Suitcase Of Dreams (Scots)

Edinburgh/Auld Reekie Embro: hame o Bovril an digestive biscuits Hame o the fey, the feisty an the famous An angel plays the bagpipes in St Giles Abune the the stinch, the snod, the ignoramus The streets peel aff alang the Royal mile Like herrin banes, the stanes aneth the flesh Haud glamouries enthrallin aa the thrang Catchin the towrists in their tartan mesh This bield o genius gied the warld sic nemmes Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Sir Wattie Scott J.K.Rowling, R.L.Stevenson Vettriano, Garioch, poet and polyglot Simpson, Smollett, Rankine, mony mair Hae wauked ootbye the hoose o Lady Stair Chloroform pairties hostit bi Dr Simpson Far denner guests wir gaen a fey-like treat A tumblerfu o ether tae sniff up Tae knock them oot eftir they'd ett their meat Here Charles Darwin trained tae be a medic Till he tuik scunner at the sicht o bluid Here Fergusson the bard, a skeely birkie Fell doon an dang the wits frae his fair heid Fit o the Royal mile, oor parliament A Bovril biggin, splittin fowks' opinion Stauns ower the wye far Rizzio the scribe Clung tae his queen, maist foully stabbed an deein Mony's the Earl & Chieftain wauked thon streets Tae face the block, or brave the gibbet's end Here langsyne excrement beglaured the stanes The flooers o Embro, frae close an pend An sic fey craiturs, admired hereabouts Wojtek the Polish bear frae Embro Zoo Nils the Norwegian penguin, dignitary An Greyfriar's Bobby, up fur public view The Caledonian Hotel drew famous guests Charles Chaplin, Marlene Dietrich, a gitzy crew Bette Davis, Katherine Hepburn, Richard Burton Liz Taylor, Connery, tae name a few Step intae Crichton's Close gin poems ye like The Scottish Poetry Librar is stap fu Wi rowth o wirds frae aa the warld aroon Frae bards lang deid tae readins bi the new This toun sees fowk step in, an some step oot The Warld's End Howf, wis far twa young quines wir seen Murdered bi Angus Sinclair thon same nicht Wi nae brave guairdian frien tae intervene The hame o Mary, Scotland's bonnie Queen Embro's a bield o Culture, love, romaunce An aince in Holyrood, her nobles roon This queen o hairts led barons in the daunce The Hairdessser, the Cooncillor, the Coven Sheree wis mistress o the blue rinse style Wad tae a cooncilor, Tod Blaik, a hinger -on Wi cherm he gript her clients in his haun Kirk fowk, they wir stinch Presbyterian She permed an cut an tamed their hudderie heids The guid an godlie o the hoosin scheme She wis a hermless woman, kind an douce Acted confessor, kent her clients' dreams An aa the while, her man, the sleekit Tod Wid fleece the guid an godly o their trust His skill wis fraud, the council wis his lamb He sheared the toun o siller, gey near bust They keepit in wi heid anes roon aboot Wir socht tae bide ae wikkeyn wi a frien Fa'd turned a wrackit kirk intae a hoose An architectural bobby dazzlin scheme Wi heatin neth the fleer, an sunken lichts Wi a mod cons, wi bidets, a Jacuzzi Far mony's the deal wis dane, wrang side o richt There, antrin days the host wid takk his floozy Siller impresses, Sheree wis bumbazed An Tod wis sookin up as wis his style The wheels o intrigue turn in mony wyes An Tod wis oozin cherm, thon cogs tae ile. This auld, recycled kirk stude in a clachan Logie o Netherpliskies wis its nemme Lang hynie back it wis a Pagan neuk Weel kent fur devilish ongauns o ill fame Noo fermers, ilemen, retired fowk bedd there Incomers frae the Sooth drawn bi the lures O auncient bens an couthie kintra howes Awa frae traffic, muggins, back street hoors Sheree an Tod snapped up a gutsy meal Wi brandy, efter echts, nae expense shriven Gaed aff tae bed tae say their nichtly prayers Safe kennin they hid saved a place in heaven Bit fin the meen wis heich abune the spire An starnies glimmered in the pitmirk nicht A hoolet hootit, human skreichs an lauchs An oorie music grippit them wi fricht Logie o Netherpliskies is the Deil's Their host ower brakkfest, telt them the neist day An ilkie nicht the local clachan meets Tae birzze nyakkit, an throwe the wids tae play The coven, they wir telt, wir incamers Wud Wayne, a biker, frae the Yorkshire dales An Creashie Meg frae Wirrel on the Sea Wi her man Fred, a butcher up frae Wales Wee aiblich Dean, a maister in IT An Nancy Fudd, a botanist frae Surrey Her brither Frankie, herbalist o note A homeopathist, caad Elsie Murray Sheree an Tod baith packit up an left Wir feart o bein tarred bi sic contagion Tho Tod hid mony pliskies o his ain His frauds an his skulduggeries wir legion Inbye twa months, the scales o justice tipped Todd wis fand oot, disgraced an clappt in jyle Betimes, the coven frolicked as afore Haudin their Pagan rites an ploys fine style The Dentist Three cheers are sittin teem My teeth wi plaque are clartit Bit I canna be seen Appyntments hinna startit Three cheers are sittin teem Tartar has spyled ma mou Nae dentist can I book O Covid, curse on you! Three cheers are sittin teem Foo mony teeth are rotten? Well hae nae teeth ava Fause teeth we'll aa hae gotten Kenna aged Three Bi the time she wis three, She'd larned aboot brushes an peintin She'd larned aboot poppies an leddybirds She could haud a pencil an draw a cercle fur mither Bi the time she wis five She'd braidened her view of the warld She cud chap the heid aff her eggie She cud howk in the nursery pot an plant a seedlin She kent naethin aboot sharks Barr fit she read in stories Naethin nesty tho….Fear wid cam later Eftir she's steppit farrer ben Time's roadie Daith Ma faither's great great kinswumman Lived tae a hunner an twa, deein suddenly Face doon in her soup bowl o broth An aunt wis unplugged frae dialysis Droonin in her ain corruptin fluids An uncle, a back seat passenger Concertina-ed intae a tree The driver, drunk, hid stoppit baith their clocks Maistly strokes an comas cairry us aff Hairts missin a beat an stoppin aathegither I'd like tae dee suddenly Face doon in a jaiket tattie wi tuna an cheese Tomatae an fresh green lettuce on the side Games Ane twa three a leerie, I spied Bella Peerie Sittin on her bumbaleerie, ettin jeely babies Stot stot the baa, stot it up agin the waa Birl aroon an dinna faa, stot stot stot the baa Skippin, leap frog, tig an tag Hop Scotch, haunstauns, conkers, Jacks Eetle ottle black bottle Sports days, lowpin roon in sacks Bairns eenoo hae different toys Different times hae different ploys Nooadays, it's aa remote Drones an Game boys, gets their vote Scots Owersett o Barbara bi Jacques Prévert Mind, Barbara it wis ongaun rain on Brest thon day, An ye wauked smilin, blythesome, braw, Drookit unner the rain. Mind, Barbara it wis ongaun rain on Brest thon day An I ran intae ye in Siam Street, Ye wir smilin, an I smiled as weel. Mynd Barbara ye fa I didnae ken, Ye fa didnae ken me, Mynd, mynd thon day still Dinna forget, a cheil hid fand a bield on a porch An he cried yer nemme Barbara, An ye ran tae him unner the rain Smilin, blythesome, drookit, An ye threw yersel in his airms. Mynd thon Barbara an dinna be roozed gin I spikk familiarly, I spikk familiarly tae aabody I lee Even gin I've seen them anely aince, I spikk familiarly tae aa fa are in luve Even gin I dinna ken them, Mynd Barbara dinna forget thon gweed an blythe rain On yer blythe face on thon blythe toun, Thon rain upon the sea, Upon the wappons, upon the Ushant boatie. Och! Barbara fit daftness is war, Fit's becam o ye unner this iron rain O flame an steel an bluid? An he fa held ye in his airms as a luver Is he deid an gane or is he still leevin? Och! Barbara, it rained aa day on Brest this day As it wis rainin afore, Bit it isnae the same onymair, an aathin is wracked, It's a rain o murnin, terrible an dreich, Nur is it still a storm o iron an steel an bluid, Bit jist clouds that dee like dugs, Dugs that dwine in the doonpish droonin Brest, An float awa tae rot a lang wey aff, A lang, lang wey frae Brest O thon there's naethin left. Scots Owersett o Faimily Life bi Jacques Prévert, The mither wyves The son gaes aff tae the war She fins this rael natural, the mither An the faither? Fit dis the faither dae? He his his darg His wife wyves His son gaes aff tae the war He his his darg He fins this rael natural, the faither An the son An the son Fit dis the son fin? He fins aathegither naethin, the son The son: his mither dis her wyvin, His faither has his darg An he has the war Fin the war is ower He'll jybe his faither's darg The war gaes on The mither gaes on wyvin The faither gaes on wi his darg The son is killed He disnae gae on The faither an mither veesit the kirkyaird They fin this natural The faither an the mither Life gaes on A life o wyvin, war, darg Darg, war, wyvin, war Darg, darg, darg Life wi the kirkyaird A Scots Owersett of the poem The Dunce/The Gype bi Jacques Prévert The Gype He sez na wi his heid Bit he sez aye wi his hairt He sez aye tae fit he lues He sez na tae the dominie He stauns He's back-speired An aa the problems are pit tae him O a suddenty lauchter grips him An he dichts awa Aa the wirds an nummers Nemmes an dates Sentences an traps An spite o the dominie's threats Tae the aff-takkin cries o wee prodigies Wi chalk o ilkie colour On the blackboord o ill chaunce He draws the face o blytheness I Hide ma Sorra in the Derkest Place I hide ma sorra in the derkest place A brock's sett, auncient, deep inbye the yird Fur sorra has a wersh an waesome face It's like a knife that strikks wioot a wird I hide ma sorra in the peat bog's glaur Inbye a brukken clock run ooto time Or neth a corbie's nest o twistit twigs Or in the mools, mangst ugsome wirms' slime I hide ma sorra far nae een can see The foun o an auld roosty cauldron's lees The heichest crannie in a Heilan crag The deepest ship wrack in the coorsest sea I hide ma sorra in the derkest place A brock's sett, auncient, deep inbye the yird Fur sorra has a wersh an waesome face It's like a knife that strikks wioot a wird Things I didna Bring tae a Simmer' Day I didna bring the Queen o Sheba's girdle I didna bring Harpo Marx's funny hat I didna bring the mummy o a bog-chiel I didna bring a wee tinnie o waes I didna bring a maypole ringed wi skulls I didna bring a Zulu's sprootin neb- hair I didna bring a jam pot quaetly plottin I didna bring an orchard breirin hairts I didna bring a thong studdit wi comets I didna bring a merle wi alopecia I didna bring a tartan droonin whale I didna bring Yuletide in a pink tea cosy I didna bring ten widwasps an a clarsach. Bull Bling Fin Zeus wis anely nine months auld The vet pit in his nasal ring Twis vrocht o sheeny, burnished braiss The ultimate in a bull's bling This Hereford wis a wechty breet Jist ae wrang meeve, he'd trample ye In the show yaird they held him ticht Tae block the risk o tragedy His hooves wir trimmed tae luik his best His horns an hooves wi iled tae sheen His tail brushed oot aa fluffy saft His fit spots washed an luikin clean. His winter coat wis clipped an snod His hair wis blaw-dry eftir washed Hid lugs wir groomed…nae hairy growth He wis a star…nocht should be hashed His towes wir biled an bleached as weel Naethin wis spared, or wis bypassed An sae it wis that Zeus the bull Won the prize ribbon, first in class City Lichts Seen Frae the Wids The wids at nicht hae mony een oot-luikin The gleg-eed cat, the hoolet, swivel heidit The brock an tod, wi instincks faist an sherp The wyver wi her moosewabs skeelie threidit The wids are seelent bar the sweesh o leaves The whirr o wings. The hurcheon shauchlin ben… The widlan breets keek oot ower darksome parks Tae the toun lichts, the fremmit hames o men The wyes o humans arenae Nature's wyes The city niver sleeps, is aywis thrang An humans seek some unca things fur fun Drugs, drink an crime, an much that's coorse or wrang The hoolets dinnae stert wars wi their kind The brocks destroy nae setts jist fur a lauch Nae tod wid snap the life frae ither tods They watch the city lichts, gled they're hyne aff Halloween Shindig A snake etts its ain tail At the pumpkin luvers' pairty Three jumbos cam stampin Each trunk swung like a flail A turtle wi teeth cam champin A knife cut aff a dally's airm The affair is luikin bluidy A muckle tarantula streetched its shanks Bit thon's anither story Halloween's an eldritch scene Halloween beins deid an alive Tryst fur a reel, Or a jitterbug an a jive Pledge bi a Desperate Suitor I could be yer sunsheen on a cloudy day I could be the plaister on yer blistered tae I could be the straaberry on yer trifle tap I could be the bacon on yer flooery bap I could be the letter on yer cattie's tray I could be the perfume on yer deodorant spray I could be the sprinkles on yer Mr Whippy I could be yer toorie fin the weather's nippy I could be yer teethpaste minty in yer mou I could be yer map if ye gae tae Embro zoo I could be yer keekin glaiss or yer favourite mug I could be the pendle hingin frae the lug