The Singing Bird (41 Poems In Scots)

1.THE SINGING BIRD A birdie flichters oot an in The open doorway o its cage. Its flicht is short, its sang is wee, Smaa is the circuit o its stage. The mappamound it disna ken It's thirled tae a rodden tree; Tethered tae a kenspeckle glen, 'Twad brak its hert tae set it free. Freedom is fine fur erne fierce That reenges wide wi bluidy cleuk, Fur falcon heich wi een o steel, Fa jeels the marra wi ae luik. Gin aa the anchors raisse an brakk, Gin salmon flew an sun grew black; Gin banes gied birth tae mysteries, Mankind micht prize kent boundaries. 2.DREICH Dreich clouds, a flicht o greylags ben the lift, Drookit biggins squar on tae the caal, Driftwid duntin tarry at the quay, Dreary a skiffie trauchles hame twa-fauld. Sea maws are skreichin sorras in the win; Seep-sabbin raindraps treetle ower the lan; Big Issue seller cooried in a neuk – Preint bleeds inno the hair-cracks in his han. Chooks sunken like the craters o the meen; A stibble growth; ringed nichtmares roon his een, A wastit druggie hyters doun the street: Sic hurts thon beeny shadda's kent – an gien. 3. DOUR WINTER'S DAEN Dour Winter's daen. The shepherd Wind Herds yowes o cloud; birk branches rowe. Dour Winter's daen. The swackenin yird's Wi brierin spears o green pierced throwe. Dour Winter's daen. The teuchit storm Skitters its seed o shortsome snaw That blossoms furth in branchin storms, Glentin like ony wattergaw. Dour Winter's daen. As weel stop Spring, As haimmer nails tae haud the dawn. Abune the larick, wheeplin birds Welcome a spleet-new trimmlin fawn. Dour Winter's daen. A nest's the glen, Its hatchin littlins soar in flicht. Dour Winter's daen. The linn coups ower Glimmrin wi sunbeams starnie-bricht. A teemin creel o salmon glisks, A quaich o glamourie an licht. TWA POEMS EFTIR JON MILOS 4. SIC BLYTHENESS Sic blytheness Tae bide in this wide warld! Science teaches us tae think like Gods¬ Foo mony vitamins tae swallae Foo mony oors tae sleep Foo tae live healthy, tae dee healthy. The States wir defence Agin neebors an ither breets¬ Teaches us tae mak siller, an bairns. Politics scoors oor harns Frae the creepie-crawlies o fey notions; Teaches us tae ay chuse richt Nae cloods nur oysters in wir meanin. The Kirk blesses us, Kepps wir sowels frae deevilicks An pynts the wye tae Heiven. 5. FOO DAE FOWK? Foo dae fowk need a heid? Yon's far the blicht sterts. Foo dae fowk need a leid? The birdie's catched bi her ain singin. Foo dae fowk need a neb? They miss the guff o their own glaikitness. Foo dae fowk need a hairt? It whumps – syne, o a suddenty, it stops. 6. DEJEUNER EN PLEIN AIR Twa gutsy kytes. Twa sneckin moos. Twa diners, hunched an huddrie. Bumbazed, fowk gaithered, raxxed tae watch The crowd wad fill Pittodrie – As twa hett tatties, jumbo-sized, Wi garlic butter reamin, Set in a bowl wi fangs o breid In fragrant sauces sweemin, Gaed clunkin ower yon hungert maws Like watter doon a brander, As mair an mair fowk heezed aroon Tae gie the twa a gander. As Desperate Dan chawed pies o coo, As Moses suppit manna, Thon twa gourmets cleaned oot the tray As cheerie's a Hosanna. Nae pearly queens fed frae their teens On jeelied eels an pastry Cud gollup doon tae ashet's foon Thon taffies hauf sae hasty. As Juno scoffed ambrosia, An Eve chawed Cox's pippin; As Popeye swallaed speenach tins An Saki sipped his tiffin; As Rab C. Nesbit relished chips An Samson favoured figs Thon pair, wi tatties fur their fare War cantie's sookin pigs. Twa Aiberdonians en plein air Wi tatties on a plate Dined wondrous weel on heels o breid, As blythe as Heids o State Twa seagulls on the cassies' croon Takkin their daily maet. 7. THE STAG ON THE BRAE AN THE WEE WEE SANG The jynts laid on the bracken brae are perfect, An ingyneerin maisterpiece in been; Immaculate, thon skeleton's fite scaffold Biggit as braw's an Inca waa o steen. Bit far's the quickenin pulse o fur an speerit That throbbed at thon imperious leader's throat? 0 far's the warm hairt's bluid as reid's a rodden That coursed aneth the breet beast's tawny coat? Wi Norse-boat symmetry hulled ribs are fashioned, Beached on the bleachin bracken bare an still. The skull, sicht-teemed, is geometry an pattern That Euclid couldna better at his will. Bit far's the seekin ee that reenged the bracken, The quiverin hoch that lowpit wi Desire? Oh, far's the flytin flesh, the antlers' clashin Raised in the rut, Olympus-spirk o fire? The teem ee sockets glower at sichtless vistas, An anatomical sculpture, dreich an deid. The wame wi wachts o snaw is cauldly fillin, Thon laired loins far wummlin maggots feed... A wee, wee sang welled up in a bonnie birdie, Ae winter's nicht fin firs stude preen-prick green; It chairmed the chitterin trees wi'ts untrained wirdie An brocht a smile tae the soor, dour-faced meen. The joys o the warld war in that sang, and sorra, The tear that bides in the breist, wis in that note, Nae metronome that birdie sought tae borra Tae makk the tune that raisse frae its trimmlin throat. Oh, the Gairdens o Versailles are trig an vauntie: Pouer an pride an pelf are in ilkie raw. The girse is croppit, the rose is pruned an cantie – Bit the storm-tashed dykeside brier beats them aa! 8. THE CHAP 0 TWAL As lang as salmon sweem the waves an I hae thochts tae myn, As boats salute the dwinin year, their anchor towes tae tyne 0 twal month traivels ower an by, tae welcome in the new, I'm laith tae haimmer doon the kist an bid the Auld adieu. Like mochs aroon a caunle-flame, the mirlin mem'ries heeze: 0 April sunlicht drappin gowd on Cluny's scentit trees; Blindrift's doonfa, saft Beltane's thaw, ower Tullich's rigs o green. A hind gaes steppin stately oot, as prood as ony queen – A glidin wraith as licht's a braith slips ghaistly roon Culblean, Far weety crags glower o'er peat hags an fowk are seldom seen. An fa can snib the door o Time wi feint a backwird teet At sonsie simmer's reamin quaich wi barley bree replete, Fin aa Cromar's a reeshlin loch o sweyin fuskered heids, An douce Loch Davan's emerant waves wyve doucely roon its reeds? Come Mairtinmas fin ither airts are dreich's a yowe's rig-bane, Noo autumn wi its fiery cross sets aa Deeside aflame. The latticed glory o its leaves in copper shooers doonfa, As if a caliph's coffers cowped new-minted coins oweraa. Purple an siller is my lan, wi heath an watter girt, An at its hem a braided stem o barley roon its skirt. The dram I heist at Hogmanay fower sizzens hae distill't 0 gowden days; wi bracken braes an dowie darg it's fill't – Warm memories twine aroon the Dee, wi exiled langins chill't. 9. KALE Alpha, alpha, sang the kale, I'm as green's a dragon's tail! Bonnier than wren or quail, I am fresh far they are stale! In her sark the wirms are wummlin. See her leafy glory tummlin In the midden – sair, her hummlin. 10. LIFE'S MUCKLE CAIRT (after Alexander Pushkin) Tho whyles it's screichin wi the load, Life's cairt meeves aff, wi fowk replete. Grey Time's in chairge; he hauds the road An niver leaves the drivin seat. At dawn we sclimm aboord the cairt, Back-spikk and chikk frae littlins flowin; Bigsie an ettlin sune tae stert We skirl: 'C'wa, get fuckin goin! ' Fin noon weirs roon we're nae sae bauld. The muckle cairt begins tae hugger At dreidfu draps; syne fears enfauld – We roar, 'Slaw doon, ye glaikit bugger! ' The muckle cairt rowes roon the neuk; Bi gloamin weel we ken the rhythm. Nid-noddin ower oor closin tale – Time's muckle cairt, ay forrit driven! 11. SCOTLAND St Andrew's flag Muckle stag. Fish an chips Whisky nips. Irn Bru Rangers blue. North Sea Ile Barlinnie jyle. Dark Culloden Scarlet rodden. Nessie's hame Curler's game. Midgies heezin Salmon season. Cairngorm Hairy sporran. Capercailzie Forkietailie. Athol brose Wee Fite rose. Robert Bruce Harvest moose. Kent his faither! Grouse an heather. Tattie dreels Herrin creels. John Knox Torry Rocks. Grannies sookers Littlin's dookers. Grandpa Broon Gowf at Troon. Wee Free Kirk Heilan stirk. Buts an bens Misty glens. Fitba match Herrin catch. Arbroath smokies Sweetie pyokies. Bennachie Don and Dee. Burns sonnet Tartan bonnet. Parritch pot Sir Walter Scott. Largs, Dunblane Sleet an rain! Shetland seals Echtsome reels Glesga toun Dingin doun! William Wallace Yowes on Harris. Princes Street Dreepin weet! 12. WADDINS AT KING'S COLLEGE Ae Setterday at King's, ye ken, There wis a great to-do, A piper blawin fit tae burst, A Rolls-Royce spankin-new, An me there on the girse, ye ken, Wi buiks upon ma knee Reading al fresco in thon sun We dinna aften see. The bride wis braw (sae wis her Ma – A hat as braid's a tray) . This waddin's cost five thoosan poon, A dauchlin guest did say. An sae it sud! Like Hollywud, The cameras birred an cleek't. 0 photies wi their finery, Thon fowk wad nae be swick't. An syne aroon ma feet there lowped A cripple-fittit cooshie, A bauchled, shauchled, manglit quine Bumbazed bi as the stushie. Her bladded taes she tucked aneth Her bosie as she hirpled, An, close ahin, a cock paid coort Breist feathers grey and purpled. He puffed his bigsie breistie oot Like ony Pavarotti While at the kirk anither bride Arrived tae hae her shottie 0 piper kittlin up his pipes, Best man producin rings O Setterday's a busy day, Gin ye be wad at King's! Three waddins I watched come an gyang: The ane that stole the view Wis the bridegroom wi the feathers An the cripple-fittit doo. There wis brawer doos upon the girse Bit Cupid hid conspired Tae makk yon gammy-fittit bird Aa that his hairt desired. Fin the icin's aff the cake, Laid by wi ither tooteroos, The waddin that will langest laist May be the cooshie doo's! 13. FEBRUAR: HOWE 0 CROMAR The stibble park wi skirps o ice Shimmers in sunlicht's piercin rays; Wave upon wave, the knowes rise up, Sclimmin the mornin's frosty braes. The tarry road ower deid-dry ling Links ferm tae ferm, somelike a string 0 steen-grey beads. A futterat sleekit Streaks ower parks, wi sna shooers theekit. Mowdies hae bigged their castles broon Far yowies graze at fir-tree foun. Pine branches raxx their rosit eaves, Wechty wi cones an preen-prick leaves. Frae cottar's towe, weet washin skelps; Rikk furls frae lums. A reid tod yelps Far new-ploo'd parks are fulled wi peels 0 water – keekin-glaiss in dreels. Thin sprays o claret buds, the birks Wave beeny fingers ower the stirks That graze aside the dimplin burn Far the slow sizzens drift an turn. Cromar's a brock that's strippit blae An clammy whyles as deid men's clay. Its beauties, hapt bi weety cloud, In sunlicht shine like fairy gowd. 14. ST MACHAR'S CATHEDRAL, ABERDEEN Aneth the aik tree in the neuk, Deef tae the wheeplin blackie. Great grandsire lippens tae the yird. Requiescat in pace. Far corn wyved an girse stude heich An lowin kye grazed knackie, The gutsy toon claims aa aroon: Requiescat in pace. Amang the died raws o the kirk Sleep loons fa wore the khaki; Twa generations wyled bi war: Requiescat in pace. Here Miss Auchinachie lies laich Aside the chukkied pathie, Her sangs still hotter in ma moo: Requiescat in pace Professors, fleshers, fairmers, lairds, Mell in the mools sae clarty, Wi mony a geet scarce draws a greet: Requiescat in pace. A timmer sark fur aa man's wark, The ivy in his tassie, The daunce o Daith will catch his braith: Requiescat in pace. I've seen prood men come steppin ben This kirkyaird, swankin saucy. A nerra staa awytes them aa: Requiescat in pace. Twa owersettins frae the Greek 15. I AM THE BOUER I am the bouer, eence fulled wi mony a flooer's Sweet scent, as bird-sang raisse in a gled tide, Far dauchlin friens cud fusper secret wirds. Inbye ma shady neuk, Luve chose tae bide. I am still the bouer in yon same airt, Wytin in vain fur somebody lang gane. Insteid o roses, noo I blossom thorns That smore the nightingales far vipers reign. 16. TA-TA AT THE HINNEREYN Ta-ta poetry! I'm leavin ye Tae gyang bummin on wi'oot me – Tae makk a kirk or mill o't. Fowk's lauchter an the keenin win Will hae tae keep yer keel afloat. Ma notion's tae streek oot, een steekit, An lauch the last lauch cheerily. Guid nicht, an gie ma luv tae licht I'll tell the hinmaist chiel I see. Fin we are slawly meevin – Ma first time doon yon road – On fower cord-bearers' showders, They'll ken me fur a wechty load. Takkin ower ma life's trauchle, Ma kistit beens, Spadfus will sprauchle Bonnily ower me, thrissles, divots, steens. 17. THE BROCH Lugs dirl in the cauld. Squar fangs o grey, Steen biggins, bend the win, Minimal as Mondrian, Edgy as Braque, Uncluttered as Klee, A roch Jack Tar, The Broch juts oot its muckle jaw, Tichtens its neives roon nets That whyles glean fin-fat catches, Tyne hale lives in storm, In the bylin cauldron o the Nor Sea bree. Three black craws flee Ootower the broon-etched trees. The cheengefu lift bleeds blae, Colours mell an mirl, A mixter-maxter cumulus o pearl, A weety, sulky haar. A coo's-lick Constable horizon Gars cloud on cloud sclimm, Frae the dulse-green, glimmerin herbour bar. Inno the mids o't, Skelp inno its satt-scoored weathered face, Steps yer man Bruce, Bobbin up like a buoy, Ninety years tae the day o his Broch birthin. Rembrandt! Far's yer brush tae peint this ferlie? A retinue o skurries, Yolk-yalla beakit birds Skreich in pursuit o this mervellous makar: Fowk staun wi moos gap-fu as open creels Tae scraun the siller darlins o his words. Ninety years tae the day o his Broch birthin, He stauns, a Pictish steen, Faced North, feet earthen, A symbol carved in symbols 0 as that's finest in this fisher toon: His bearins set, Pynts o his compass certain. 18. THREE DEESIDE DON QUIXOTES The Tarlan Tink's as black as tar An his lugs cud dee wi a dicht. He steers his shelt bi the Northern Star An he rides bi caunlelicht. The Migvie gent, his teeth they gleam As shairp as a coral reef, An he only fechts fin his sark is clean – Tae as bit Honour deef. The Coldstone Cavalier trots oot In a suit o thrums an threids, Wi a sword as heavy's a fairmer's scythe For sneckin aff nesty heids. It wisna Macduff that slew Macbeth On the bywyes o Lumphanan – Twas the Tarlan Tink – afore ye cud blink, He'd blootered him wi a cannon! Are vandals spulzyin phones an waas? Is Finzean the fount o crime? If crooked or bent, the Migvie gent Will see that they're daein time! Gin Al Capone sud traverse the sea An fleg the guid fowk o Crathie, The Coldstone Cavalier they'd pree Tae knell yon gangster chappie! If warlocks, witches or wizardrie Sud terrifee Torphins, The Terrible Three tae its aid they'd flee, Haive witches tae the whins! The Tarlan Tink, the Migvie Gent An the Coldstone Cavalier A trio as auld's the hills o Birse, frae the mists o yesteryear – Haein pledged tae richt the warld o wrang, They gallop an gallop aboot, Three queer-like chiels On three grey mean, As blythe as a Banchory troot! 19. AE MEY MORNIN Ae Mey mornin, fin dawn the rose Wi pearls o dew wis stringin, It seemed, sae thrang they war in sang, That ilkie tree wis singin. A duntin breeze that shook the leaves Gart aa the birds gae wingin. The shady chestnut cweeled the road Wi blossoms heavy-hingin. A bawd cam breengin, jimp an blate, Tae teet atween the boughs. A win that reeshled like a linn Blew saftly frae the knowes. A blackie in his sable coat 0 midnicht feathers bobbit Abune the hawthorn's blossom fite, Sae sweet his lay it throbbit. This warld is green! Like hinnymead The harebells waucht their scent. An elfin witcherie is Mey Wi whaup an larksang blent. 20. ON A PREHISTORIC CHILD'S RATTLE Dry steens rattle in a wicker cage Tae pacifee some bairn's ill-natur't rage. A girn, A skreich, A skirl, Fyles quaetens wi a bosie or a birl, Fyles notts a skelpit dowp that gars it dirl. The antrin sookit titty plugs a moo Raxxed in a howl wad deefen a stuck soo. Rattle awa, ma bairn! I'd raither, far, Percussion than the ootbrakk o a war 0 nerves atween yer twa stoot lungs an me. Wheesht! Ye'll hae hairy mammoth fur yer tea! 21. LETTER TAE A FAR COUNTRIE The loons ye daunlit on yer knee Are young men noo –Near full the room! My nest's stap-fu 0 gorblies, big as me. Bit yer braid wings, That I cud coorie unner, Are faulded, an the lugs are steek'd That heard the daily threaps I liked tae hae wi ye. Faither: The wings ootraxxin noo Ower my unfaithered heid Are shaddas o the craa that claims us as – The erne, the hawk, the spurgie, Jenny wren sae smaa Like leaves blawn doon, turned broon, Aa, aa, are born tae faa Intae yon ghaistlie cave O Dissolution's maw. 22. THE WIRM IN THE AIPPLE Fur nine lang months in the wame he lay (The wirm it turns in the aipple's side) She brocht him forth at the brakk o day. Blicht's in the blossom o the bride. Fur nine sma years her son wis he (The wirm it turns in the aipple's side) There wis nane sae fond o the bairn as she. Blicht's in the blossom o the bride. A sickness cam tae the mither's haa (The wirm it turns in the aipple's side) It's syne she gaed the bairn awa. Blicht's in the blossom o the bride. Fin nine lang years war past an ower (The wirm it turns in the aipple's side) The bairn cam back tae his mither's door. Blicht's in the blossom o the bride. `A curse upon yer perfidy! ' (The wirm it turns in the aipple's side) ` A cruel mither ye waur tae me! ' Blicht's in the blossom o the bride. `I wad hae glen ma luv sae true' (The wirm it turns in the aippple's side) ` Gin ye'd bin saft as a cooshie doo.' Blicht's in the blossom o the bride. `I'd bin a bield fin ye war auld' (The wirm it turns in the aipple's side) ` Gin ye war warm as ye are cauld.' Blicht's in the blossom o the bride. `The ice will bloom on the cherry tree' (The wirm it turns in the aipple's side) `Fin my twa een luik fond on ye.' Blicht's in the blossom o the bride. 23. AUTUMN AT KING'S The scholar hordes hae skailed frae King's; Weel happt, a cloud abeen them hings, Cagoules like cowls abeen their heids. Claik o a hunner different leids Dwines tae a hoolet's lanely croon. Nicht, like a taed, his hunkered doon. The skyrie leaves gae tummlin ower, Like decades dauncin ben the stoor – Mair fearfu nor the corbie's caa – Portents o cauldrife Daith's fitfaa. I sit an watch the ticht-lipped meen Licht silent lanterns on the steen, Peint dragon scales on sclate an steel Screive antrin lilies in a peel. Mim-moued's a corp, the nerra lanes Lie straucht an trig, the toon's rig-banes, Far starnies glimmer in the glaiss Or smuchter in a plaque of braisse. Syne ghaists creep oot – frae grun, fae waa. Barbour an Elphinstane – an aa Fa traivelled this sma mappamoun – Sweesh by in cape an scholar's goun Like leaves that flap the antrin oor. The seeds bide on: the lave is stoor. 24. THE SINGER (after Alexander Pushkin) Ah, did ye hear ayont the wids at nicht Thon singer, fa o luv an wae dis sing? Fin parks stude wytin, quate, fur sun's bricht dawn, The soun o pipes sae dowie yet sae licht, Ah, did ye hear? Ah, did ye meet in derkened wids, bi chaunce, Thon singer, fa o luv an wae dis sing? An did ye see him lauch, or see him greet? Or glisk the grue that glimmers in thon glaunce — Ah, did ye meet? Ah, did ye mane tae hear yon quaet voice? Thon singer fa o luv an wae dis sing? Fin in the wids ye met him aa his lane, Fin on ye his een lichtit, deid tae joy — Ah, did ye mane? 25. THE FLOOER (after Alexander Pushkin) I fand a flooer, dowie, crined, Nae langer scented, in a buik. An syne a fey, ootlandish thocht Tuik root an throve in Fancy's neuk. Far? Fan? In fit spring did it brier? Foo auld wis it? Fa picked it? Foo? Some unkent chiel? Some bodie near? Fit meanin did it hap frae view? Tae merk the jynin o twa sowels? Tae murn the pairtin o their wyes? A keepsake o a lane stravaig Ben shaddaed wids, far silence lies? Is he still leevin? Fegs, is she? Far are they noo — an far's their neuk? Or hae they dwinnilt frae the lan Like this tint flooerie, in the buik? 26. ELPHINSTANE'S SALUTE TAE DRUM CASTLE The castle o the Lairds o Drum Tells tales o siege, o loss, o luv; There hawks wing free ower reeshlin trees That aince war tethered on the gluv. Like fairy castle in a buik, Yestreen bides at the forest's core: The arra's flicht, the swordsman's thrust, The terror o the hunted boar. An lichtlie, lichtlie, doon the stair, The sweesh o Lady Mergit's lace — A dowie shepherd's dother born, Her dowrie wis her bonnie face. Hard East, hard East, the Mither Kirk 0 Aiberdeen stauns stinch an braw. There, in Drum's Aisle, the Irvine lies Fa bravely focht at reid Harlaw. The Dee runs siccar in the Sooth — A shield sud ill wins ivver blaw; Its wafters deep, like ramparts steep, Wad haud the warlike Keiths awa. An green an leafy tae the West Glashmore, Hare's Wid, Queen Mary's Well, Far on the bluidy Hill o' Fare At Corrichie prood Huntly fell. For thrice ten thoosan nichts o stars Drum's neebor on the Norlan lans, Wizened bi witcherie an time, Cullerlie's eldritch circle stauns. Drum's steenie waas are stoot an heich. Look doon, frae battlement an lum — Are Covenantin sodjers there Comin tae reive an spulzie Drum? The Past's braid tree doon draps its leaves Rich loam, that yoams aroon this place, The pleisunt policies o Drum A sanctuary o green an grace. 27. WINTER WALK, GLEN MUICK The hoose in the wid is framed bi larick an fir, Aneth a boorach o pearlie clood, frost-fu; The rooms staun teem, nae rikk frae its rikk-black waas, Green moss an a fringe o ice on its grey slate broo. Nae aix rings shairp on the bark o a splittin log, Nae lauchin bairns teet oot frae a rosity pine, Nae fusslin faither dells in the girse-choked yaird – The human tenantry flitted awa langsyne. The secret fowk o the widlans bide here noo. The snaa is patterned back, an fore, an ben, Wi a dog's black preints, the pads o a furry fit Three brammles pressed on the flat fite page o the glen. An there, far the copper bracken glints in the haar, The trident fork o a pheasant's trampin taes, An the pit-pat lowp far a delicate deer stept throwe, Like twa twinned teardraps faaen on the wintry braes. The robin's cleuk is a Chinee Mandarin's pen, Scratty an wee, thin lines repeated aft; An the sma fut-fut o a mappie's rinnin paa Like a cheyne o pearls at the fir foun, roon an saft. The crunch o ma fit his teemed the burn an the trees O feather an fur an siller-backit fin, Far the lane hoose stauns that'll nivver be lane ava As lang as a wing can reest or a horned hoof rin. The paths that the breet beasts traivel arena mine. In the wids I dauchle an wish they'd bide a wee Sae the deer micht share her tales o the heich snaa taps An I micht ken the glen throwe a futterat's ee. Wud bairns o the great god Pan wi their queer breet's een, That blink an shy at the crack o a distant gun; Like fleggit ghaists they wyte in the snaa-fillt sheuchs Fur me tae leave, wi the drappin doon o the sun. 28. LARICK I am a squirrel's bield, I balance the air on ma green an pleisunt boughs. In spring, Buoyant as cork, Ma needles stot on bowsters o breeze; Ma sap creeps up the sookers o ma reets In quaet jubilation — Reets that grup the cliff Like ernes' cleuks In simmer I ream wi rosin, A couthie lan'lord. The tod bides in ma basement, Birds sit coorieneuchin in ma eaves. In winter I coont ma rings, Cercles o leevin. I smore ma fires An smuchter ben the frost. 29. TWO POEMS FROM THE CHINESE Fit like! Fit like! I raxx oot ma hand tae greet ye, I shakk hauns wi ye. Fit like? Fit like? Ye raxx oot yer haun tae me, We shakk till we're fushionless, Grippin humanitee's discovery. Fit like! Fit like! Fit like? Fit Like? A bonnie smile, A spring trimmlin Fit like! Fit like? Fit like! Fit like? Fit Like! Fit like? I shakk yer haun Five ice-caul bullets, Their tips clartit Wi reid nail peint. 30. GLOAMIN Eence mair, straiks o greenish licht Doondrap frae the sun's dowp. In the wee bowlie o ma hairt Emblems are kinnelt, Dreams stert tae meeve In an ooto the derk wid o thocht; Doondrap tae the backs 0 breengin breets o the park – Breets wi'oot nummer Drookit in the gowden styoo o gloamin. Noo gloamin peints ilk image I can see Wi sic profundity, sic glamourie, As if a bourachie o fremmit fowk War waukin slaw my wye, Richt ooto the souns they makk; As if the stobs o a sick rose War plottin in secret Tae draw a tinchel roon me – Their reids, their blaiks, In the mids o a deep glen. 31. ENDS AND BEGINNINGS (from the Polish of Wistawa Szymborska) Efter ilkie war There's reddin up tae bi daen Things dinna redd thirsels up efter aa – Somebody maun shiel the muck tae the sheuch Sae the cairts, biggit wi corpses, can win by. Somebody his tae warssle Throwe glaur an aisse, Throwe the sofa springs, The skelfs o splintered glaiss, the bleedin cloots. Somebody his tae rug the post Teetle the waa, tae haud it siccar; Somebody his tae glaisse the windae, Fix the yett back inno its neuk. Nae soun bites, nae photie fame – An it takks years – Aa the cameras hae gaen Tae ither wars. The brigg notts rebiggin; The railwye station anna. Sark sleeves maun be rowed tae rags. Somebody, breem in haun, Will ayewis min' foo it wis. Somebody will ayewis listen, Noddin his unscaithed heid. Bit tithers are certain shair Tae bi breengin aboot nearbye Fa'll fin' aa yon A bittie o a scunner. Somebody whyles will aye Howk up a roosted argy-bargy Frae in aneth a buss An yark it aff tae the cowp. Those fa kent fit this war wis aa aboot Maun makk wye fur them fa kent little; Maun makk wye fur them that kent less; Maun makk wye fur them that kent naethin. Somebody his tae sprauchle oot on the girse That haps the causes an effecks Wi a staak o corn atween his teeth, Glowerin at the clouds. 32. MILLENNIUM HOGMANAY: AT THE CASTLEGATE ABERDEEN A crackerjack o Catherine wheels; Whirligigs o gimcrack whigmaleeries Shooer skyrie spirkin starnies in the lift Watched bi a press o fowk Ben frae the Tolbooth's yetts, Abeen the verra cassies far, langsyne, Another heeze o fowk gawped at the gibbet, Aa aroon, like sma-cupped flooers upliftit, Catchin the reflections o the lichts The faces o ma brither-citizens: Thoosans o preen-prick een Gap, roon as champagne bubbles wi delicht, Weel-pleased wi their Twa-meenit man-made firmament The finite spirks o firewirks in the derk. Abeen, the greater starns Turn in their cosmic blackness: An infinity o lichts That ding oor human cantrips intae smachrie A pucklie smush Ooto the wallopin faulds 0 the pooch o time. 33. THE MITHER KIRK 0 AIBERDEEN Lang afore Embro's flooers' famous yoam, A quill scrieved on a Papal Bull in Rome That Nicholas the Sanct hid fand a hame, A kirk bigg't in his honour, in his name. The sanct, that seamen trust in tribulation, In Aiberdeen wad grace a congregation. Five centuries rang oot a muckle peal; Auld Lowrie, gifted bi some provost chiel, Dingin Hosannas ower a warrior's banes (Brave Robert Davidson's) aneth yon stanes. Collison's Aisle haps his kittle clay, Kill't at Harlaw yon widda-makkin day. Wi Wolf o Badenoch, fur city's guid, He saved the toun bi skailin Heilan bluid. A chapel's biggit yonner: its quate neuks St John (the patron sanct o ile) owerluiks. Black ile, siller fish, bring gowd straiked grey – The scales o wealth gey aften wye wi wae. The Auld Kirk is the Wast, the New's the East. The aisles atween, the treisur at its breist. The West hauds Mary Jamieson's tapestry – Her Doric Moses bi the Brig o Dee Sic scenes the Auld Kirk's witnessed – better tint! Coorse Cumberland, his cuddies stabled in't; An tae Drum's Aisle three corpses war convoyed, Saved frae the body-snatchers' powkin blade. In Mey the Wast Kirk makks the Cooncil guest (The civic body maun bi kirked an bless'd) While the toun's carillon frae yon heich spire, Raised frae the aisse o pew-consumin fire, Dirls in the lugs o seagull, merchant, doo. The merchant manes Amen; the bird clucks Croo. Frae howff an office, wirkers takk their ease, Ettin their denner piece neth kirkyaird trees. Puir beggars heist their priggin cleuks fur alms An clorty winos droon their drooth wi drams. The rich despise sic orrals, steenie-hertit There's some things niver cheenge – the warld's ill-pairtit. St Mary's Chapel, biggit tae the East, Hauds dowie secrets in its Haly reest. The Gordon quine fa raised it beeriet there Wi tither o her kinsmen shares yon lair – Bonnie Sir John, fa focht wi prood Huntlie Fan Hill o Fare ran reid at Corrichee, At Castlegate afore Queen Mary's court Boued tae the aix, tae gie the tounsfowk sport. (Maist gallants lost their herts tae yon fair Queen: John Gordon lost his heid, in Aiberdeen!) That self-same chapel, caad 'The Pity Vault', Jyled witches catched invokin dreid occult; Keepin them close till they war cairtit roon As kinnlin – human bonfires in the toun. A sculptor carved in yon same chapel waa A ratten that a choirboy's flesh did chaw. Wrang-blamed fur rypin aipples frae a tree, That grew ootside the kirk richt sturdily, His Bishop cursed him deep, bi buik an bell, Wi aa the torments o the Earl o Hell. Flang in the fearie chapel tae repent, The hapless bairn bi rattens' teeth wis rent. A Friar confessed the theft wis his alane An, fur the truth, the curse he got fur gain: The rattens sealed his weird. The Bishop's pride Raised dearest price fur aipples ivver peyed. A green oasis in the toun's melee, The muckle beeches sooch an sweesh an swee. Auld bodachs news aneth their reeshlin leaves; Littlins toss breid tae spurgies neth the eaves: A trystin place, a bield, a sanctuary Mids clash o commerce, pure tranquillity. Pouerfu sleepers rest aneth its yird Professors, provosts, famed bi deed an wird; Architects, sodjers, traders great an sma Sleep the lang sleep aside the Mither's waa, While, on the ivied, mossy slabs abeen, Luvers swap kisses like they aye hae deen. Oor Mither Kirk, cud she the deid upgie, Oor toun wad be a force tae reckon wi! Oh, may she staun, as siccar 's Lochnagar, An greet the neist Millennium, nane the waur! SCOTS OWERSETTINS O THREE POEMS BI JON MILOS 34. ON EIRDE AS IT IS IN HEIVEN Ae day, gin Science takks ower, Aa bairns will hae a howdiein like Jesus – Bi the Virgin and the Speerit, in a test tube. Growe up at the day nursery, Mappit oot wi statistics, Wintin feelins an finnins, Ettin sweeties wi their toys, Spikkin tae the video. The loons'll luik like quines; The quines'll luik like loons. The hale jing-bang'll luik like angels, On Eirde, as it is in Heiven. 35.CEEVILISATION Mithers nae langer hae time tae bi mithers, Doverin, trauchelt in offices, Typin their lives awa inno wird processors. Geets sook milk frae bottles, Keek at the warld throwe glaiss. In schules, guid-learnin is nae langer taucht, Bit houghmagandie, merketin, Industrial pedagogy o reality; Moral sweirty, Musical snoozlin. Ye nod yer powe? Ye agree? Ye shrug yer showders – nane o yer wyte. Ye smile bonnily – fair bumbazed. Nae leaf's the marra o anither, Yet they're aa caad leaves. Nae langer dae ye ken Fit's life, fit's dwaumin. A parrot parrots, This ye can dae, this ye canna.. This ye can dae, this ye canna... 36. LUV (The Linguist) Luv is a bonnie noun Steid o an ugsome verb. (The Philosopher) Fowk caa fur luv ootbye Bit luv bides inbye. (The Sparkie) Luv's like the electric — Powk in the plug, there's licht. (The Accountant) Luv is the anely loss That gies the notion o profit. (The Poet) As lang's there's luv, there's poetry as weel. Fin luv's tint, criticism is kinnelt. (The Pedagogue) Maist fowk canna luv, Athoot they're reared till't. (The Auld Bodach) A chiel fa's brunt hissel bi luv Winna rekinnle the lowe: He'll rebigg his life frae the aisse. (The Barman) The glaiss o luv is yonner tae sup, Nae tae be stappit wi cathedrals an meenlicht. (The Lawyer) Fowk fa bide in luv Winna be cuckolded! 37. PRIMAL ANGST Fin Mither wis in the faimly wey, She tuik tae eatin coal Nae doot tae satisfee Some mineral deficiency, Some dietary lack. Doon in thon sooty wame Far I swam in the watters 0 ma natal pit She ladled spirks o fossil fuel Inno an umbilical lum. Nae winner, syne fin I grew up, The hale bleak warld's seemed black. 38. THE VEESITOR I pu'ed a harebell frae yon howe, It daunced sae blythe, sae bonnily; Twa days it stude, syne drapped its powe — Daith ryped its scent, thon reiver slee. I hid a faither loued me weel, He'd face the Deil fur my ain sake; As stinch wis he as Druid's tree Daith played the widsman, felled yon aik. The wyver spun a pearlin wab That micht hae graced a Scottish queen, Sae fine it wis — her threid wis snappt Bi Daith, ae sunny efterneen. My granminnie, sae kind, sae douce (Her peenie hings yet frae yon heuk) Her spikk gaed skippin throwe the hoose — Daith stilled her tongue wi his coorse cleuk. A moosie nippin smertly hame, Her kytie stappt wi Wastie's corn, Wis snatched tae fill anither's wame — Hoolet alane wad see the morn. A maist unceevil veesitor, He disna speir, 'Can I come in? ' He disna wyte, nur dicht his feet, Nur rattle at the tirlin pin — He wheechs ye up on cauldrife wings, — Yer neebors'll be quate's the grave, A dearth o newsin's in the yird — The hoodie fussles ower the lave! 39. THE KEY TO THE KINGDOM I am the auld Scots leid, Key tae the cultural kingdom: I open yetts lang snibbit, fell roosty, Rot-screw steekit Since stot-baa bairnhood whyles. The yetts creak on hubberin hinges The fyaachie waucht o Repression, The gyad-sake guff o Disuse, The grippin grue o Prejudice, The stale stank o Ridicule, The bools in the moo o Pretension, The soor plooms o Censure, Whyles yoam frae yon airless chaumer. Some fowk are laith Tae enter the moo o the yett, Even fin it's ajee. Some chaumers are stappit wi Aa manner o ferlies Bairn rhymes skip ben a clootie rug That's as the colours o the lexicon. Wee bittocks o sangs flee roon the ceilin, An auld bodach dwaums in a cheer Croonin Harry Lauder or Willie Kemp, Or a mixter-maxter o Baroness Nairn an Runrig. Oor Wullie sits on a pail, wi his punk hair Jobby's a Celt, or a wee Kilmarnock thrissle. Greyfriars' Bobby's suppin a plate o kail While MacDiarmid poors himsel oot a Wee deoch-an-doruis frae a bottle o peaty malt. A crabbit mither heists a doon-pitten haun Tae skelp a vernacular lug (In this particklar kingdom Wirds are duntit frae littlins Like stoor frae a styewy mat) . The antrin dominie hides aneth the bed Like a ghaistie, wytin tae lowp oot An wave his tawse – a tattie bogle Fleggin aff the Scottish craas. Ither weel-meanin bodies Jump oot frae ahin the curtains Wi a speenfu o English pheesic Tae purge the Scots spikker 0 aa orra idioms, Aa non-standard spikks An Tom Leonard winnerfu wordies. Whyles tho, a lock's weel iled Wi daily converse. The tenant's swackened the latch Wi a jeelip o Grassic Gibbon, A swatch o Scott, A drappie Stevenson An a lick an spit o Ogston, Murray and Mackie Fur gweed measur. In sic a yett, the key slides in Like Burns inno Heilan Mary – Easy an welcome. Tither yetts hae nae veesible means O entry.They're sib tae brick waas. Ahin sic yetts, A lane gowk rocks in a neuk, Sookin a slivvery thoomb. Whyles it sooks its Union Jack Or greets itsel tae sleep Tae the tune o Greensleeves. A bogie hings, disjaskit, Frae its neb. 40. INTER-KITTY I really think that it's a damnt disgrace Bringin a dug intae this cairriage space! A wifie girned, irascible an huffy, The whyles her Pringle moultit in ma coffee. I didna pye a bloody sky-high fare Wi some fower-fittit carnivore tae share Ma journey.frae Steenhaven tae Dundee — An I will takk this farrer, wyte an see. The hairy Afghan gruntit, as she spat, An it was easy seen, believe me, that He'd nivver traivelled wi a First Class cat! 41. COMING AND GOING A short study of socio-sexual dynamics in relation to single parenthood, as observed at Kelvinside's Botanical Gardens ... Reveals a familiar scenario, The syndrome o the come an go Lothario. A wiltin wallflooer draps her heid, ill-fated, That some Bee's one-night stand has impregnated.