Scots Poems From Terzarima

Embro's Trams Auld Reekie toun has a famous castle Nae langer dae its chanties rassle Better than charabangs an prams Noo Embro toun is rinnin trams Oor parliament's near Holyrood Far mony a queen in Embro stude Takkin sedan chairs, gigs an drams They didna ken the joys o trams In closes, pends, the antrin neuk The ghaist o Walter Scott steps oot Wi Burke an Hare, kent fur ill scams Wid killers be convoyed on trams? Hear, fowk frae Troon an Gretna Green Glesga, Dundee an Aiberdeen Yer taxes helped (did ye hae qualms?) Tae gie oor Capital its trams Noo Edinburgh fowk are vauntie Each Edinburgher an his auntie He disna traivel like us bams He wheechs aroon in genteel trams! Craiturs There wis an ambidextrous ant fa juggled for a leevin Fa wed a brosie brock an set up hame in Kinlochleven There wis a contermaschious coo fa stude as an MP She wis beaten bi a dowie dyeuk, (a Tory, an Wee Free) There wis an Ecclefechan eel fa tied itsel in knots Fin spikkin tae a fyauchie fish wi Glesga glottal stops There wis a gallus gollach wi a pair o tartan trews Fin he saw a Heilen chucken he wid aywis stop tae news There wis an Isla Islander, a jinkin jeelyfish For brakkfest she enjoyed a daud o kale upon a dish There wis a lowpin lobster wi nesty snappin cleuks Fa liked tae fleg the midgies heezin roon aboot sea neuks There wis a michty moose fa daunced a polkie in Dunoon Wi a newt o sonsie hurdies, they near caad the toun clock doon There wis a mochy ostrich fa bedd in Embro zoo She shared a scone an cuppie wi a ringle-eed pea-doo At Troon there wis a quail fa hid the orra trick o spittin An a rotten fa liked roller skatin roon Rosythe while knittin There wis a teenie troot fa dreamt o cheengin tae a silkie Awa near Ullapool far mists are mizzlin an milkie There wis a veecious vulture, he wis jist an orra vratch Till a wasp stung his bihoochie, noo he his a baldie patch There wis a xylophone, far Willie Wagtail made a stooshie While a yokie yalla, yeitie keepit time on a bazouki There wis a zig-zag zebra (a puir genetic fluke) An thon's the beastie alphabet, for aa fa care tae look! Owersett of Twa poems by John Clare 1.The Flood On Lolham Brigs, in wud an lanesome mood I've seen the Yuletide floods their pliskies play Ower ilkie arch that trimmled far I stude Booed ower its waas tae watch the splooterin spray As their auld stations wid be washed agley Dunt cam the ice agin the jambs an syne A judder jarred the arches…yet aince mair It breisted bosky waves an stude richt fine Tae wyte the on-ding, thrawn like as afore Fite faem broon tappit wi the roosty yird Aa washed frae new-plooed lans wad flee aneth Syne roon a thoosan eddies flee like girds Birl tae the ither side far they draw braith Ae meenit swallaed syne, like life in daith Fa's wrackit merks flee on the flood sae braw Faister than shaddas that in storms doonfaa Straes treetle, birl, an steady aa fur nocht The brig's stinch arches sheet them quick awa The feather daunces, flichters, freedom socht Derts ben the deepest dangers, aye afloat As gin wee feys hae wheeched it ooto sicht An daunced it ower the waves as pleisur's boat Licht hairtit as a thocht in pearlin may Trees uprived busses, fence upretted rails Wechtit wi seggs in latchy meevements gae Like watter kelpies, tint, each wynds a trails Till near the arches, syne as in affricht It dives, it reels, it trimmles ooto sicht Waves dwaum lowp back an ram stam byle again Like breengin bogles risin in aneth Fin at the tap, unfurl a hudderie mane Ae meenit raxxin a mair siccar braith Syne divin heidlang doon an doon an on An ilke ane byles in the steps o last An ither bogles rise fin they are gaen Brier their torn waves- lowp forrit an are passed The cauld air cams tae jeel an worrit me Frae bank tae bank the watte-war is spreid Fey birds like spindrift ower the howlin sea Hing far the wud dyeuks hashed on by an fled On roars the flood aye tcyauvin tae be free Like tribble, wannerin tae Eternity Moose's Nest I fand a baa o girse amangst the hey An powked it as I passed an daunert by An fin I looked I thocht a ferlie steered An turned again in hopes tae see a bird Fin oot an auld moose treetlit frae the wheats Wi aa her littlins hingin frae her teats She looked sae unca an sae fey tae me I ran an winnert fit this thing could be An pairtit knapwid divots far I stude The moose syne flew aff frae her skreichin brood The littlins squeaked as I gaed on ma wye She fand her nest again amang the hey The watter ower the stanes could scarce be fun An braid auld stankpuils glimmered in the sun Three Scots Owersetts of poems translated into English of the Poet Hoàng Hung (1942-) , Vietnamese, born in Bac Ninh Province 1.A Cheil Gaun Hame He is hame frae THON His wife greets aa nicht, his bairns are dumfounert aa day Hame frae THON Fin he wauks throw the yett, his friens' physogs are aisse-like Hame frae THON He feels yokie, at the back o his heid In the mids o a boorich o fowk As if somebody's watchin Ae year eftir, he chokes o a suddenty at a pairty Twa years eftir he swytes frae his widdendremes Three years eftir, he peeties a lizard Years eftir, he's taen a the tig o sittin alane in the derk Whyles bi day he feels the glower o fremmit een Whyles bi nicht an aimless vyce speires questions He lowps Aa a touch tae his shouder 2.The Daftie Cairryin a brukken brick on her heid She wauks an sings Gloamin cams gradual at the eyn o the street She wauks an sings Bitticks o a calmin sang Brakk ma hairt Ochone, the wudness o tile an brick Please sing an sing again O aa the brukken smush Ye cairry in her heid 3.Far Dae the Stairs Lead Us? Far dae the stairs lead us? The peint is poorple; pairt o the brick waa shaws throw the stucco Far dae the stairs lead us? The coffee's rikk an a bumshayvelt shoppie The hoose fell doon langsyne Leavin anely its stairs Murnin the feet that hid steppit up an up Up tae catch the treelips o fite rikk Up tae catch flocks o wud birdies Catch glamouries, catch lichtheidedness Catch the resshlin soun o the toun's life The hoose fell doon langsyne Leavin anely the stairs Far dae the stairs lead us? The haar in the lift, nae wings in flicht The stairs o a suddenty stop The anely wye is back Frae the mids o the street A lanely bairn keeks up Scots Owersett of an English translation of a poem by Nguyen Khoa Diem (1942) Vietnamese A Kintra Airt Gyaun back, a sickle meen In the eynless gloamin fug o the lea The puddocks sang ripens in the hett girse Rice is saft as a luver's shooder Spring- this same spring That lowses birdies in the perfumed girse o hame Crossin a lane a herd o buffalo wi strippit wymes Drum their horns at the sickle meen Wytin evidently, a thochtie jittery Eichteen kintra quines fa miss their sodjer laddies affa sair Warm thisels wi thochts o them Syne the strang win blaws At the clachan's wellie an riverbank The pure singin o quines Risin like crystal tae the sickle meen Scots Owersett of an English translation of a poem by Y Nhi (1944) Sang Lyric I am a Khuyen Lyin happit in the ooie girse Its singin bides in yer sang I'm a spunk Lyin quaet in the aisse-bowl Its lowe fleers in yer fingers I'm a boatie Cowped aneth a raw o pins Its sea Flowed hyne awa frae ye Aywis I'm haived back Aywis in ma dwaumin I see The lowe The singin The sea Legend o the Three Deid an the Three Leevin The legend o the three leevin an the three deid cams frae France. The plot o 'the legend' is plain: three corpses (three kirk bodies) meet wi three leevin (a duke, a count, an a prince) . The latter are terrifeed bi this tryst. The deid spikk tae the three rich fowk, garrin them takk tent: 'Such as I was you are, and such as I am you will be. Wealth, honor and power are of no value at the hour of your death.' In the Master of the Book of Reasons, peintit at the eyn o the 15th century, they are ridin shelts an set tae gyang huntin. Their frichtenet tykes cercle them. The deid dinna seem tae be memmers o the clergy, bit raiher the doubles o the three leevin. 'The legend' wis aften peintit al fresco in kirks to gyang wi a daunce o death. Three Deid, Three Leevin Sic as I wis, frien, tho ye be Sic as I am's the weird ye'll dree Wealth an honour, pith an pouer In daith, nae comfort gie Financier, wi rowth o gowd Ye rule the lives o mony There are nae pooches in a shroud The mools are far frae bonnie Sic as I wis, frien, tho ye be Sic as I am's the weird ye'll dree Wealth an honour, pith an pouer In daith, nae comfort gie Media mogul, bigsy, braw Aa fowk prig fur scraps o fame Frae ye tae toss frae yer great paw The grave cares nocht for name Sic as I wis, frien, tho ye be Sic as I am's the weird ye'll dree Wealth an honour, pith an pouer In daith, nae comfort gie Fin yer sax fit deep in yird Member o the parliament In the glaur ye'll spak nae wird Pouer an influence aa spent Owerset Poem: Paris at Nicht Déjeuner Du Matin Il a mis le café Dans la tasse de café Il a mis le lait Dans la tasse de café Il a mis le sucre Dans le café au lait Avec la petite cuiller Il a tourné Il a bu le café au lait Et il a reposé la tasse Sans me parler Il a allumé Une cigarette Il a fait des ronds Avec la fumée Il a mis les cendres Dans le cendrier Sans me parler Sans me regarder Il s'est levé Il a mis Son chapeau sur sa tête Il a mis Son manteau de pluie Parce qu'il pleuvait Et il est parti Sous la pluie Sans une parole Sans me regarder Et moi j'ai pris Ma tête dans ma main Et j'ai pleuré. Jacques Prevert Brakkfaist He poored the coffee Inno the cup He poored the milk Inno the cup He teemed in the sugar Tae the coffee an milk He steered it Wi a teaspeen He supped the coffee An pit back the cup Wioot spikkin tae me He kinnlit a fag He blew a puckle rings Wi the rikk He dunted the aisse Inno the aissetray Wioot spikkin tae me Wioot luikin at me He raise up He pit his bunnet on his heid He pit on His raincoat Because it wis a doonpish He gaed oot Inno the weet Wioot a wird Wioot luikin at me See me? I tuik my heid In ma hauns An I grat Makkin the Tattiebogle Colin Massie, frae Glen Dye's banks On the Warlock Stane he held his pranks Nearhaun Potarch, far the kelpie bides Fa droons the gype that on her back rides Here, Janet, the witch frae Sundayswells An Margret Davidson cast their spells Wi Helen Rogie o Findtrack fame Fa stobbit a dallie tae bring fowk pain Wi Margret Ogg fa bewitched men's kye An Janet Lucas gley-eed an sly Fa practised her airts in Lumphanan's kirk Wi Isobel Ogg, as tanned's a Turk They cud cheenge tae a bawd, or a futterat faist An this is the cantrip they likit best: Rugg a neep frae a park, unseen Howk oot holes fur its mou an een Frae the heid o a hoolet staned tae daith Pyke oot een fur the craitur's sicht Noo, the craa-man needs a mou o its ain Cut the lips frae a bairn bi smallpox slain Plunked in the neep they'll sune takk reet Heist the heid on a pole that's blaik as seet A tattiebogle ye'll hae that spikks An gey far ben wi the Deevil's tricks Makk a hole in the cross wi a jaiket gray Wi breeks an buits, aa stappit wi strae Frae the gibbet, howk a murderer's hairt Cut aff his hauns afore he's lairt Pit the hairt in the jaiket, the hauns on the pole The tattiebogle's the Deevil's soul Frae sivven corpses as deid as mutton Pyke an ee frae each for a jaiket button Frae a mappie, a coo, a snake, a deer A salmon, a brock an a wild cat drear Tae gar him lowp, daunce heich three times Roon the tattiebogle, an spikk these lines: A laird, a lord, a lily, a leaf A piper a drummer a hummer a thief Bit staun weel back, makk set tae flee Fur the deil kens fit fey weird ye'll dree! Letter tae a Lochan Dear Loch Builg, Ye haud ma faither's luv in yer jeelin watters There is nae gravesteen here, Nae foggy inscription in the lappin waves The lift is rikk, Risin ooto the smoored aisse o the Bens' cauldron Ma faither larned me here tae skim the stanes Kerplunk, skippin abune the lochan till they drooned Yer ripples circlin roon them, syne at peace Like steppin stanes they war, tae the Aybydan Mony's the stormy meen sleeps in yer hairt As fite as lithium. Yer harns hae bin aa raivelled bi the win Cercled bi heather, glorious in purple A secret kept bi keepers, ernes an deer The crack o a stikk ahin me, Raises the ghaist o ma faither in its wake. He bred the heath in me, the coontless starnies Lochan, ma faither's dearie His best likit He is the win that boos tae kiss yer broo Clean Sweep Ae day I ma mither rippit aa her photies The faimly's past, like it wis nochtie dirt Like she wintit tae dicht awa the hale kiboodle.. Bairntime, merriege, waddins, holidays Like chakk-stoor frae the blackboord o her life The Tide o Time wis creepin tae her taes Mebbe she wintit the san tae swallae her up Mebbe she wintit tae blaw awa like rikk, A caunle meltin doon its seelent thrapple. Daith, the moose-trap, seeks nae extra gear Granite Granite. It's fit this toon is bigg't on Granite laists wi its steely sheen Hewn frae the quarry, ‘twis gey sair won The grey foundation o Aiberdeen Granite's the thing that draws ye back It shapes the landscape, it spikks o place Granite's the stane that winna brakk It pits the grit in the North East race Granite glint fires an inner langin The wannerlust tae gyang hyne awa Bit ay there's the need tae be belangin Back, far the Northern breezes blaw The blocks that biggit oor past, oor hame That shapes oor future's the granite stane Aa Things Scottish Here's tae roastit bubblyjock, tae morphine an lawnmowers Tae bowlin greens, Gleneagles, an the Aviemore snaa-blawers Here's tae photocopiers, tae Bovril, Gretna Green Tae Glenmorangie, Arisaig, Tae Glamis an Aiberdeen Here's tae Dolly, marmalade, Glen Lyon, Embro Toun Tae gas masks an tae insulan, the Reekie Linn an Troon Here's tae penicillin, an the Northern Lichts, ablaze The Clyde, the Wallace monument an Tobermory's braes Here's tae tar an overdraft, tae Forres, Wick an Skye Balmoral, Ballachulish far the midgies fing on by Here's tae anaesthesia, thermometers, the bus Crieff Hydro, an Glenfinnan Stirlin Castle…aa o us Weety Oot: County Mayo It's weety oot. Skin's watterproof A coo's weirin a pail Like a fez on its dubby snoot A yowe wi dreepin l; ugs Glowers ben the smirr Hooses like haciendas, skyrie-harled Hug roadsides like tidemerks It's Tuesday. Mayo's teem The car-less tarmac rins mids girse an breem The Roads Untaen It's far ower late tae traivel the roads nae taen The roads ower fearie, ower roch that I micht hae gaen I hae blawn ben life like a fooshunless toosht o strae Heelstergowdie, contermaschiously Noo I'm a shoogly leaf tit-tittin a shakkin twig I'll niver see Tir nan Og, or cross its brig Civic Cows Angus, Hamish, Faquhar, Campbell Cooncil-ained bi Dundee toon Heilian coos…pyed fur bi taxes Jist like gweed roads. A towrist boon Owersett in Scots: Poem by Pablo Neruda Ode tae the Claes Ilkie morning ye wyte Claes, ower ma cheer Fur ma vauntieness Ma luv Ma hope Ma corp Tae full ye I hae scarce Waukent up I say ta ta tae the watter An enter yer sleeves Ma shanks luik fur The teemness o yer legs An noo enfaulded Bi yer unweariet leal-ness I gae oot tae walk for maet I meeve inno barderie I teet throwe windaes At ferlies Chiels, weemen, daeins an tcyauuves Keep makkin me fit I am Gaun agin me Makkin eese o ma hauns Unsteekin ma een Pittin taste in ma mou An syne Claes I makk ye fit ye are Pushin oot yer elbucks Raxxin yer seams An sae yer life swalls The marra o ma life Ye flap An skelp in the win As though ye war ma soul At coorse times Ye hug Ma beens Teem, at nicht The derk sleep Fowk wi their ghaisties Yer wings an mine I spear Whether ae day A bullet Frae a fae Will merk ye wi ma bluid an syne ye will dee wi me or mebbe it winna be sae dramatic bit simple an ye'll dwine gradual claes wi me, wi ma corp an thegither we'll enter the yird at the thocht o this ilkie day I greet ye Wi reveraunce an syne Ye enfauld me an I forget ye Because we are ane An will gae on facin The win thegither, the nicht The streets or the warssle Ae corp Mebbe, mebbe, ae day unmeevin