Scots Poems From The Prophet Hen From Leeds

I dinna ken fit's happenin I dinna ken fit's happenin The warld's gaen daft eenoo We're aa locked up like puggies Ye see in Embro zoo Like Noah's ark we queue up Nae twa bi twa, alane Tae scran fur scraps an bog roll That hinna aa bin taen The shoppie shelves are empty The bairns are aa at hame Far ower the warld a virus His changed the human game A war, bit nae wi sodjers Focht bi the NHS An we salute them ane anaa Heroes in medic's dress Jist GIE Hospital, care hame, an hospice Surgeon, nurse, auxiliary, In this horrible pandemic Watchin ower as some fowk dee Facin risk o bein smittit Bi an unseen enemy Heroes aa, we maun salute ye As ye Gie an Gie an Gie Ambulance's paramedic Front line wirker, an GP Quaranteenin frae their faimlies Ye aa chusetae fecht, nae flee Ye should aa be gaen a medal Helpin tae reduce the nummers In each day's obitu'ry As ye wirk wi patched up armour Fin ye Gie an Gie an Gie We hae seen ye on the TV Weariet, rubbin tired ee Haudin hauns wi sinkin patients As they face mortality Wi compassion, luve an carin Still ye Gie an Gie an Gie Bidin safe inside oor hooses Feart o friens' proximity Staunin weel awa frae ithers Stockpilin each toiletry Tae assist oor sufferin kintra Say, fit eese are ye an me? Ye've a neebor? Help wi shoppin. Help foodbanks feed the needy Ye've a pooch An I've anither We maun Gie an Gie an Gie Craigcoilleach, Ballater Abune the taps o sweyin birks Abune the river's skinklin puil Abune the clachan's rikkless lums I stapped thon sichts in bairnhood's creel Abune the girse, the rocks, the scree The wee ben's heathery sided climm The erne is cerclin in the lift The bawd gaes breengin on a whim Abune the cairn, the tang o pine The hyne aff prods o Lochnagar Abune the midgies waves ablow Broon bandies catched in bairnie's jar Abune the ragged robin's flooer Reid admiral unsteeks her buik A bonnie page, wi simmer glents Twa wings sae brae that ye maun luik Lang may the bee its nectar sup Frae thon heich braes wi blossom sweet Ma skull's a quaich far simmer's braws Skinkle, fin days are cauld a weet Nostalgia - Poem by Jeong Ji-Yong (Jeong Ji-yong, often romanticized in literature as Cheong Chi-yong; 1902 -1950, was a Korean poet. Here Owersett into Doric The airt far a burn, bletherin auld tales, Daunders on eastwird tae the eyn o a braid lea An a piebald bull ox lows In gloamin's sorrafu tones o gowden lazieness- Could it iver be forgot, even in yer dreams? The airt far aisse growes cauld in a yird brazier Fin ower teem parks the soun o the nicht win drives the shelts An oor auld faither, owercam wi drowsiness, Pits up his strae bowster- Could it iver be forgot, even in yer dreams? The airt far I got drookit in the thick seggs' dyew, Raikin fur an arra recklessly shot In the yearnin o ma Eirde-bred hairt Fur the lift's sheenin blue- Could it iver be forgot, even in yer dreams? The airt far wee sister, derk lug locks Fleein like nicht waves dauncin in a feys' sea, An ma wife, nae bonnie bit passable an aa the year barfit, Booed their backs tae the sun's tinglin rays an hairstit lugs o grain- Could it iver be forgot, even in yer dreams? The airt far skirpit starnies gaed their wey in the lift Tae san castles jist ayont oor ken, Fin aneath ordnar reefs, auld craas skreichin by, Fowk sit, saftly mummlin, roon the feint firelicht- Could it iver be forgot, even in yer dreams? The Deid in Frock Coats: Brazilian poet, Carlos Drummond de Andrade (1902-1987)here owersett intae Doric In the neuk o the best chaumer wis an album o untholeable photies, mony meters heich an aybydaun meenits auld, ower far aabody raxxed makkin fun o the deid in frock coats. Syne a wirm stertit tae chaa the ordnar coats, the pages, the screivins, an even the stoor on the picturs. The anely thing it didnae chaw wis the aybydaun sab o life that brukk an brukk frae thon pages. A Bull Luiks AtA Chiel: Brazilian poet, Carlos Drummond de Andrade (1902-1987)here owersett intae Doric They're mair delicate even than busses an they rin an rin frae ae side tae the ither, aywis forgettin somethin. Surely they wint I dinna ken fit basic ingredient, tho they shaw thirsels as noble or serious, whyles. Och, unca seerious, even sorrafu. Puir things, a bull wid say that they hear neither the sang o the air nur the secrets o hey; likewise they seem nae tae see fit's veesible an common tae each o'us, in space. An they're dowie, an in the wake o dowieness they cam tae coorseness. Aa their feelins bides in their een- an losses itsel tae a simple lowerin o eelids, tae a shadda. An since there's little o the Ben aboot them - naethin in the hair or in the terrible dweeble limbs bit cauldness an secrecy - it's nae possible fur them tae sattle thirseles intae makks that are calm, laistin an necessar. They hae, mebbe, a kind o disjaskit grace (ae minute)an wi thon they lat thirsels forget the problems an see-throwe innerteemness that makk them sae puir an sae lackin fin it cams tae makkin daft an painfu souns: desire, luve, jealousy (fit dae we ken?)-souns that skitter an faa in the park like tribbled stanes an burn the herbs an the watter, an efter thon it's hard tae keep chawin awa at oor truith. New Year's Recipe: Brazilian poet, Carlos Drummond de Andrade (1902-1987)here owersett intae Doric Gin ye wint tae hae a braw New Year The colour o the wattergaw or the colour o yer peace, A New Year ayont comparin tae aa the time ye've already lived, (lived ill mebbe or esselessly) Gin ye wint tae hae a year Nae fresh peintit wi aathin back on the richt track, Bit new in the feelins o camin tae be; New Doon tae the hairt o the things ye are least awaur o (tae stert wi fit's inbye ye) New, spontaneous, ye dinnafin it tae be sae perfeck, Bit wi it ye ett, ye wauk, Ye luve, ye unnerstaun, ye wirk. Ye dinna need tae drink champagne or ony ither drink, Ye dinna need tae gae on veesits or receive cairds Dae plants takk messages? Dae they sen telegrams? Ye dinna need Tae makk a list o guid resolutions To file in yer bureau drawer. Ye dinna need tae greet wi regret Ower gypit things ye've already dane Or tae hauf believe That bi the decree o hope Frae Januar onwird things will cheenge An aathin will be brichtness, reward, Justice amang chiels an nations Freedom wi the smell an taste o mornin breid, Yer richts bein respeckit, stertin Wi the sacred richt tae live. Tae hae a New Year That deserves thon name Ye, ma frien, hae tae earn it, Ye hae tae makk it new, I ken that it's nae easy, Bit tyauve, experiment, be conscious. It's inbye ye that the New Year His aywis bin dormant an wytin. Square DanceBrazilian poet, Carlos Drummond de Andrade (1902-1987)here owersett intae Doric João lued Teresa fa lued Raimundo fa lued Maria fa lued Joaquim fa lued Lili fa lued naebody. João gaed tae the United States, Teresa gaed tae a convent, Raimundo deed in a crash, Maria becam an auld maid, Joaquim killt hisel an Lili mairried J. Fernandes Pinto fa hidnae bin in the story. Speirins o Traivel: by Elizabeth Bishop, owersett into Doric There are ower mony linns here; the rowth o burns hash ower faist doon tae the sea, an the pressure o sae mony clouds on the Ben taps makks them skail ower the sides in saft slaw-motion, turnin tae linns unner oor verra een. —Fur gin thon straiks, thon mile-lang, sheeny, greet merks, arenae linns yet, in a faist age or sae, as ages gae here, they likely will be. Bit gin the burns an clouds keep traivellin, traivellin, the Bens luik like the hulls o cowpit boats, slime-happit an barnacled. Think o the lang trip hame. Should we hae bedd at hame an thocht o here? Far should we be this day? Is it richt tae be watchin fremmit fowk in a play in this feyest o theatres? Fitbairn-ness is it that whyle there's a braith o life in oor bodies, we're set on rinnin tae see the sun the ither wey roon? The wee-est green hummin bird in the warld? Tae glower at some unkent auld stanewirk, unkent an ill tae win at, at ony view, straicht aff seen an aywis, aywis delichtfu? Och, maun we dream oor dreams an hae them, as weel? An hae we space fur ae mair fauldit sunset, still rael hett? Bit certain it wid hae bin a peety nae tae hae seen the trees alang this road, raelly strang in their brawness, nae tae hae seen them wyvin like prood pantomimists, riggit in pink. —Nae tae hae hid tae stop fur gas an heard the dowie, twa-note, widden tune o different widden clogs careless clatterin ower a grease-merked fillin-station fleer. (In anither kintra the clogs wid aa be testit. Ilkie pair thonner wid hae identical pitch.) —A peety nae tae hae heard the ither, less primitive music o the creashie broon bird fa sings abune the brukken gasoline pump in a bamboo kirk o Jesuit baroque: three tooers, five siller crosses. —Aye, a peety nae tae hae winnered, blearie an inconclusive, on fit link can bide fur centuries atween the rochest widden sheen an, cannie an pernickity, the futtled dreams o widden sheen an,cannie an pernickity, the futtled dreams o widden cages. —Niver tae hae studied history in the dweeble screivin o sangbirds' cages. —An niver tae hae hid tae lippen tae rain sae muckle like politicians' spikk: twa oors o unstoppin spikk an syneo a suddenty gowden seelence fan the traiveller takks a notebuik, screives: "Is it a wint o imagination that makks us cam tae imagined airts, nae jist bide at hame? Or could Pascal hae bin nae aathegither richt aboot jist sittin quaet in yer chaumer? Continent, toun, kintra, fowk: the choyce is niver gran an niver free. An here, or thonner... Na. Should we hae bedd at hame, fariver thon micht be? " Aa Kinds o Fowk:by Alasdair Gray: Here reset in Doric Gray's final work of public art, a mural made of ceramic tiles, two metres high and twelve metres wide, All Kinds of Folk, at Hillhead Subway in Glasgow Fiery luvers,bauld explorers Bonnie fechters, culture scranners Back green puddocks, clivver hoolets Eident wirkers, loons an lasses Birds o Paradise, heid cases Buikish squirrels, fantoosh princes Couthie mammies, clivver babbies, Gallus chies, cantie deils Feisty weemen, tods, bin raikin Unicorns dauncin, buskers fiddlin Dragons, fiery, bankers, wily Kindly fier, tykes that cheer Dinna lat daily camin an leavin Tae earn fit ye need tae keep ye livin Stop fit ye aince felt fin wee Hopefu an free. Ooto a Scottish Kist A daud o granite, Aiberdonian gray, Sir Harry Lauder wi his gallus wauk The haar aff Steenhive, stervin, satty, blae A plate o Cullen skink, wi fine fish stock A Quaich o Atholl Brose, nectar tae drink A maist carnaptious Buchan bubblyjock A kailyaird maister o the crambo clink, Coo piefrae Desperate Dan in braw Dundee A clarty, urban, hairy, mochie, mink A mod supremo singin in Portree An Edinbro tattoo o merchin bans A heeze o midgies hatched bi Loch Maree A smokie in a shop near Arbroath sans A Glesga yo yo on a string gaes ping The Scots diaspora in freemit lans At ceilidhs watch a dancers' sporran swing A gallery tae show each Stewart King Elaine C. Smith star o a cabaret Lord Byron, casanova, a Gordon gay