Scots Poems (Witnessing)

The Druid Stane A scutter it wis tae ploo the grun Roon rock wi its granite grain Far better, he thocht, tae howk it up Sae he liftit the Druid Stane He flittit it tae a nearhaun wid Fowk queriet fit he'd dane He lauched at thon fur the styte it wis Thocht nocht o the pouer o stane The cheil fa chaunced his life an luck Bi shiftin the Druid Stane E'er three short years had passed an fled His fortunes gaed on the wane E'er five derk years gaed ower the lan His banes they lay alane A warnin tae aa fa'd raise the wrath O the ghaists o the Druid Stane Spree Book Offer, Evening Express: Half Leg Waxing for £10.00 I wauked the streets o Aiberdeen (Ae hairy leg, ane bauld) A chiel cried ‘Quine are ye fur real- Dis ae leg feel the cauld? ' I sat doon by the Mither Kirk (Ae bauld leg, an ane hairey) ‘It's alolpoecia, ' some said, ‘It's hermless, tho it's scary.' A bizzim in McDonald's, quo ‘Thon bauld leg wi ane hairy It makks ye luik, I hae tae say Like some hauf-shaved canary. An noo I'm savin up tae buy A wig, fur my puir bauldy leg An nere again will I be seen Wi ae bare-nyaakit peg. Winter Beach Win-cairdit clouds blaa ben the cauldrife lift Syne quaeten. Hog-reek hunkers in san-dunes Grey mirled watter-lumps o jeelin waves Splooter tae smush like Norseman's drappit runes Bedrizzled scurries skreich abeen the tide A glaisterie foreneen, , snaa draps weety doon The stran is teem o aa bit fish an birds As ane bi ane, the meenits pass, an droon Scots Owersetts of Vietnamese Poems To Love: Ngô Xuân Diệu Tae Lue Tae luv is tae dee a thochtie in the hairt, for fin ye lue, can ye be sure yer lued? Ye gie sae muckle, sae little ye get back - the ither lets ye doon or luiks awa. Thegither or apairt, it's aye the same The meen turns fite, flooers dwine, the soul's forehooied, for fan ye lue, can ye be sure yer lued? To lue is tae dee a thochtie in the hairt. They'll be tint inbye a derk dowie lan, thon passionate sowels fa gang in search o luv. An life will be a desert teemed o blytheness, an luv will tie the knot that hauds tae sorra. Tae luv is tae dee a thochtie in the hairt. The Dress Of Ha Dong Silk: Nguyen Sa, (1932 - 1998) The Dress o Ha Dong Silk In Saigon heat o a suddenty I feel cweel because ye weir a dress o Ha Dong silk I've aywis lued thon colour in a dress - ma poems are still vrocht o raw fite silk. I still can mynd ye dowpit thonner, short-haired, whyle aa aroon me autumn seemed sae lang. In ma heid I drew yer portrait there an then, unsteekin yetts, I displayed it in ma sowel. Trystin wi ye aince, I fand it perfeck blytheness trystin wi ye twice was heiven for ma sowel. Ma student poems, like a knowe, grew up- - yer een becam the wine tae makk me foo. Ye spakk nae wird: I heard a tune. Ye gied nae a glisk: I saw a braid blue lift. Upwird I luikit tae ye, wi prayerfu een, an in pure barderie raxxed for yer fite sleeve. Ye cam, ye gaed - nae warnin. Aye, I ken that it will rain or sheen wi nae excuse. Bit foo takk aff wioot a wird? I'm left tae caa ye in waefu poems, echoed souns. I'm left tae bann ma een that didna spikk, tae misca ma poems that said eeseless wirds. Yer gaen- -regret noo fuspers on ma lips, an on ma shouders days wye wechtier yet. Far are ye noo, ma autumn wi short hair? For me please keep the dress o Ha Dong silk. I've aywis lued that colour in a dress - please keep it, ma luv poem o fite silk Oh Stone: Nguyen Do (1959-) Ochone, Stane I staun in meditation afore the smush o Ankor, Gin stane can be blootered like thon, shattered, fit aboot human life? Ochone, stane, let me etch a plea for peace. In the eyn, in ilkie war, faiver wins, the fowk aywis lose. Tree Colours Throwe Rikk: Hồ Dzếnh (1916-1991) The Tree Colours Throwe Rikk Wechty wi memories on ma wye hame I saw the gloamin slawly smore oot the sun. A waefu maen echoed amangst the clouds. An the birdies still devauled in the wids While blin-foo wins were stapped wi blythesome luve. Is this the age-auld stang o grue That drives ma sowel deep doon the nicht? Jist as a gangrel I am I fin nae comfort in the derkenin hues. Takkin ma hairt tae be the wids, Thinkin ma sowel maun be the lift. Hamedrauchtit, syne, I kinnle a smoke Lattin blae plufferts rise tae the trees. Scots Owersetts of Four Yiddish poems .Where Do The Words Disappear? By Reyzl Zhikhlinski, Far dae the wirds gae O the fowk fa spikk tae thirsels On the streets o New York? Dae they jist drap on the cassies As nochtie stoor? Or mebbe they stravaig aboot Aywis forehooied amang the planets As fite, lanely starnies? Far dae the wirds gae O aa the lanely fowk fa spikk tae thirsels In the muckle toons o the warld? Snow By Reyzl Zhikhlinski, It's snaain Draps o bluid grow feinter On the butcher's fite peenie Letters leave fite signs Leave ma thochts A fite, teem park The Violin Clock By Rivke Kope. I hae a wag at the waa In the makk o a fiddle Wi a haun like a bow. The oorn gangs by wi a sang Times rowes intae music It his its ain orchestra o screws Steekit bi a gowden yett Aathin is redd up wycely Fur the bandmaister o the warld Play wag at the aa Wi the wheel o time I'll owergie ma langins tae ye An bliss the haun that sows The bliss o souns On the Tip of the Knife By Rivke Kope. Ma sangs raxx oot on a pilla o shadda Like auld vergins. Whyles, I takk them ooto their hidie-hole An I read. Bit I canna thole that they should gae tae naebody! A sang maun depairt frae its makkar Like a bairn frae its parents' cercle Nae lie hunkered in a shadda Wytin fur a wee birdie Tae cam oot an catch the notes Inbye its reenge An the Dee cam roarin wildly Twa yowes stude claikin ahin the waa, ‘Fan'll this onding weir awa? Gin we arena droont, we'll be smored in snaa! ' An the Dee cam roarin wildly. A pucklie coos, clean sypit wi rain Watched a caravan wintin a windae pane, Gyang sailin alang the dreepin glen An the Dee cam roarin wildly The waves they chappit at hoose an ha, Gaed lowpin in ower yet an waa An aye the win wis wallopin aa An the Dee cam roarin wildly. The kirkyaird, thrang wi the local deid, Swalled up as the watter reached each heid Auld beens gaed rattlin, gey near freed An the Dee cam roarin wildly The auld wife lookit on wi a girn ‘I played an swam in this bonnie burn Yet faist as a blink can Natur turn An the Dee cam roarin wildly Claude Monet: The Magpie The pyot cocks on a cauldrife yett Aa its lane in the mids o Yule A bunnet o snaa's on ilkie stane Sae cauld it cud freeze the hairt o Dule The branches craik wi their wecht o fite The shaddas raxx ower the happit grun The pyot rochles its feathers aince Ae wattery ee on the snaa-blin sun Aa its lane on a cauldrife yett A single pyot… Daith is near A drap o the Deil's bluid on his tongue Fit is he craikin? Dinna speir! Ode Tae A Haggis Here's tae oor Scottish haggis bag We lue tae reese ye oot an brag Aboot yer pouer; as guid as parritch Fa'd think, ye wir a Grecian sausage Explodin in The Clouds ae day In Aristophanes auld play! The Lion Rampant We Scots are a free reenge breed See the diaspora? Like thrissle seeds in a gale We're aawye, ony wee crack or neuk'll dae Fur us tae sattle, trailin oor reets Like navel towes, tied tae Mither Caledonia Stirling, Bannockburn, Falkirk, Otterburn, Flodden, Culloden The bluid o a warrior tribe rins ben oor veins Bratach rìoghail na h-Alba's The sail that steers oor boatie. Hector MacKay in Quebec weirs The Lion rampant on his t-shirt, Proodly on Hogmanay Elroy Zanzibar-Farquharson in Jamaicay Has stukken a lion magnet on his fridge ‘Och ay the noo' he says As he cracks open anither tinnie Felicity Menzies jogs aroon New York Wi a lion rampant frontin the peak o her cap She ains twa cds o the Glesga polis pipe band In Majorca, Rab C. Buchan Dichts the san frae his taes Wi a Lion rampant tool Thon lion gaes aawye Pencils, shortbreid tinnies, car stickers It's aa tae dae wi attitude Nemo me impune lacessit Mess wi me an I'll batter ye. The Leck, Lancashire Gaun reeshlin bi the schule o Cowan Brig Wee burn wi muckle stanes set in its foun Alang its banks bairns eesed tae wanner lowse, Tuik aff their sheen an hose, dooked up an doon An airt tae dream, tae dwaum, tae takk the air Far the wee burn teems ower intae the plain Boortree & saughs, an hazel busses growe Grippin their secrets, sylvan an arcane