Scots Poems From Spoiler Alert!

Ballaterach Wee Geordie Byron Ran aboot the braes Prood as a pertrick In fancy breeks an claes Wee Geordie Byron Ballaterach's tricky vratch Brakkin ilkie thing in sicht A slippery deil tae catch A free reenge bairnie, Geordie The verra kye are feart The fleggit pheasants flew awa Finiver he appeart 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 The Roup.1983, Aultonrea Aged sax, ma da tuik me tae Aultonrea An eeran, tae the Esson faimily ferm Lang sattled in Glen Muick, o auncient stock Fa poored a cup o tea wi frienly cherm Thirty years eftir, daith snippt aff the link Aa gear an trock wis pit aneth the haimmer A heistit haun, a nod, a lauch, a wink Things selt bi auction tae the heichest bidder Lairds, neebors steered aroon, a braw day oot Bunnets an buits, fowk shilpit, stoot an hippit Sklaikin an bletherin, keen tae jyne the sale Buyers frae hyne awa, wi moos ticht grippit Georgian, Edwardian gear, a Tudor wash staun A heeze o fermin ferlies on the green Miss Esson's caunle lantern fur the derk Signed photie oVictoria the queen A robin frae the fence post watchin aa A buzzard cerclin, wings raxxed, owerheid A tyke gaed paddin roon the staunin fowk An sniffed aboot the trock that stauns ootspreid Sae, weel lued speens an pans, ladles an cups Wi ashets, harras, besoms, picturs braa Finds ither maisters, a diaspora Like bairnies grown, a teem nest, tint o aa Gilderoy McGregor The cave at the Burn o Vat, Wis the lair o a noted thief Gilderoy McGregor A Heilan cateran chief Fin a local pair wir merriet He ran tae spulzie the place They catched him at the hinnereyn In saxteen thirty sax In Embro bi the hangman's noose His thrapple they did raxx Music Bird sang, unscreived Poors frae the open yett o the feathered hairt Notts nae subtitles Notts nae jookery-pokery Notes hing in the seelence o the air Pure as the first snaw o winter Blythe as gean flooers in spring The singer is airtless Fulled wi the duende o the meenit Lug-balm, sowel-sap Fit could compare wi thon primeval sang? A struck spunk brierin In the lowe o the pagan wids Sclimmin up Rapunzel's Braids He'd niver seen a braid like it Burnished gowd, three strandit Glentin in the sun The anely wye up tae the touer Wis ae heich windae Nae laidder an nae yett tae win inbye Aa he cud hear wis the vyce, saft an curmurrin Till he could thole nae mair Neive ower neive, he sclimmed the hank o hair His hairt like a haimmer duntin in his breast Wi a breenge, he lowpt intae the chaumer There she wis, the spunk that kinnlit his langin Nae a sonsie quine, bit a wizzent cailleach Wrunkled, stankin o fish frae her unwashed crutch Sprauchled oot wi ma Uncle's Kye Ma uncle's fine milk kye Lie sprauchled oot in the park Ringed bi cercles o sharn Buzzed ower bi flees I watch their jaas munch sidiewyes Sisters in simmer thegither Nae sklaik atween us Bar a twitch o the lugs The antrin moo betimes Ae wechty Friesian stauns on her splayed hooves Heists her tale like a wattergaw Skooshes oot a stream o rikkin skitter Hett frae the lowsed purse o her clarty dowp I like tae lie in the girse wi ma uncle's kye Aneth the beeches in Mey Fin the leaves drap dauncin shaddas atween sun glents Breets' lang lashed liquid een Blinkin peacefu unner the sweyin boughs Naethin else bit the thrummin o teenie flees Girselowpers' parp, an the cheep o widlan merles Coos' een hae a leid o their ain Mysterious, milky, auncient As peat on the muir. Matrons, Their bovine thochts mysterious an cannie The Cattie Oor cat Lucy is contermaschious Couthie bit coorse she prowls the night Humphs a moosie in tae the hoose Gript in her moo like a toy held ticht Oor cat Lucy bi day lies streekit Oot on the bed wi her paas raxxt oot Dwaumin, her fuskers flichterin airy Strings, as she snores through her weet snoot Oor cat Lucy is prood an spunky Preens her coat till it sheens like sharn Oor cat Lucy likes corrieneuchin Purrin fin pettit's her greatest cherm The Year I didnae Veesit Mumbai The year I didnae veesit Mumbai I veesited Birse insteid Nae Ganesh, Hanuman, Kali Yowes in a park, weel fed I didnae sup buffalo lassi An I didnae catch fevers fey Bit a heeze o midgies chawed ma shanks In Birse on a simmer's day Scots o Poems from Poetry of the Holocaust from Yad Vashem Scots owersett o A Puir Christian Looks at the Ghetto by Czeslaw Milosz Bees bigg aroon reid liver, Emerteens bigg aroon blaik bane. It's stertit: the teirin, the stampin on silks, It's stertit: the brakkin o glaiss, timmer, copper, nickel, siller, faem O gypsum, iron sheets, fiddle strings, trumpets, leaves, baas, crystals. Wheech! Skyrie flames frae yalla waas Reams ower breet an human hair. Bees bigg aroon the hinneycaimb o lungs, Emerteens bigg aroon fite bane. Riven is paper, rubber, linen, leather, flax, Fibre, claes, cellulose, snakeskin, weer. The reef an the waa drap doon in flame an the lowe grips the founs. Noo there is anely the yird, sanny, trampit doon, Wi ae leafless tree. Slawly, howkin a tunnel, a guairdian mowdie makks his wey, Wi a wee reid lamp faistened tae his broo. He touches beeriet corpses, coonts them, hashes on, He kens human aisse bi its luminous rikk, The aisse o ilkie cheil bi a different pairt o the spectrum. Bees bigg aroon a reid trace. Emerteens bigg aroon the merk left bi ma corpse. I'm feart, sae feart o the guairdian mowdie. He his swallt eelids, like a Patriarch Fa his sat lang in the licht o caunles Readin the great buik o the species. Fit'll I tell him, masel, a Jew o the New Testament, Wytin twa thoosan years fur the secunt camin o Jesus? Ma brukken corp will deliver me tae his sicht An he'll coont me amang the helpers o daith: The uncircumcised. Scots owersett o A Windae Faces the ither side by Wladyslaw Szlengel. I hae a windae facin the ither side It's a braiss, Jewish windae That luiks oot on the bonnie Krasinski Park Wi its weet autumn leaves... A greyish poorple gloamin lift Wi booin branches O Aryan trees glowerin intae ma Jewish windae… An I'm nae alloued tae staun in the windae, Richtly sae, fur Jewish insects…mowdies are vrocht tae be blin. The young cheils sit in their pits, Their een sunk in their darg Far frae thon Jewish windaes An I, fin evenin faas Rin tae the derkened windae Tae win back a warld an blunt the Noo. Hungert I luik an I luik An ett a foonert Warsaw, The hyne aff souns o steer an fustle The raws o hooses an streets an the lees o palaces… Ma glower sooks in the Toun Haa wi Theatre Squar ablow me. A kindly meen lats me hae This dewy-eed escape An ma hungeret ee Wanners deep as a piercin knife Intae the saft nicht O a seelent Warsaw evenin in the derkened City Squar. An fin I've sooked in eneuch Tae laist the morn an mebbe a bittie langer, I cut masel aff frae the seelent toun An eildricht wi heistit haun an steekit ee, I fusper, 'Warsaw, spikk fur I awyte ye.' An o a suddenty the pianies in the toun Wi seelenced lids Wauken as ane tae the command, Wechty, dowie, an trauchelt An frae a hunner pianies, a Chopin polonaise Trinkles intae the nicht. Wi chords caain intae the wechty seelence. Abune the toun, this festival o soun Camin frae the pianie keys As fite as daith. The eyn… ma hauns drappit An the notes o the Polonaise are gaen back tae a seelence. I turn back an think foo awfae That ma windae faces the ither side. Scots owersett o the poem Monologue o a Dug by Wislawa Szymborska There's dugs an dugs. I wis amang the chusen. I'd gweed papers an wolf's bluid in ma veins. I bedd upon the heichts inhalin the smells o views: Leys in sunlicht, spruces efter rain, an dauds o yird aneth the snaa. I'd a braw hame an fowk tae serve me I wis fed, washed, groomed, an taen fur bonnie wauks. Respeckfu, tho, an genteel. They aa kent richt weel fas dug I wis. Ony orra tyke can hae a maister. Takk tent, tho — dinna compare. Ma maister wis a breed apairt. He'd a braw herd that follaed his ilkie step an fixed its een on him in fearfu bumbazement. Fur me they aywis hid smiles, wi envy sairly happit. Since anely I hid the richt tae greet him wi swack lowps, anely I could spikk cheerie-bye bi wurritin his troosers wi ma teeth. Anely I wis lat win scrattin an straikin wi ma heid laid in his lap. Anely I could makk on sleep fin he booed ower me tae fusper somethin He raged at ithers aften, lood He gurred, bowfed, breenged frae waa tae waa. I jelouse he liked anely me an naebody else, iver. Likewise I'd ma darg: wytin, trustin. Since he wid cam hame quick, an syne vanish. Fit keepit him doon thonner in the laigh lans, I dinna ken. I jeloused, tho, it maun be big business, at least as important as ma fecht wi the catties an aathin that meeves fur nae gweed rizzon. There's yer Weird an yer Weird. Mine cheenged faist. Ae spring cam and he wisnae thonner. A richt stooshie brukk lowse at hame. Suitcases, bunnles, pyokes rammed intae cars. The wheels skirled teirin doon the knowe an fell seelent roon the neuk. On the terrace skirps an rags fleered, yalla sarks, airmbands wi blaik emblems an a heeze o blootered cartons wi wee banners tummlin oot. I birled an birled in this furlywin, mair dumfounert than pit oot. I felt unfrienly keeks at ma fur. As gin I wis a dug wioot a maister, some antrin mongrel chased doonstairs wi a besom. Somebody rived ma siller-trimmed collar aff, somebody kickit ma dish, teem fur days. Syne some ither body, drivin awa, raxxed oot frae the car an shot me twice. He couldnae even sheet straicht, since I deed fur a lang time, in pain, tae the buzz o ill daein flees. I, the dug o ma maister. Scots Owersett o A Contribution to Statistics bi Wislawa Szymborska Ooto a hunner fowk them fa aywis ken better -- fifty-twa dootin ilkie step -- near aa the lave, gled tae gie a haun gin it disnae takk ower lang -- as heich as forty-nine, aywis gweed because they canna be ither -- fower, weel mebbe five, able to admire wioot envy -- eichteen, tholin dreams brocht on bi fleein youth -- saxty, gie or takk a fyew, noo tae be taen lichtly -- forty an fower, bidin in ongaun fleg o somebody or somethin -- seeventy-seeven, could be blythe -- twinty-somethin taps, hermless single, sauvage in a steer -- hauf at least, coorse fin forced bi circumstances -- better nae tae ken even baapark nummers, wyce efter the fack -- jist twa mair than wyce afore it, takkin anely ferlies frae life -- thirty (I wish I wis wrang) , twa fauld in pain, nae flashlicht in the derk -- eichty-three suner or later, richteous -- thirty-five, an thon is mony richteous an unnerstaunin -- three, wirthy o compassion -- ninety-nine, mortal -- a hunner ooto a hunner. Sae far this nummer still bides uncheenged. Scots owersett o the poem Ma Mither's Frien bi Lily Brett ma mither hid a skweelfrien she shared the war wi ma mither luiked efter her frien in the ghetto she laid her oot as tho she wis deid an the Gestapo bypassed her in Auschwitz she fed her frien snaa fin she wis birsslin wi typhoid an fin the Nazis teemed Stuthof they haived the inmates ontae boats in the Baltic an ettled tae droon as mony as they could ma mither an her frien survived in Bayreuth efter the war ma mother's frien pattit ma chikks an curled ma curls an haived hersel frae the tap o a bank. Scots Owersett o the poem Hunger screived in the Bergen-Belsen camp in the winter o 1944 by the ten-year auld Peter Kest. Hunger Ma kyte grummles an I mummle quaet tae masel Tae ett? Nae tae ett? It's sic a wee nippick o breid efter aa. Tae drink? Nae tae drink? Fit is there tae drink? Tell me, ye fowk Orra watter wi bluid? A lowe will I sen throw the lan, Banns will I aim at the heivens An I'll dream o ma neist meal. Scots Owersett o Testimony by Dan Pagis Na na: they fairly wir human beins: uniforms, buits. Foo tae explain? They wir vrocht in the image. I wis a shadda. A different Makar vrocht me. An he in his mercy left naethin o me that wid dee. An I flew tae him, raise wechtless, blae, forgiein - I wid even say: apologizin- rikk tae ower-pouerfu rikk wioot image or likeness. …………………………………………………………………………………… Bairn Rhymes Weird Fit'll ma weird be? Fa can tell? Naebody kens Sand, cloud nor shell Nae wirds cam frae the scooshlin sea Fitiver ma road gaun forrit'll be Fit'll ma weird be? Fa can tell? Naebody kens Sand, cloud nor shell The Spikkin Tree I've niver maistered Everest I've niver chased a whale I've niver swam wi crocodiles I've niver catched a gale I've spukken tae a larick Fin naebody wis aboot An at the Burn o Clunie I conversed wi a troot The Anti Social Habits o Dugs Dugs pee on terracotta pots Dugs pee on bikes an cars Dugs pee on hikers' rucksacks Dugs pee on jeely jars Dugs pee on yer begonias Dugs pee on birdies' eggs An if ye staun still ower lang Dugs try tae hump yer legs Waddin Gifts Somethin auld…ma haun in luv Somethin new…fit lies afore ye Somethin borraed…ribbon, glove Something blue…bricht skies be wi ye The Misfit There is a misfit in oor class Wi lugs like cauliflooers His neb is like a dreepin tap It's booed wi fechts an cloors His shanks are bowdie as a brig That boaties could sail unner An fin he pus his eebroos doon It's a sure sign o thunner There is a misfit in oor class Wi hair like wisps o strae He has three teeth, a warty chin The dug's lugs rise fin he sooks in His oxters are as blaik as sin His een are baith agley There is a misfit in oor class Wi games his i-pad's stappit An sae we like tae play wi him E'en tho he's hallierackit Coontin Yowes Ae yowe, twa yowes Lowpin ower the knowes Three yowes, fower yowes Jinkin roon the howes Five yowes merchin in the bagpipe band Sax yowes dauncin in the dauncer's staun Sivven yowes ettin burgers tapped wi cheese The echth yowe fell intae a swarm o bees Nine yowes riggit oot tae meet the queen Ten yowes rinnin aff tae Gretna Green ……………………………………………………………………………… Auld Hornie Auld Hornie sits in his hoose o flame Lowp Deevilicks lowp fin yer maister spikks He birssles the coorse an the ne'er dae weels Hell makks fowk pye for their life's ill tricks He's byordnar fond o dominie stew Lowp Deevilicks lowp fin yer maister spikks Fas maths gars littlins greet an grue Hell makks fowk pye for their life's ill tricks Meenisters miscaain ither religions Lowp Deevilicks lowp fin yer maister spikks Are aften fand in the Nether Regions Hell makks fowk pye for their life's ill tricks Gin ye terrifee teenie bairns Lowp Deevilicks lowp fin yer maister spikks He'll fry yer bihoochie an brakk yer airms Hell makks fowk pye for their life's ill tricks Clover I sooked the clover fin I wis wee I sooked the tails o girse I lay on ma back in the park o corn Wi the speerit o corn, ma nurse I heard the sang o the whaup's hert brakk Fleein awa sae quick I turned aroon like a scuddin cloud Ma life blawn by like rikk The Doo as a Towrist Guide There's the Torry Battery view tae see for sterters Far the dolphins micht pit on a show tae please The Duthie Park's the scene, fin the littlins wint ice cream An Hazleheid sells scones aneth the trees Ett a rowie bi the graves o St Nicholas, or ma fave's Tae stravaig aroon St Machar's in the sun Far the kirk is fu o history ilkie lair is stappt wi mysery Or wauk doon tae Seaton Park fur bairnie's fun Ye micht takk in a museum- Gordon Heilanders-come see ‘em Aa thon sodjers in their trenches in the war Or the picturs on the waa o oor Art Gallery are braw Syne nip intae Auld Mither Cameron's bar Cadonas it is thrang, dodgem cars, the hale jing bang Bit afore ye leave- please shaw yer gratitude (Dinna leave it far the gulls bore in aboot like bulls) Jist a doo sized pie as pyement, if ye could