Three Cats Flying 20 Poems In Scots

Two Scots owersetts from American Negro Poetry 1.Turn tae ma Yalla Leaves (William Stanley Braithwaite b.1878) Turn tae me ma yalla leaves I am better satisfeed Something dings me tae ma knees That wis niver born, nor deid Let me be a reid-hett flame On a winny Autumn morn I, fa niver had a name Nor frae breathin picture born Frae the margin let me faa Far the hynest stars drap doon An the Void ingaithers aa Inbye Naethiness tae droon Let me dream ma dream entire Wizzent as an Autumn leaf Let me hae ma vain desire Vain as it is brief 2.The Harlem Dauncer: Claude McKay: born Jamaica 1889 Young laddies lauched an clapped wi soople jaads An watched her rare, hauf-nyaakit body swey Her voice wis douce as flutes that fowk applaud Flutes played bi Negroes on a picnic day She sang an daunced sae graceful-like an calm The licht gauze hingin lowse aboot her skin Tae me she seemed a proudly-sweyin palm Grow bonnier, storm-tossed by music's win Upon her darksome nape, blaik curls twined Drapped on her briest. On her their gowd fowk spent The boozy bigsy loons, an even the quines Fixed on her wi their een in bumbazement Bit luikin on her fausely-face I kent Her hairt wis hyne frae thon fey place 3.The Teddy (Overheard on the bus) I'm no a violent person. Bit see if she'd done thou Tae my son, hingin up the phone, Wastin his credit…I'd hae kicked her doon the stairs How many das buy their bairn a teddy? How many das bother nooadays? An a teddy's better than naethin, so it is. Mean tae say, it shows the laddie cares.... 4.Barin Three Broon Teeth Like a wersh lemon Februar sun sits soor on granite was Hauns are berriet in pooches Mithers weir mochles Pushing their buggies By cut-price shoppie windaes Mega sales an boordit up store fronts. Tae the Green Man's Beep Fowk stride ower the cassies Like shears snippin throw claith The timmer door o a howf Is scarifeed bi the Sizzens Bi dug pish an pyocherin punters Throwe crancreuch cauld The chitterin snaadraps shakk A chiel wi a neb like a straaberry Steps smilin onno the bus Face like a lantern Barin three broon teeth 5. Sarcophagus (for Bishop William Elphinstone: 1431-1514) A Glesga baimie, (son o a prelate Fa brukk the vow o bidin celibate) This lad wis schuled an raised wi quaet care Fa's weird it wis tae sclimm up pouer's stair Tae Glesga, Paris, Orleans he gaed Fur lear, an syne a Bishop he wis made In Scotland's parliament his wirth an sense Wis kent bi aa...his influence, immense A diplomat, fa naethin left tae chaunce He wis despatched wi secrecy tae France As Lord Heich Chancellor, this clivver chiel Wi Maximilian sat doon tae deal Made Keeper o the Scottish Privy seal A Papal bull rewardit William's zeal King's College wis begun. King James agreed That funds should drive the projeck on wi speed Fin Flodden cut the flooer o Scotlan doon (a bluid lettin o Commons Lords an Croun) InWilliam's care the infant King wis left An elder statesman, wi a bairn bereft Centuries passed. A sculptor wis employed A great sarcophagus, baith heich an wide Tae bigg, in honour o this Elphinstane Tae show King's College valued his great name The wirk began in Venice. War drum beats Fleggit the warld. Brocht daith tae Europe's streets The sculptor's wark wis hidden in the cool 0 a canal, till peace returned tae rule Syne hame it cam frae Venice tae the toun Far auncient Kings sits dwaumin neth its croun This great sarcophagus, aneth the sky Tholes win an rain far strangers daunder by 6. Myndin Day Fur The War Deid: Scots owersett o a Poem bi Yehuda Amichai Myndin day fur the war deid. Add noo the wae o aa yer losses tae their grue, even o a wumman fa's left ye. Mell sorra wi sorrow, like time-savin history, that biggs holiday an sacrifeece an murnin on ae day fur easy, handy myndin. Ach, sweet warld steeped, like breid, in sweet milk fur the feariesome teethless God. 'Ahin aa thon some great blythness is happit.' Nae eese tae greet inbye an tae skirl ootbye. Ahin aa thon a muckle blytheness is happit. Myndin day. Wersh satt is tricked oot as a wee quine wi flooers. The streets are tethered aff wi towes, fur the merchin thegither o the leevin an the deid Bairns wi a wae that's nae their ain merch slawly, like steppin ower brukken glaiss. The flautist's moo will bide like thon fur mony days. A deid sodjer sweems abeen wee heids wi the sweemin meevements o the deid, wi the auncient mistakk the deid hae aboot the airt o the livin watter. A flag losses contack wi reality an flees aff. A shoppie windae is decked oot wi dresses o bonnie weemen, in blue an fite. An aathin in three leids: Hebrew, Arabic, an Daith. A michty an royal breet is deein aa throwe the nicht aneth the jasmine tree wi an ongaun glower at the warld. A chiel faas laddie deed in the war wauks in the street like a wumman wi a deid bairn in her wame. 'Ahin aa thon a muckle blytheness is happit.' 7.An Thon is yer Glamourie: Scots owersett o a Poem bi Yehuda Amichai I've yokit thegither ma braid seelence an ma wee ootspikk Like a coo an a cuddy. I've bin throwe laigh an heich I've bin in Jerusalem, in Rome, an mayhap in Mecca anon Bit noo God's hidin, an Man greets, 'Far hae ye gaen? ' An thon is yer Glamourie Aneth the warld, God raxxes stretched on his back Aywis repairin, aywis ferlies turn blaik I wintit tae see him aa, bit I see nae mair Than the soles o his feet an I'm dowier than afore An than is his Glamourie Even the trees gaed oot aince tae chuse a king A thoosan-fauld I've gaen ma life ae mair fling At the eyn o the street, some chiel wyles wi a hiss: This ane, an this ane, an this ane, an this ane, an this An thon is yer Glamourie Mebbe like an auncient statue that's tint its airms Oor life, wioot deeds an heroes hauds greater cherms Rug aff ma t-shirt, luv, this wis ma hinmaist fecht I focht wi the knights, the electric ran ooto pech An thon is ma Glamourie Rest yer hains, it ran wi me aa the wye It's trauchelt noo, it needs tae be lowsed fur the day I see ye staun bi the open fridge-door licht Frae heid tae tae, frae anither warld, than sicht An thon is ma Glamourie An than is his Glamourie An than is yer Glamourie 8. An Owerset o The Laxdaela Saga, The Death o Kjartan Noo Kjartan rode sooth doon the glen aside anither twa Thorarin stoot wi An the Black, three fiers baith brave an braw Thorkell, a chiel at Goat-peak's tap, in Swinedale, frae its heicht Luiked wi his herd ower shelts an yowes on twa groups like tae fecht Kjartan an his friens rade on, unseen, the hidden foe The men o Laugar lay in wyte tae gie them their daith-blow On Goat-peak's tap the herd spakk oot 'Gweed maister, we should steer An warn Kjartan an his friens that danger's draain near' Thorkell he gart the herd be quate quo ' Aa man dree their weird Set oot bi fate...forbye, ' quo he, 'There's nocht tae he afeard Jist watch Kjartan, skeely, fierce show aff his warrior's skill Agin the men that wyte for him unseen, ahin Goat-gill' Kjartan he lowped aff his steed tae Osvif' s sons he's gaen 'Oh staun ye by thon muckle stane. Wyte there, till aa be dane.' He flang his spear at Thorolf's shield. It flew as faist's the win An pierced the airm that held it heich richt throwe the flesh an skin Syne Thorolf drapped the shield an turned aside frae battle's rage The sons o Thorhalla focht on Thorarin tac engage. Noo Osvif's sons an Gudluag raise, Kjartan for tae fecht Bit An steppt up tae guaird his fier an strove wi virr an micht Bolli an Fitbiter stude back. Kjartan focht sae weel Time an again, his sword he bent an strauchtened neth his heel Osvif's an An's twa sons war hurt. Kjartan bore nae woun Fin Osvif' s sons they turned on An. Gralloched, he drappit doon Kjartan cuttit Gudluag' s shank clean aff, abune tbe knee An sent him on the laigh road hame, a corp upon the lea Aa fower sons o Osvif fell on Kjartan, bit sae brave A hero, he held aa at bay tho unca near the grave Kjartan tae his kinsman spakk, 'Bolli, ye left yer hame Yet staun ye quaet an takk nae side, chuse noo, in honour's name.' Bolli made on he didna hear. Ospak he priggit sair 'Oh ye hae vowed tae help oor fecht steer noo, oor lot tae share Kjartan's haun has held us doon even on maitters slicht' Quo Ospak, 'Gin ye turn yer back, ye tae, maun ken his micht.' Sae Bolli jyned wi Fitbiter. His foster-brither, faced. Kjartan quo 'Ye've chosen ill. I wadna be disgraced Bi slayin ye. I'd rather dee masel. I'll nae jink daith.' Kjartan flang his weapons doon tae face his mortal skaith Syne Bolli cuttit Kjartan low an held him as he deed An rued straicht aff the bitter blow that skaled Kjartan 's bluid The sons o Osvif, Bolli sent intae the kintraside Bit wi Thorarin an the slain he chose tae watch an bide Tae Laugar, Osvif's sons rade aff tae noise the victory tale Gudrun delichtit in the news, like sun, ahint a gale They bun up Thorolf' s hurtit airm. It healed, bit tint its virr Kjartan's corp cam hame tae Tongue, an Bolli, tae Laugaur Gudrun rade oot tae meet Balli, an speirt fit wis the time On hearin it wis nearhaun noon, she cried, the fickle quine 'This foreneen's wark for baith o us in different wyes wis gweed I've vrocht twal ells o hamespun oo. Ye've skaled Kjartan's bluid.' Aneth the grun war Osvif' s sons hid in a lair o yird Thorhalla's lads rade tae the West tae bring the Priest the wird. At Herdholt, a hale wikk in state, Kjartan's body lay Syne Thorstein Egilson bore him aff, tae his last hame o clay At Burg the kirk wis hung in white, new consecrated grun Kjartan's grave lies ower there, his mortal days ootrun 9. Fareweel Scots owerset o a swatch frae Girselowper Music, bi Szabo Lorine Fit's adee? Ma dearie, dinna greet. Fit I felt wis: moultin. There's bin a meltin o the threids in ma weird, an noo I'm wuvven bi a hunner spaces an times (in the auld days ane) , dingin-doon-an-biggin. Cooshie-doos curmur up yonner, hae sung fower days abeen me; bit I'd tak grue o tellin ye fearie wars hae raged here as weel. Even tae masel it's hard tae believe this is true, although ma senses raxx oot ilkie meenit. Yer pain is new, luiks throwe me, speirs far I bide. In a million airts ilkie inch o me! Fit is it syne? Luv, electricity? I'm in the derk yet. Mebbe gowd-gas-atom, mebbe hett-ray-nucleus. Licht on Saturn, space-livin licht. It's unca fey. Bit that the Aybydan is anely a Poet's harns I's warrant seems true. – Are ye gaun? I feel nicht's touch. 10. Blue Jotter: Scots owerset o poems bi Danyill Kharms Aince there lived a reid-heidit cheil wioot een an lugs He'd nae hair either, sae he wis caad reid-heidit bi wye o generalization He couldna spikk, as he'd nae mou. The same wi his snoot. Even airms an shanks, he jist didna hae ony. Nor wyme, nor dowp, nor rig-bane An nae intimmers.. He didna hae onythin! Sae it's nae clear ava fa is bein spukken aboot In fack, let's nae spikk aboot him onymair. 11. A Romance: Scots owerset o poems bi Danyill Kharms He luiks at me wi the een o a gyte chiel It's yer hoose an yett I ken sae wee! . He gies me a kiss wi his crammosie mou Oor forebears gaed tae war in scales o steel. He brocht me a boorich o crammosie carnations – It's yer stinch face I ken sae weel. He socht in return fur ae lane kiss - Oor forebears gaed tae war in scales o steel He touched me wi his fmger weirin a derk ring – It is yer dark ring I ken sae weel. Thegither we rummelt doon on a Turkish divan – Oor forebears gaed tae war in scales o steel. He luiks at me wi the een o a gyte chiel Dwine awa, ye starnies, an dwine, ye meen! He gies me a kiss wi his crammosie mou – Oor forebears gaed tae war in scales o steel. 12. The Halfin Herd The halflin herd maun tramp the braes Watchin the yowes wi cannie een Whilst richer loons can play an laze Wi cattypult an weel-airned steen Niver a myowt or gim he'll gie He traivels wi a staff in haun His knicky tams aneth his knee He is the backbeen o the lan The wealthy lads micht growe tae ken Great enterprise an sic like ploys The herd, a princelin amang men He has the pick o richer joys The starns at nicht are his tae see Nae general or emperor he The hardy, hummle halflin herd The wirthy son o girse an yird. 13. Groundswell Mull o Kintyre. A boatie rows Bairnies fishin on mackerel days A hotterel o waves. Wee chikks on fire Wi satt-sea watter an ocean sprays 14. Twa Wirkers Foo'd ye like tae be a maid Nurse the bairn frae morn tae nicht Dicht its dowp an weet its mou Keep it happit, snod an ticht? Foo' d ye like tae glean the park Boo yer back for ithers' leavins Tackle coarse an thankless wirk Trauchlin twa-fauld ower the gleanins? 15. Rottenrow: Bairn Play, Glesga Fitbaa on the pavement. Peint upon the waa Dinna cowp the buggie or the bairn'll faa Chrisopher an Kayleigh, Alexander, Kate Playin dirty doctors roon the auld schule gate The schule, the schule, it means hee-haw I'm gonna be a pop star an show youse aa Fa let the denner spyle? Fa's pa's in the jyle? Fa's pottie's aff the byle? Bonnie Mary Baxter Fa's ma's left the hoose? Aa the bailiffs find's a moose Double gin an orange juice, Bonnie Mary Baxter 16. November Wid, Finzean The cauld creepit inno the wid Wi the chunnerin cauld in its shawl An the aik an the chitterin birk Watched the ghaist o the year grown auld Turn the hairt o the burn tae ice An the moss on the brae tae steen An the corbie faa like a hound o Hell Tae dine on the yowie' s een 17. The Glesga Sparkie I wirk in a wee electrical shop, in the hairt o Glesga toun Wi wires an batteries, nuts an screws, repairs, aa clamourin roon Fin I steek ma een I ettle tae hear the doos in a kintra wid Far the caller breeze it reeshles the trees as the flooers raxx up, unbid I wirk in a wee electrical shop mangst a soss an a stoory kirn An the wecht o the wirk it grinds me doon as steen grinds corn in the quern 18. The Bosie The bairn is faain asleep in her airms There's naewye tae set her doon The sister's nocht bit a bairn herself Singin a pop star croon In a fair jurmummle o heids an hair Rowed up in a touselt bosie The eldest' s trailin the youngest up Her breist warmth keeps her cosie An ma's awa fur a gad-aboot Tae blether or shop or booze Or tae tell the warld aboot her man Dan An the tale o her latest bruise 19. Andra wi a Comic Cauld sausage roll that's three days auld fur denner Milk in the bottle weirin a fooshty luik Andra's readin a comic. (Desperate Dan wi a plook) The bairn's in a washin basket. A teet in its mou tae sook 20. Audun and the White Bear: from the Morkinsinna A thoosan years ago there lived A man caad Audun wi his ma In Iceland, by the Western fjords The jewelled warld o frost an snaa Frae Norway ae late summer cam The captain o a tradin ship Aa winter Audun wirked for him Sae he could jyne the hamewird trip In spring, the ice began tae crack Tae his auld mither Audun gied His savins, sae she wadna sterve Tae keep her clad an safe frae need The days grow lang, I maun awa Three years tae traivel an explore Quo Audun, as he kissed his ma An steppit lichtsome tae the shore Noo Audun wi the captain sailed Tae Greenlan far he met a bear An sic a bonnie beast it wis He bargained for it then an there Sae fine a bear as this, he thocht Is wastit in this Greenlan den Twid mak a wondrous giftie for The King o Denmark, Guid King Sven His fur was fite as ony pearl His een war green's the Polar sea He wis fu strang in pouer an micht The beariest bear in history. An fin he roared, the walrus shook The whales aneth the bergs tuik flicht The Northern Lichts grew fite wi fear The verra meen switched aff her licht The bear wis settled on the ship An aff they sailed, an unca crew He catched them fish frae ower the deck His muckle paw struck faist an true The captain drappit anchor syne On Norway's coast, near Norway's king Harald, the great Norwegian lord As fierce as erne on the wing Fin Harald heard o this great bear Hopin tae saften Audun' s hairt He brocht the Icelander tae court Tae see if frae the bear he'd pairt. The bear is bound for Denmark's shore Yer enemies, as weel I ken Bit I hae taen a sacred vow Tae gie the bear tae Guid King Sven King Harald smiled, waved Audun aff Slackent his haud upon his sword Promise me on her hamewird trip Ye'll tell me o the Dane's reward The bear an Audun trauchelt on Near like tae sterve through lack o meat Until a rich man, Auki, met Them puir an beggin on the street Fin Audun telt his sorry tale Ae hauf o thon bear Auki bocht Bit made him promise on his life He'd share hauf the reward he socht They reached the castle o the King Fit brings ye hear, Auki ma frien? Oh I hae cam tae claim ma share 0 any treisur here owergien. King Sven turned Auki aff unthankt For greed an guile can win nae grace Bit upon Audun an the bear He showed a smilin kindly face Ye'll be my courtly cup-bearer The bear will be my greatest prize An sae the months passed merrily Frae even-tide tae reid sumise Bit fan three years war ower an gaen Syne Audun raise tae sail awa Tae Iceland an his mither's hame The lan o jewelled frost an snaa King Sven wis laith tae see him leave Bit tae the herbour steppit doon An as a thanks for Audun' s bear He gied the Icelander a boon A ship stap fu wi rowth o gear A siller pyoke. A gowden ring Tae gie as a reward for guid Taen frae the finger o the king Tae Norway Audun sailed wi speed Tae Harald's haa throw storm an floe An on the great Norwegian lord Thon precious ring he did bestow For Harald micht hae killt Audun An taen the bonnie bear for nocht He weel deserved the Danish ring Honour is won, can ne'er be bocht An as did Sven, King Harald heaped On Audun, treisurs rare an gran As he set aff for Iceland's fjords An aulder an a richer man Oh Iceland's fjords are deep an green Audun has aa he wants an mair Bit fin the starnies full the sky Aa nicht, he's dreamin o his bear.