shawed fit they were like: The eirde pechin, ragin, in a steer; The lift, wechty, waesome, foonert: Pure fite in the seelent stramash A hoose appeared, dwined in the glisk o an ee; Like an eebaa, that, swalled, horrifeed, Lowsed an steekit itsel, in the pit-mirk nicht. L'Infinito/ The Infinite by Giacomo Leopardi Aywis tae me this lanely knowe wis lued An the hedgerow creepin ower an aywis hidin The hynie-awa, the horizon's farrest ootraxx. Bit as I sit an glower, there's an eynless Airt still ayont, there is a mair than mortal Seelence spreid oot tae the hinmaist deeps o peace, Which in ma thocht I shape til ma hairt Scarce can hide a fleg. An as the win Cams throw the trees maenin tae ma lugs, The uneyndan seelence an the passin voice I maun compare: myndin the sizzons, Quaet in deid eternity, an eenoo, Livin an soundin still. An intae this Immensity ma thocht sinks iver droonin, An it's douce tae shipwrack in sic a sea. Rimani / Stay by Gabriele D'Annunzio Bide! Dauchle aside me. Dinna gae. I'll watch ye. I'll proteck ye. Ye'll regret onythin bit camin tae me, free, prood. I lue ye. I dinna hae ony thocht that isnae yours; I hae nae desire in the bluid that isnae fur ye. Ye ken. I dinna see in ma life anither fier, I see nae ither blytheness Bide. Dauchle. Dinna be feart o onythin. Sleep the nicht on ma hairt… San Martino / Saint Martin's Day by Giosuè Carducci The mist sclimms tae the steep knowe Amid the rain, An unner the mistral The sea skirls an fitens: Bit throw the lanes o the clachan Frae the hotterin vats Gaes the soor guff o wine The sowels rejoice in. The spit birls on burnin logs, spirkin; The hunter stauns fusslin At the yett tae luik Amang the reidish clouds At a heeze o blackies in the gloamin Migratin like exiled thochts Three Scots owersetts of Poems by Salvatore Quasimodo Enemy of Death by Salvatore Quasimodo (For Rossana Sironi) Ye shouldnae hae rived oot yer pictur Taen frae us, frae the warld, A nippick o bonnieness. Fit can we dae, we faes o daith, Booed tae yer feet o rose, Yer breist o violet? Nae a wird, nae a skirp o yer hinmaist day, a Na Tae eirde's ferlies, a Na Tae oor dreich human record. The dowie meen in simmer, The ruggin anchor, tuik Yer dreams, knowes, trees, Licht, watters, derkness, Nae blearie thochts bit truiths, Cuttit frae the harns That o a suddenty decided, Time an aa future coorseness. Noo ye are steekit Ahin wechty yetts Fae o daith. Fa greets? Ye hae blawn oot bonnieness Wi a braith, rived her, Gaen her the daith-cloor, Wioot a greet Fur her lifeless shadda Spreidin ower us. Connached alaneness, An bonnieness, foonert. Ye hae signalled Intae the derk, Scrived yer nemme in air, Yer Na Tae aathin that gaithers here An ayont the win. I ken fit ye were Luikin for in yer new dress. I unnerstaun the unreponed speirin. Neither for ye nor wirsels, a repon. Och, flooers an fogg, Och, fae o daith. Street in Agrigentum by Salvatore Quasimodo There is still the win that I mynd Kinnlin the manes o shelts, racin, Slantin, ower the plains, The win that merks an scoors the sanstane, And the hairt o derksome columns, telamons, Cowpit in the girse. Speerit o the auncients, grey Wi wershness, return on the win, Breath in thon feather-licht fogg That haps thon giants, hurled doon bi heiven. Foo alane in the neuk that's still yours! An greater, yer skaith, gin ye hear, aince mair, The soun that meeves, hyne aff, towards the sea, Far Hesperus straiks the lift wi day-brakk: The jew's-harp dirls In the waggoner's mou As he sclimbs the knowe o meenlicht, slaw, In the mummle o Saracen olive trees. Wind at Tindari by Salvatore Quasimodo Tindari, I ken ye Douce atween braid knowes, raxxin ower the watters Of the god's braw islands. Eenoo, ye face me An brakk intae ma hairt. I sclimm heivenly taps, crags, Follaein the win in the pines, An the bourach o them, lichtly gaun wi me, Flee aff intae the air, Wave o luve an soun, An ye takk me tae ye, Ye frae far I wrangly drew Coorseness, an fear o seelence, shadda, - bield o douceness, aince siccar - an daith o speerit. It is unkent tae ye, thon kintra Far ilkie day I gae doon deep Tae nourish secret syllables. A different licht strips ye, ahin the windaes Claithed in nicht, An anither bltheness than mine Lies agin ye. Exile is wersh An the search, fur harmony, that eyndit in ye Cheenges noo Tae an early worry aboot daith, An ilkie luve is a shield agin waeness, A seelent stair in the mirk, Far ye plunk me Tae brakk ma wersh breid. Cam back, peacefu Tindari, Steer me, swete frien, Tae heist masel tae the lift frae the rock, Sae that I micht shape fear, fur fowk fa dinna ken Fit deep win has fand me. Solar Siblings Nine planets heich in their orbits birl, Mercury, Venus, Mars, Five meens aroon Uranus furl, Bricht skirps o yalla stars. Saturn's rings an Jupiter's lamps Shine oot in the inky nicht, Far icicle Neptune, cauld an deid, An pysonous Pluto's plooky heid, Circle the sun, a furnace reid, The source o the solar licht. The flooer o them aa is a smaa green baa Wi a toorie o snaa on tap, Australia's croon hings upside doon Jist roon fae the polar cap. Auld Earth, wi its seas, its cloods, its trees An its littlins in its lap!