Scots Poems From The Little Mannequin

Haute Cuisine The dearer the maet The less on yer plate Owersetts frae aa the Airts Doric owersett o Kintraweemen by Katherine Mansfield New Zealand Thon are twa kintraweemen. Fit a size! Muckle sonsie airms an roun reid faces; Muckle braid bihoochies; Muckle wechty breists strang as cheese Breengin ooto their kintra jaikets; Braid deep laps an sturdy knees; Hauns ootspreid, Roun an rosy, Hauns tae haud A kintra posy Or a babby or a lammie- An sic een! Glekit, sleekit, smaa an fly Keekin throw a slit of sty, Gleyin throwe their neebors' plackets. Doric owersett o Laneliness by Katherine Mansfield New Zealand Noo it is Laneliness fa cams at nicht Insteid o Sleep, tae sit aside ma bed. Like a trauchelt bairn I lie an wyte her fit, I watch her saftly blaain oot the licht. Nae meevin, sittin, neither left or richt She furls, an trauchelt, trauchelt draps her heid. She, too, is auld; she, too, has focht the fecht. Sae, wi the laurel she is leafy crooned. Throw dowie derk the slawly ebbin tide Brakks on a barren shore, unsatisfeed. A fey wind rins... syne seelence. I am fain Tae turn tae Laneliness, tae takk her haun, Haud tae her, wytin, till the barren lan Reams wi the dreidfu monotone o rain Doric owersettoThe Tint Heifer by Austin Clarke; Ireland Fin the blaik herds o the rain wir grazin, In the gap o the caller win An the wattery haar o the hazel Brocht her intae ma harns, I thocht o the hinmaist hinney bi the watter That nae hive can fin. Brichtness wis sypin ben the branches Fin she traivelled again, Turnin siller ooto derk girses Far the leverick had lain, An her voyce camin saftly ower the lea Wis the haar becamin rain. Doric owersett o The Blackie O Derrycairn by Austin Clarke (Ireland) Devaul, devaul an lippen fur the bough tap Is fusslin an the sun is brichter Than God's ain shadda in the cup noo! Forget the oor-bell.Waesome matins Will soun, Patrick, as weel at nichtfaa. Feintly ben haar o brukken watter Fionn heard ma tune in Norway. He fand the widlan track, he brocht back This beak tae makk gowd the branch an tell, Foo chiels maun walcam in the daylicht. He lued the win that warns the blaik grouse, The skirls o gillies in the mornin Fin packs are coontit an the swans cloud Loch Erne, bit mair than aa thon voyces Ma thrapple rejoicin frae the hawthorne. In wee cells ahin a fortress, Patrick, nae haunbell gies a blythe soun Bit lear is fand amang the branches Lippen! Thon sang that shakks ma feathers Will thong the leather o yer pyokes. Doric owersett o The Heap of Rags by William Henry Davies (Wales) Ae nicht fin I gaed doon Thames' side, in Lunnon Toun, A howp o rags saw I, An sat me doon nearby. Thon thing could skreich an skirl, Bit shawed nae face at aa; Fin ony steamer passed An blew a lood sherp blast, Thon howp o rags wid sit An makk a soun like it; Fin struck the clock's deep bell, It vrocht thon peals as weel. Fin wins did maen aroon, It mocked them wi thon soun; Fin aa wis seelent, it Drapt intae a fey fit; Wid sough, an maen, an roar, It lauched, an blessed, an swore. Yet thon puir thing, I ken, Had neither frien nur fae; Its blissin or its curse Made naebody weel or waur. I left it in thon airt - Thon thing that shawed nae face, Wis it a chiel that had Tholeduntil he gaed gyte? Sae mony shooers an nae Ae wattergaw in them aa? Ower mony wersher flegs Tae makk a pearl frae tears? Doric owersett oThe Bird o Paradise by William Henry Davies (Wales) Here cams Kate Summers, fa, fur gowd, Takks ony chiel tae bed: "Ye kent ma frien, Nell Barnes, " quo she; "Ye kent Nell Barnes -she's deid. "Nell Barnes wis coorse on aa ye chiels, Orra, a chore as weel; Yet aa ma life I hinna fand A better frien than Nell. "Sae I sat at her side at last, Fur oors, till she wis deid; An yet she had nae mense at aa O ony wird I said. "Fur aa her spikk bit cam tae this - 'Nae fur the warld! Takk tent: O leave thon bird o paradise, On the bed-post ahint! ' "I speired her wid she like some grapes, Some damsons ripe an swete; A custard vrocht wi new-laid eggs, Or tender fowl tae ett. "I promised I wid follae her, Tae see her in the grave; An buy a wreath wi borraed pence, Gin naethin I could save. "Yet aye her spikk bit cam tae this - 'Nae fur the warld! Takk tent: O leave thon bird o paradise, On the bed-post ahint The Pedestrian I'm a pedestrian waukin by Usin ma ain twa legs I dinna use gas or spyle the air Or toot tae gie fowk flegs I'm a pedestrian waukin by I've time tae watch the trees As ane bi ane in the Autumn cheenge They quaetly doondrap leaves I'm a pedestrian waukin by I dauchle an whyles devaul Tae watch the clouds in the Heivens flit As the day creeps oot twa fauld Scots Owersett of a Poem from The Book of Highland Minstrelsy,1846, pp.256-258 On Ederachillis' shore The grey wolf bides in wyte- Wae tae the brukken door, Wae tae the lowsed yett, An the hyterin vratch fa sleety haar On the trackless muir makks latchy. The lean an hungeret wolf, Wi his fangs sae sherp an fite, His stervelin body nipped Bi the cranreuch norlan night An his peetiless een that fleg the derk Wi their green an fearie nicht. […] He sclimms the guairdin dyke, He lowps the hurdle bars, He rypes the yowes frae the pen, An the fish frae the boat-hoose spars, An he howks the deid frae the mools, An chaws them unner the starns. […] Sae ilkie grave we howked The hungeret wolf rived up, An ilkie morn the yird Wis strewn wi deid bluid tae sup: Oor mither-yird gaed oor deid nae rest On Ederchaillis' shore Twa Traditional Malay Pantuns They weir bangles on their airms I weir bangles roon ma queats. They say, 'Dinna dae yon, ye tyke.' I dae fit I damnt weel like! Aaeech! Jobbit ma fit On a stob in the bog. Aaeech! Hurtit ma een Watchin her briests stot Unner her sark. Storm Frank In December 30,2015, torrential rain hit the North East, with Ballater, Braemar and Aboyne worst affected. Frae twa or three spits o rain, there cam a maelstrom Doon frae the Bens aroon, swalled burns cam breengin Bringin terror an wae tae the nearhaun clachans Mair nor a hunner fowk, driven frae hames in Ballater Eftir the Dee raced ower the gowf coorse, droonin greens an bunkers Nae electricity, the clachan cuttit aff An island in the middle o the watter The Ballater-Braemar road, washed aff at Micras Dichtit aff the map bi the wecht o rain The Invercauld Brig, steekit tae aa traffic. Cambus O'Maysteel brig, warped like a wrung oot cloot Abergeldie Castle, auncient hame o the Gordons Teeterin on the brink as the Dee aroon it floods Like a spurgie on a twig in the heicht o a gale The Tarland Burn brakk oot,droonin nearhaun hooses Caravans birled like peeries, sweemin like dyeuks Alang wi trees, upreeted, floatin like boaties Hames washed awa, their ainers fleggt an greetin The storm itsel, tho, disnae gie a snuff!