The Barley Queen (18 Scots Poems)

1.Bannockburn 1314 On passing the Signs of the Battlefield on British Rail, en route to Stirling Stirlin Castle lay in Inglis hauns Beseiged bi Scots, a biggin strang an stoot Edward, the Bruce's brither, ringed it roon Ettled tae sterve the Suddron sodjers oot. The Englishman, King Edward traivelled North. Wi wechty cavalry, Welsh bowmen, infantry Weapons, siege engines, buglers, meat an wines, Wi Knichts an Barons, prood clanjamphrey Aa merched tae Stirlin, tuik the Roman road. The Bruce placed men wi widlan at their back He chuse his grun fu weel, a nerra gap Atween the trees, should ony challenge brakk He set his pikemen heich on Gillies Hill, Close whaur the the road fords ower the Bannock Burn. Inbye the wids he blockit paths wi boughs, Leavin the Inglis feint the room tae turn Tae cowp the Inglis shelties should they chairge He howkit pits, an happit them wi sticks, An syne, he wyted, wi his rings o spears. As stinch a waa as ony vrocht wi bricks Fechtin brukk oot, the Scottish pikemen held The beast o War, sherpened its teeth an cleuks Like ninepins Inglis cavalry wir felled Men crawled tae dee wi fiers, in bluidy neuks The Inglis forces crossed the Bannock Burn Henry De Bohun, a young Inglis knicht Spied a lane horseman on the Scottish front Weirin a croon, the Scots King in plain sicht Forrit De Bohun rade wi deidly lance As Robert raised his battle-aixe alaft Stude in his stirrups, jinked the comin cloor An split the foe-man's skull-bane fore an aft Thon nicht the English camped, Bruce planned aheid. Ower fu o war's consarns tae brakk breid The hinmaist fecht wad be upon the morn The verra day the Baptist, John, wis born. Bi day-brakk, aa the Scots war in position. King Edward, saw the Scotsmen kneel in prayer An leuch, nae kennin they socht Heiven's blessin Thinkin they prigged for mercy, ooto fear The Brecbennoch wi St Columba's banes The Abbot o Arbroath, fur aa tae see Held heich. Twid lead them, like St Andra's Cross Through fear an pain tae sair-earned victory Straicht ooto Revelations, aa in reid The Horse o War breenged oot, a fiery steed The Bruce's pikemen, stinch as porcupine Cowped Inglis shelts at reid-raw gory meetin The Scotsmen focht wi steel in ilkie spine Welsh bowmen skewered their Inglis fiers retreatin. The bonnie Bannock burn wis smored wi deid Ran crammosie for days wi sodjers' bluid Edward tuik ship fur hame, a beaten cur Fechtin for freedom gies the weakest, virr An smeddum, tae rise up an takk a staun Tae strive fur liberty an native lam 2.Fit ma Grandmither telt me Tinkler, tailor, sodjer, sailor Rich man, puir man, beggar, thief Coont prune stanes tae larn fa ye will mairry Ye'll grow up tae be a wife Skail satt an haive a pinch across yer showder Inno the Deil's ee, he micht be watchin See a fite shelt, makk a wish fur luck Sex isna fine at first. It growes on ye. The weird ye'll dree, ma lass, ye winna jink A lassie's education is important. 3.A Gey Pernickity Chiel As eaters o aipples gyang, Mr. Feenie wis maist pernickety Ayewis peeled the skins aff widdershins Watch him stert frae the stem, Takk teenie nippicks, like a field moose Haudin a brummle fruit He has donated his organs tae posterity Imagines them cupped in a surgeon's cannie hauns Imagines the surgeon unzippin his birthday suit Mr Feenie powks a pear like a podiatrist Checking fur latent bunions, signs o foosht Ye'd niver see him ett a black banana Or use a speen marred wi a toosht o roost 4.Two Scots owersets from poems by Ivan V. Lalié, a Serbo-Croatian poet, Thon Muckle Meen Thon muckle meen that's jist aboot tae set Bonnie an byordnar big, in orange bluid Thon sweet, unroondit miracle, ae blaik winter mornin Ower the sherp jynts o fooshtin reef rig-banes Oh hyne-aff wytin o mine, this witnessed meen O hinney an stoor ower chaumers noo asleep Far the braith o luvers has mistit the seelence On windaes as brittle as ice on puils A meen wi nae glaisses, gun nor smile Gaun by my life like a boatie, a thochtie dowie As I staun here, staun here upon the shore Ma hauns in ma pooches, an dinna meeve For I hate the meen, this muckle meen Tellin me: yer alane, an disna takk tent o me. Rider: A Fresco Cuddy an laird o the bridle, breengin as ane In the thrall o iron. The frichtened girse Sooks in its teenie tongues, an a grue rins Ower the simmer seelence, teucher than glaiss The laddie is meevement, air is resistance won. Ee tae ee. Like wafter in watter they skyte Edgeless, inno each ither. Cleuks aneth The stammach, the hatred o flinty teeth The cuddy's laithered in swyte, its een are gapin. The lance o a suddenty, ripe wi the rider's wecht Abeen the dragon, as cuddy an maister rear Aneth the fogg, the yird, shakkin in fear Has turned tae stane. The dragon's cheenged tae sclate. 5.An Owersett in Scots o a poem by Ivan V Lalic Places We Love Airts that we lue live anely throwe us, Space dinged doon is anely a dwaum in aybydan time, Airts that we lue we can niver leave, Airts that we lue we lue thegither, thegither, thegither An is this chaumer really a chaumer, or a bosie, An fit is aneth the windae: a street or years? An the windae is anely the merk left bi The first rain we understude, foraye returnin, An this waa didna define the chaumer, bit perhaps the nicht That yer son began tae meeve in yer sleepin bluid, A son like a butterflee o flame in yer ha o keekin glaisses, The nicht ye war frichtened by yer ain licht, An this chaumer leads inno ony eftirneen That ootlives it, foraye stappit Wi yer casual meevements, as ye steppit, Like fire inno copper, intae ma anely myndin; Fan ye gyang, space closes ower like watter ahin ye, Dinna luik back: there is naethin ootside ye, Space is anely time seen in anither wye, Airts that we lue we can niver leave. 6. An Owerset into Scots from Couplets 20, by Robert Mezey Couplets 20 Dinna be feart o deein. The glaiss o water Is quickly poored inno the wytin joog Yer physog'11 be nae langer eese tae ye. The keekin glaiss Grows mair an mair see-throw, naethin is happit It's nicht in the farrest provinces o the harns Seein faas back, inno the great sea o licht Foo fey, tae see thon skinklin green flee Wauk onno the eebaa, rubbin its hauns an prayin Dinna be feart, ye gyang tae far ye war Afore birth pushed ye inno this cauld licht Lie doon here aside Empedocles Be jyned tae the sma grains o britherhood 7.An Owersett in Scots o The Peace of Wild Things Bi Wendell Berry Fan wae for the warld growes in me an I wauken in the nicht at the smaaest soun feart o fit ma life an ma bairns's lives micht be, I gyang an lie doon far the wid drake reests in his bonnieness on the water, an the muckle heron feeds. I come inno the peace o wud ferlies fa dinna tax their lives wi forethocht o wae. I come inno the presence o quaet water. An I feel abeen me the day-blin starnies wytin wi their licht. Fur a whyle I reest in the grace o the warld, an am free. 8.An owersett in Scots o the poem Sometimes, bi Hermann Hesse Whyles, fan a bird skreichs oot, Or the win swypes ben a tree, Or a dug howls in a far aff ferm, I bide quaet an lippen a lang time. Ma sowel turns an gyangs back tae the airt Far, a thoosan forgotten years syne, The bird an the blawin win War sib taee me, war ma brithers. Ma sowel turns inno a tree, An a craitur, an a cloud bank. Syne it cheenged an fey it comes hame An speirs me questions. Fit should I repon? 9.An Owersett inno Scots o Flying Inside your Own Body, bi Margaret Atwood Yer lungs fill an spreid thirsels, wings o pink bluid, an yer banes teem thirsels an become hollow. Fin ye draw braith ye'll lift like a balloon an yer hairt is licht as weel an michty, stounin wi pure blytheness, pure helium. The sun's fite wins blaw ben ye, there's naethin abee ye, ye see the eirde noo as an oval jewel, skinklin an seablue wi luve. It's anely in dwams ye can dae this. Waukenin, yer hairt is a shakken neive, a fine stoor staps the air ye breathe in; the sun's a hett copper wecht pressin straicht doon on the think pink rind o yer skull. It's aywis the meenit jist afore gunshot. Ye tcyauve an tyauve tae rise bit ye canna. 10.Wee German Poem Naebody unnerstude fit the wee German poem wis aboot Aabody said it wis complex, it wis deep Nae kennin the spikk ava, jeloused it wis rale profund I speired at the poet: Wis thon poem philosophic? `A fyew wirds haein a lauch' quo she. Nae sae much ode as comic.' 11.Echo My time...will it be lang's the clouds in sky? Ay My weird, will it be roch's the hoodie craa? Ah... Should I takk flicht, or be a loveless bride? Ride 12.Catriona *Catriona is the name of a malting barley grown on Fadlydyke Farm New Deer Simmer wins are saft an warm See her in a Buchan Park Swyin, bonnie blithe an swack As gloamin deepens intae derk See Catriona toss her pleats The hoolet flichters up abeen Starlicht stealin ower his wings Ay she daunces neth the meen Green her dress, this Buchan quine Bred tae turn a laddie's heid She'll set passions in a lowe Smeddum's in her fiery bluid Slowly, up Catriona growes Mony moths draw tae her flame Grown an simmered in a still Whisky Katie is her name 13.Back Speirin Fit did ye say ye cad yersel? Ye didna? My name's Joe. Yer nae a local body There's somethin brocht ye hereabouts aa richt. It's nae ill-fashence tho, that gars me speir Ye micht be in the wrang place, michtn't ye? Yer nae? Yer affa dour Weel weel, gweed nicht. 14.The Turra Coo tune: Paddy McGinty's Goat In the year o nineteen thirteen there arose a great to-do Fin Lendrum's Robert Paterson wis pairtit frae a coo He wadna pye insurance tax sae Sherriff Keith he came Up tae the ferm the value o the unpyed tax tae claim The family coo wis staunin chawin quate oot in the park Tae full Lloyd George's coffers it wis liftit wi a yark Bit fin it won tae Turra weel, fowk's rage they did reveal An they peltit aa the Sherriff's men wi neeps an eggs as weel Lendrum tae Leeks it wis peintit on its side Anither fermer bocht the beast bit losh she wadna bide The fowk in Turra brocht her back wi ribbons roon her neck The famous shorthorn milker fa wis better than a cheque There wis firewirks at her hamecomin, fower thoosan o a crowd, See the Conquerin Hero comes the band wis playin lood Wi buntin hung frae windaes, twenty members o the police Come ower frae Inverurie tae try tae keep the peace Noo there's holy coos in India, a coo that lowped the meen Wi a kittlin an a fiddle an a bosker o a speen Bit Turra's favourite hero is the cratur wi the horns That gart Lloyd George roar oot as if she'd trampit on his corns A postie cad Mark Gartly climmed the heicht o Bennachie In a costume wi coo-udders roon his hurdies swingin free There's bin raffles, quiz nichts, antique fairs, aa kinno ploy an game Tae pye tae raise a monument tae Turra's coo o fame I'm telt it will be biggit ooto bronze this famous coo Wi its teets like baby bagpipes an a smile aboot its moo Bit ae thing wi this statue that'll niver come tae pass This coo'll be eco-frienly an blaw oot nae methane gas Prince Charles the Duke o Rothesay, unveiled the Alford bull Imagine if ae meenlicht nicht it gaed oot on the pull Gaed coortin in the gloamin wi the swanky Turra coo The calfies wad be cast-iron hits frae Slains tae Timbuctoo! 15.A Sang o Portsov: tune, the Bonnie Ship the Diamond Portsoy it is a fishin toun upon the Moray Firth An braw the boaties bob therein aroon the herbour girth The partens an the labsters they stap each fishin creel The dolphins, whales an porpoises Aa dance the Portsoy reel Chorus: Oh Portsoy by the sea far the wee boaties sail It kens the joy o briney breeze an the dunt o gurly gale An aince a year gin ye are here, and seafarin's yer wish They'll larn ye foo tae mend a net, makk ropes or catch a fish They'll tell ye o the smugglin days aroon the Star Inn Bar The smugglin crews shared oot their dues an supped a foamin jar Chorus etc. Gin ye should traivel tae the East, Boyne Castle for tae view The ghaist o Mary Beaton micht appear tae gar ye grue Gang tae the shore an frae the san lift up a pearly shell Ye'll hear drooned men frae mony wrecks their tales o shipwrack tell Chorus etc An should ye fin some serpentine, the merble o this airt Jist mynd the Palace o Versailles has a swatch o't at its hairt For fowk fa like a couthie dram Glenglassaugh's unca gweed It'll cheer the dreichest, dowie day an pit fire in yer bluid Chorus Oh cast yer een abeen the waves far gannets flee an skirl Whyle frae the cliffs the puffins dive an roon the watters birl The guillemots an pyoolies skreich heich in the herbour skies An the heron at the herbour waa wytes fur the fish tae rise 16.Doric in a Suit A Memsie loon o fermin stock, John Milne set aff fur Kings An pruved the sheltie frae the park like Pegasus had wings He trained up tribes o dominies gart aathin roon him sproot An screived o orra loons an dubs in Doric...in a suit. He warned his student chairges they maun cheep afore they craw An be eident, fair an couthie thon's the best advice ava 17.The Maiden o Drumdurno: Tune: Barbara Allen Twis in the month o sweet July fin hye is richt for raikin The maiden o Drumdurno stude in her ferm kitchie bakin An as she trauchled at her darg aside the open yett The bannocks an the simmer sun, turned her cheeks rosy-hett Alang the road atween the park, a stranger chiel cam ridin A cape o black, a wide-brimmed hat, his countenance a-hidin He tied his shelt at the stane waa, an tae the hoose cam stridin I'm near tae dee o drouth quo he, a drap tae drink I'm seekin She socht him in, gart him sit doon, brocht him a jog o watter An ay he watched her, as he drank, Drumdurno's weel-faired dother. I'll wager here, a waddin ring, the finest gowd yell see Gin I can bigg a road frae here, tae tap o Bennachie An aa the while, bake ye yer breid, an gin ye bake it faister The wager lost, I'll turn awa, takk fa ye like for maister The lassie leuch, she thocht him daft, nocht bit a gangrel body She shook his haun, turned tae her flooer, an badd him makk his roadie But ere an egg cracked in the bowl, tae Bennachie she keekit An saw a sicht that gar her wish, her bonnie moo she'd steekit He'd bigged a road up tae the tap, the cinners flew like lichtenin An back tae claim his prize he flew, the trap aroon her tichtenin She's fleein fur Pittodrie Wids, her hair ahin her fusslin Auld Nick Hissel, frae lowes o Hell, sae close her back wis birsslin Wi aa her micht the lassie prayed, as Clootie catched her showder The Lord sent doon his mercy syne, an cheenged her tae a boulder An noo she stauns, Drumdurno's Quine, a comely stane is she Her keekin glaiss, still in its place, at fit o Bennachie Some say o nichts, fin dyew is saft, she wauks the warld alane The speerit that the Deevil wooed, men caa the Maiden Stane. 18.The Bullers o Buchan: Tune: Blow the Man down There's a landmark in Buchan that catches yer braith Staun firm, niver look doon Ae slip an ye'll plunge tae a wattery daith The ocean maks war on aa at its foun Birds are their citizens, heich ower the sea etc Kittiwakks, razorbills, puffins sae wee etc Shags hing their wings ower the cliff-taps tae dry etc Fulmars an guillemots fecht on the sly etc Smugglers an pirates kent ilkie dark cave etc An mony's a sailor slipped here tae his grave etc Bit gin yer a seal or a porpoise sae braa etc Ye'll lowp frae the waves an ye'll lauch at it aa Takk tent or the Bullers will dash oot yer brains etc Gin ye think this is fearie, ye hinna seen Slains etc