Stagwyse: 4 Scots Poems

1.Owersettin in Scots freely made frae Henry Baerlein's Inglis translation Al-Maarri (Persian, d.1058) The days are riggin us in blaik Fur Him fa'd hing us like craws. There's nae daith fur the sun. I ken The centuries are nippicks o the nicht. Hinna ye heard wyce bodies gie the dreich threip? – That spite o wir bigsy wyes, Wir bit quaet shaddas Tied tae wir taes. First ae religion's tapmaist Till anither's briered Fur man can niver thole a mortal weird, Bit ay sikks anither gowk-spikk. God's abune. We'll niver win Wir freedom, free hauns that Dig wir mools; Nor can we shakk aside the wechty cloud, Mair nur a slave can brakk The hefty chyne that rules. 2. A Thing Of Beauty Is A Joy Forever Birse farmer, circa 1963 Heich simmer makks the hochs a love-juice cauldron. Dauchlin astride a sunshine-drookit dyke, I heard an engine purr, an iron bawdron, The bowfin o a coo's-lick touslie tyke. Syne suddent, frae ayont deep-shaddaed trees, A fairm-chiel drave his combine ower the lan– The jetty curls upon his broo ableeze Wi sun, as ony bonnie Grecian Pan. Braid showders, glistenin broon, the loon, bare-backit Sat squar abune the corn, like a young God Ridin alang the barley-rigs half-nyaakit, Watched bi a lustfu virgin an a bawd. Reid kerchief lichtly wippit neth his chin, A mou wad sook the hinney frae a bee, Sweet fusslin, ower the birrin chariot's din; He smiled full on me, wi a bull-black ee. Twa birdies flichtered, coortin ben the corn, Syne drappt tae couple, aa pretensions tirred¬ Their birdsang like the sounin o a horn, Biddin me cast ma bairnhood tae the yird. He raisse tae cry his tyke, the stoot claith held The fite swan o his secret manhood trussed As faist's a muir-fire wi a breem is melled; I kent the gnaawin thorn-stob o lust. 111. 3.The Flee oweset intil Scots frae Miroslav Holub's 'The Fly' She doupit doon on a blastit willow Owerluikin a swatch o the fecht at Crecy The skirls, The greets, The manes, The killin an cowpin. In the mids o the fowerteenth chairge 0 the French horse, She wis ridden bi A broon-eed laddie flee Frae Vadincoort. She dichtit her shanks thegither As she dowpit doon On a gralloched shelt, Thinkin lang On the immortality o flees. Wi a sough, she lichtit On the blae tongue O the laird o Clervaux. Fin the quaet doon-drappit, An anely the fusper o rot Creepit saft roon the deid, An anely a pucklie airms an legs Jinked, puppet-like, mangst the wids, She sterted tae lay her eggies Ontil the single ee O Johann Uhr, The Royal Airmourer. Sae it was She cam tae be etten Bi a swiftie fleein awa Frae the lowes o Estrees. 4.Loch o Abyne for the folk o Aboyne an Birse Drooned cloods waucht by... A whaup surveys its marra upside doon¬ Leesome licht an shade Play tig n' tag ben bays o jet an jade. A mavis threeps, its dickie broon's the dyeuks That claik in boorachs in derk, midgied neuks; The antrin spirk ontil the loch o rain Draws watter-wabs, like ice on winnock-pane. Wee coracles, the lochan-lilies showd; In ilkie scowp o petals glimmers gowd. A sma sun shines, a flooer's caunlelowe Deep in the floatin blossom's scented howe. Oxter-deep in the peat-mirled bree The iris bides; bullrushes sweesh an swee Pale as strae sodjers mustered in the reeds, Broon busbies cockin, tap o lang-stemmed heids. The foggy seggs Wyde, far the heron stauns On shilpit legs. Aik glowers, a wid-narcissus in a puil; A boatie lairs in girse, its beeriet keel Smores neth a tousled reet aside a wharf. Treelipin weeds wyve roon, a drookit scarf Wippin alang the watter like an eel; Green, glidin glimmer in the lochan's sweel. A linn o leaves draps frae an ootraxxed birk¬ Aneth, a routh o ripples lap an lirk; Dyeuks plyter, plash an paiddle ower the loch. Winged will-o-wisp, a jinkin, bricht muir-moch Daunces. A torque o wavelets circle roon An isle far ghaistly mists come creepin doon. Far aince a hame stude, noo's a larach's waa... Like thistledown, my kin hae blawn awa.