Scots Poems Into The Blue

Extracts set in Doric, from Guaraní poems (Sao Paulo)by Susy Delgado, from English translations by Susan Smith Nash I'm deein tae spikk bit it's nicht already an I'm on the road. It's still nicht altho it's daybrakk on ma tongue, altho it's daybrakk in ma hans, Langsyne Altho I'm scrattin, I'm teirin flesh wi ma nails, I'm raikin fur fit happened tae ma spikk; It's still steekit nicht an I dinna win In the steekit nicht, spikk that skinkles like thon hyne awa starnie. In the steekit nicht an in the derk faddoms, it tint itsel slippit awa frae me my precious spikk, my wee sang. In the steekit nicht, in its hidden hairt, I'm deein fur it. And I, nanetheless - I copy the birdies, the ragin wolf, the hornet, the craa, the wud boar, the puddock, the rattlesnake, the locust, the hoolet. breets sae hyne awa, an I wint tae repon tae aa o them. Thon fa, on the eirde an in the lift bide singin, I wint tae jyne them, aa multiplee, aa alane, aa bi masel. Scots owersetts here of poems bi Juan Delgado Raid Ernesto's buit heels are wud hooves Bein roped in, left bun in the air. Carmen, slaw-fittit, seek wi bairn, Fechts them aff bi sweengin her purse. "Pinche cabrones saben hablar español Cuando nos van a arrestar, " (Dam't bastarts ken foo tae spikk Spanish Fin they're gaunt ae arrest us) she says As her voyce is drooned oot bi a raw O washin machines on their rinse settin. Like a cattie flegged ooto a trash bin, Sal rins intae the street. Chorus: ¡Chingado! (screwed up) A Quine an her Faither We wir drivin ben toon, Mam, Richt bi far fowk catch the bus Fin this chiel lowps oot richt afore us. Da braked. His een grew this big, Mam. He wis rinnin frae the law, thon's siccar. Jist be gled naebody wis hurtit, dearie. Try nae tae think aboot it onymair, dearie. We winna gae thon wey again, thon's siccar. A Young Mither Can ye think foo mony hippens We gaed throwe wi the twins? The haive-awa anes wir far ower dear, Sae we cheenged tae claith. They wir braw. Na, We didnae wash them. Thank God, we'd a service. We jist pit the clarty anes in plastic pyokes, An they colleckit them an drapped aff clean anes Richt on oor porch ilkie twa wikks. It made maitters sae much easier. An ye ken, We didnae hae tae fash aboot thon simmer rashes Because their wee bihoochies could breathe better. Gin ya can afford the service, jist pye it. Or at least dae it fur the first sax months. It's even gweed fur the environment. Scots Owesetts o Nippicksfrae First Nation Screivers Lakota Indian An growin in ma lugs Are the sound I think we ken The flicht o laigh geese The fearie skirl o hoolets The sudden faa o scree Swamp Cree Indian I gae backwyes, luik forrit Like the porcupine Mayon Poet Wi rivers o greets We murned oor sacred screivins Amang the delicate flooers o sorra Chippewa Dream sang In the lift I am walkin Alang wi a birdie Hoolet Wumman Medicine Sang: o the Papago tribe Foo'll I stert ma sang? In the blue nicht that is sattlin In the great nicht ma hairt'll gae oot Tae me the derkness cams rattlin In the great nicht ma hairt'll gae oot Blackfoot Lullaby Cam, wolf, Bite this babby He winna sleep! Indian Prayer o a Wumman in Jizzen bed May I hae nae tribble An gie birth tae ma bairn easy I rely on the Dawn O the day, Peety me! Scots owersetts of extracts from poems by Chief Dan George Extract frae Prayer fur ma Brither the Bear …Makk the mwwn shine saftly ben the nichts o his bairntime Sae the waemth o his mither will aywis be in his myndin Makk a rowth o berries growe an sweetness, sae that the virr o life Will gie smeddum tae his hairt an the years o his auld age Shall niver be a wecht tae his corp …Sherpen the senses o his lugs and snoot sae they'll keep herm frae him …Syne, ma wud brither, the bear, will aywis hae a wilderness As lang as the sun traivels the lift Extract frae Ma Face is the Lan …Yet already, syne, ma face wis weel kent It wis kent bi the squirrel that heard a twig brakk Aneth ma fit fin I wauked in the wids It wis kent tae the porcupine that sat in the tree An watched me gyang aneth It wis kent tae the corbie Fa skreiched ta either craiturs o ma camin It wis kent tae the tod fas fa rypit ma maet An tae the beaver fa watched me set traps It wis kent tae the bear fas den and ma hoose Wir in the same wids It wis kent tae Lang Sannie fa larned me patience Fin sikkin fur maet It wis kent tae the wee dooker fas sang Filled ma hairt wi bltheness It wis kent tae the win that brocht me messages Frae the ither craiturs an plants …bit like the wolf that sune'll be gaen frae here Ma face is the face o a vanishin kind …ma face is the lan! A Scots Alphabet A is fur aiblich, an ashet, an auld B is fur breengin, an bannock an bauld C is fur cailleach an cooryin doon D is fur drookit, disjaskit an droon E if fur eident, fur Embro an een F is fur fankle, fur fleggit, fur frien G is fur galluses, gangrel an giein H is fur haivers, fur haflin, fur Heilan I's fur intimmers.fur ingle, fur ingin J is fur jizzen bed joukin an jinkin K is fur kenspeckle, kailyaird an kittly L is fur laldie, langamachie, lintie M is fur mollochin, muckle an michty N is fur nochty, an numpty an nerra O is fur on -ding an oxter an orra P is fur pawky an partan an peever Q's queerieorrals an quinie an quanter R is fur reamin an reekin an rowans S is fur scaffie an scunner an sowens T's tattiebogle, an taigle an tattie U is fur unca, unchancy, uncannie V is fur veesiter, vratchie, an vauntie W is fur wallagoo, wabbit an wame X is the merk the unlarnt pit fur name Y is fur yalla, fur yarkin, fur yowes Z is fur zebra in Africk's hett howes An thon is the alphabet screivit in Scots DSL 's handy fur jynin the dots! Immigration by Proxy Fin young, granmither shared her life Wi a cousin, frae Ceylon, cam here tae study Throw her, she larnt o coolies, Buddha, Ganesh, A warld awa, in misty tea plantations I think o Singhalese weemen Warmin her brither's bed O faither's cousin, sirin un-named bairnies Far fruit bats gorge in steamy tropic trees Masel, I've seen a Nor East ferm wirker His chaumer, bare as a bane Stane fleer, wee basse, ae kist, a pail fur coal A short wauk frae ma uncle's cosie ferm It roastin lowe, its warm yoam o bakin I think o their common puirtith The orra man, the slim plantation picker Baith in tied hooses, hired bi sonsie maisters I think o ma granminnie Niver traivellin ooto her Nor East neuk Sharin bi proxy, her cousin's exotic warld Encercled bi her cousin's Eastern braisse I catched the smit frae thon, I crossed the seas, a gowk bird in the nest Tae see thon tear drap unner India Sri Lanka's hill kintra, some like oor ain An nae a chaunce tae trace oor bluid kin thonner The Bletherskate A bawbag merriet a bletherskate In Auchtermuchty they settled Bit ilkie time she opened her moo The mair his cage she rattled Until he fand the auld remeid He stappit his lugs wi oo Syne she micht girn like the shrew she wis As he suppit his Irn Bru The Cuddy Ma cuddy sings like a lintie Bit his heid is fu o mince Tho he's nae yer ordnar cuddy His favourite maet in quince Ma cuddy's teeth are pearly As fite as Arctic snaa His eelashes are furly He's got his facebuik in his staa Ma cuddy studies yoga He knits sarks ooto noodles Fin a bonnie shelt cams veesitin Its kisses an kinoodles Ma cuddy's a special constable He gyangs tae fitbaa matches An gin the crowd get ooto haun He roons them up in batches He's winnerfu in the kitchie He makks gran Cullen skink Bit leaves the ashets steepin In fool bree like a mink David Hockney cam tae peint him ‘Cuddy at rest, ' he caad it Bit ma cuddy ett the canvas An tuik the easel an chaaed it Nelly the Panda There aince wis a panda caad Nelly Fa stuffed bamboo leaves in her belly Fin faced bi the press Nelly tried tae impress Bi shooglin her bum on the telly The Cockroach A cockroach lives wikks wi nae heid Till wi hunger it's finally deid It's kinder tae smash it Tae blooter an crash it Sae daein a really gweed deed Hives In Spanish, eposas means wives And handcuffs as well! (locked down lives) Fin deciding tae wed Ca cannie it's said Because nags can be nesty as hives Scots Owersett of a poem bi Elie Wiesel frae ‘The America I Love' Thon day I met the first American sodjers in the Buchenwald killin camp. I mynd them weel. Bumbazed, dumfounert, they wauked aroon the place, hell on the Eirde, far we'd dreed oor Weird. They luikit at us, jist freed, an didnae ken fit tae dae or say. Survivors wheeched frae the derk thrall o daith, we wir teem o aa hope— ower dweeble, ower sterved tae bosie them or even spikk tae them. Like tint bairns, the American sodjers grat an grat wi roose an wae. An we tuik their greets as gin they wir hairt teirin offerins frae a hurtit an gweed hairtit humanity.