We’re haein Sna the Day
‘We’re haein sna the day, ‘ said the wumman
Like the weather wis a menu written doon
‘I’ll hae blin drift please, an a helpin o frost
Wi a richt pea super for starters
Dinna ging ower heavy on the hailstanes’
‘Then again, the sun micht come oot’, she addit
Nae verra convincin.
‘The ultra violet rays disagree wi ma constitution
It’s an acquired taste, sombreros in Scotlan
Like naan breid wi yer mince, ken fit I mean? ‘
The Warld’s Fite
The warld’s fite wi April snaa, there’s nae a birdie steerin
The squirrels coorie in their drays. Nae blackie’s cheeps we’re haein
Like snaabaas waukin yowes an lambs, maun howk tae fin their maet
There’s gey smaa pickins here aboot, on sic a frostit plate
The roadside’s blaik wi orra slush spun aff frae birlin wheels
An ye’ll luik far, an farrer yet tae spy spring’s new-plooed dreels
It’s weather fur Am Fear Liath Mòr on Ben Macdhui’s braes
Bit nae a day for man nor breet withoot their thermal claes
Saps
Saps, saps saps, steeped in milk till it plaps
Doon intae yer upset belly it draps
Breid as a poulticeas hett’s ye can thole
Syne bandaged an sypin ower a steamin bowl
The pyson twill sook, frae cut finger or plook
Or frae ony ill neuk. Cures frae granminnie’s buik
Orgy at Auld Hornie’s
Geordie Byron’s giein it laldy
Wi Nell Gwyn ahin the fusky bottles
Deacon Brodie’s chorin aa the quaichs.
Grayfriar’s Bobby’s piddlin ower Lord Haw-Haw
Mick Jagger’s mou hauds a hale wine box
Turn his snoot fur a tap
Mae West keeps a carrot in her pooch
In case naebody’s pleased tae see her
Christine Keeler’s singin The Gweed ship Venus
An five an twenty virgins, doon frae Inverness
Staun in the firin reenge o Rabbie Burns
Daft Yowes
Anely a ma could lue it.
She licks it fore an aft
It’s orra, shilpit, hudderie.
Bit faith…aa yowes is daft
Casterton Tree
An aik in the kintra raxxes its airms
As free as the air in its boughs
Nae cribbit in, it takks its ease
Its natur pleisuntly growes
Its cousin in the toon is nipped
Tae lat the traffic by
Its reets near smore in concrete
Farbiggins blot ootsky
In the Pennines
The bonnie burns breenge brawly doon
The heathery braes o springtime broon
The gean pits on its waddin goun
O blossom in the Pennines
The blackie stots alang the girse
His feathers blaik as ony hearse
His beak snaps open as a purse
Wirm-chasin in the Pennines
The clouds lie lichtly on the peaks
The mists rise up like fairy reeks
The mowdie in his velvet breeks
Howks howpies in the Pennines
The dykes like shards o dragon’s teeth
Haud yowes frae teemin aff the heath
The howes are crooned wi a sna wreath
Tho sun sheens in the Pennines
The Entente Cordiale
A birdie sat on a yowie’s back.
The birdie peckit, the yowie chaad
Like twa gweed meebors, blythesome like,
The birdie cheeped an the yowie baad
Tho neither translated the ither’s spikk,
As ane hid feathers, the tither, oo
They wir gweed company ben the day
Twa craiturs takkin the peacefu view
Overheard on a Bus:
The words in italics were actually heard, the reponses, fictitious
The cooncil’s bocht a panda tae boost tourism
Oh na! Ye dinna Say!
The panda jist kens mandarin
Oh weel, weel
An there’s nae eneuch bamboo at the Co-op tae feed it
An fa’s gaun tae clip its claws?
Oh God. An I aye thocht thon panda breets wir cuddly
An it’ll hae ither needs ye ken
Frustration’s an awfu thing
Oh ma goodness
There’s a polar bear in Embro zoo, something micht be arranged
Mmph
Ony port in a storm
Oh ay, ay
Ye see ae bear, ye see them aa
Cheerio then
I’m awa tae the Chinese fur a cairryoot
The toon’s ay pandamonium on a Setterday
The Mearns
Gweed fermin lan, the Mearns grun, wi rigs plooed straicht an true
A skiffin o green on brierin buds an the lift is cornflooer blue
There’s reefs an steadins an hooses whyles that hairst the sun wi glaiss
An tether its pouer, the antrin brae wid ferms furl faist their airms
An traffic birrs up frae the sooth ower blaik, fite peintit lanes
An jaikies biggin a nest near haun watch, frae the dytkeside stanes
The scurries skreich ower the new coast toon, that staun far the sea creeps ben
The peint nae dry on the harlin yet commuters, nae fishermen
An this is the wey o the warld noo, ye maun lowp gin cheenge should chap
An gin ye dinna the future will ploo ye unner like last year crap
Cromar is a Hinneypot
Cromar is a hinneypot, ancient an fertile
Far fermers an fiddlers an magic combine
In Spring, the birk branches are graceful as moosewabs
As silky as maidenhair, derksome as wine
The catkins bob saftly as paws o a leveret
The young girse is brierin, braw daffies staun prood
As airmies o trumpeters blawn in the wid-win
At night in the meenlicht, they dover an showd
The craas they are biggin, their nests they are thiggin
Spring is the sizzen far lambs takk their ease
The breem’s burnished yalla, on far Lochnagar
Sna fitens the pynts far the heich erne flees
O Fussle an I’ll cam tae ye ma lad
Fussles cam in mony kinds, vrocht in Cornish serpentine
Gowd an braiss an jade an jet, puckles blaw ower railway lines
Bakelite, ivory, wid an thorn, ceramics, metals, agate tae
Jasper, bog aik, bane an nickel, thermos-plastic, thon’ll dae
Carnelian, tin plate or cast iron, hoof an silver, pearlware
Cheena an mahogany, Welsh slate, lacquer an stoneware
Bosun, polis, scouts an guides, watchie, shepherd, ARP
Dug’s heid, dyeuk’s heid, pitchpipe, toys, tooteroo fur referee
Fussles vrocht fur jyle an polis, souvenir or giftie fine
Ower the tap in WW1, sodjers in the firin line
Fussles vrocht fur birdie wheeples, gowk, whaup, peesie, doo, canary
Hoolet, muirhen, widcock, quail, nightingale an blythesome blackie
Army, navy, fire brigade. Asylum fussles, transport tae
The Acme Thunderer! The Rattler! Fussles muckle, fussles wee
The Lion Rampant
We Scots are a free reenge breed
See the diaspora? Like thrissle seeds in a gale
We’re aawye, ony wee crack or neuk’ll dae
Fur us tae sattle, trailin oor reets
Like navel towes, tied tae Mither Caledonia
Stirling, Bannockburn, Falkirk,
Otterburn, Flodden, Culloden
The bluid o a warrior tribe rins ben oor veins
Bratach rìoghail na h-Alba’s
The sail that steers oor boatie.
Hector MacKay in Quebec weirs
The Lion rampant on his t-shirt,
Proodly on Hogmanay
Elroy Zanzibar-Farquharson in Jamaicay
Has stukken a lion magnet on his fridge
‘Och ay the noo’ he says
As he cracks open anither tinnie
Felicity Menzies jogs aroon New York
Wi a lion rampant frontin the peak o her cap
She ains twa cds o the Glesga polis pipe band
In Majorca, Rab C. Buchan
Dichts the san frae his taes
Wi a Lion rampant tool
Thon lion gaes aawye
Pencils, shortbreid tinnies, car stickers
It’s aa tae dae wi attitude
Nemo me impune lacessit
Mess wi me an I’ll batter ye.
Parin Tatties
Dowpit at granmither’s fit aside a pail
I am cross-legged puddlin wi peelins
I am five years wee, an the warmth
O her hoch at ma shooder’s a cosie lowe
Her left haun hauds a tattie cuppin it ticht an firm
The knife in her richt, strips aff the tattie’s jaiket
Plunk! It faas intae the watter like a puddock
I am five years wee an I lue this auld craitur
Wi ma hale hairt, wioot the need tae spikk
Like the sun lues the rock it reists on
Like the dyew lues the girse it haps at Skreich o Day
The Guid Ship Argo Merchant
It tuik this ship echt months tae sail
Frae Japan tae Americay
As wi anither boat it crashed
It should hae sunk in Botany Bay
Three times on fire, five times towed aff
Tae be repaired…wis it accursed?
The ship frae hell on the High Seas
Unleashed tae dae its verra worst
There wis a mutiny on board. In Borneo, it ran agrun
Laid up in Curaco awhile. Aff Sicily, beached in the sun
Wis towed tae New York. Sailed again
Her bylers brakk doon sax times mair
A floatin wrack, a sailin pox. A blot upon the ocean air
Sune she wis banned frae mony ports
Boston, the Panama Canal, an Philly
The Indian helmsman cudnae read
The course, in Greek. His steerin, uncae
An aff Cape Cod the vessel sank
Fylin the Pilgrim State wi ile
The ship that cudnae help itsel
Run ooto things fur it tae spyle
Waukin ben the Burn
I wyte fur the sun tae cam oot frae ahin the cloud
Afore plunkin ma fit in the vice that’s the icy watter
Noo the burn is up tae ma hochs
I check fur brukken glaiss
The jaggy teeth o a tin
I am a human tree
Growin up ooto the waves
Troot sweem roon ma reets like birdies
The reeshlin soun o the burn
Laps at ma lugs
Aneth me, the steens are glimmrin
Like polished gems
Amber, siller, gowden, rooshty coppers
Ma feet are fite’s an octopus byled in a pot
Plappin alang the sliddery skyty burn-foun
The Johnner Celebration: Sheena Blackhall
tune: Johnny’s so long at the fair
Oh my, fit an ingaitherin
O auld farrant sayins, o singin an bletherin
The pick o the crap frae the fowk o Johnshaven
Colleckit wi smeddum an care
Christine Kydd wirked thegither wi Ewan McVicar
Frae Benholm, the Mearns celebratin each screiver
The Beatties, Bill Wilkie an YAH memmers
Aa sharin the heirskip that’s there
Ye’ll hear o Death Row an the sang Aunty Mary
(Her draaers held inside them a yalla canary)
Ye’ll hear the ongauns at a Pensioners’ Pairty
Wi interviews, cantie an rare
Ye’ll larn o the days o the fishin fur herrin
The eese o the blade bi the Johnners fur sheilin
The mussels, tae howk them aa oot fur the baitin
Andy Shanks an the Craigs liked tae share
There’s bobbers an creepers an clove sticks an tippens
Langsyne mithers wirked wi their bairns still in hippens
The museum at Johnner, a website wi wylins
Far the Past meets the Future’s software
The Girselowper(Scots owersett of The Cricket: William Cowper)
Teenie tenant, blythesome aye,
Cheepin on bi ma hairth, inbye,
Fariver ye chuse tae bide
Guidness aye sits at yer side,
Pey me fur yer cosie bield
Noo yer sweetest sang please yield;
In return I’ll gie tae ye
Sic a lay as I can gie.
Sae yer praise’ll be express’d,
Hermless, cantie, walcom guest!
Whyle the ratten raiks aboot,
An the moose wi unca snoot,
Wi fit vermin mair infest
Ilkie dish, an spyle the best;
Lowpin sae afore the fire,
Ye hae aa yer hairt’s desire.
Tho in voyce an makk they be
Vrocht as breets, akin tae ye,
Ye surpass, yer blyther far,
Than blythest girselowpers that are;
Theirs is bit a simmer’s sang,
Yours’ll laist the winter lang,
Unhinnert, chirpin, sweet an clear,
Melody aa ben the year.
Neither nicht nur dawn o day
Pits a stopper tae yer play:
Sing, syne -an raxx oot yer span
Far ayont the date o man.
Dowie man, fas years are spent
In girnin, gurly, discontent,
He disnae, live, auld tho he be,
Hauf a span, compared wi ye.
Scottish owersett of The Snailie by William Cowper
Tae girse, or leaf, or fruit, or waa,
The snailie sticks, nae feart tae faa
As gin he grew there, hoose an aa
Thegether.
Inbye thon house secure he hides,
Fin danger nears on gurly tides
O storm, or ither harm besides
O weather.
Gie bit his horns the slichtest dicht,
His self-colleckin pouer is ticht,
He shrinks intae his hoose, wi richt
Displeisur.
Far ere he bides, he bides alane,
Barrin himsel his gear is nane,
Weel satisfeed tae be his ain
Hale treisur.
Sae, hermit-like, his life he leads,
Nae pairtner tae his denner needs,
An gin he meets ane, anely feeds
The faister.
Fa seeks him maun be waur than blin,
(He in his hoose sae weel bun in,)
If, finnin it, he fails to finn
Its maister.
Scots Owesett of On An Ill-Trickit Bull, that the Ainer Selt at the Author’s Priggin – William Cowper
Gae—yer nae fit tae bide an share
The pleisurs o this place
Wi sic as its auld tenants are,
Craiturs o gentler race.
The squirrel here his maet provides,
Awaur o wintry storms,
An widpeckers dunt on the sides
O muckle aiks fur wirms.
The yowe here smeeths the knotty thorn
Wi cairdens o her fleece;
An here I daunder eve an morn,
Like her, a frien tae peace.
Ach! —I could peety ye exiled
Frae this weel hid retreat—
I widnaeloss it tae be styled
The blythest o the great.
Bit ye can thole nae calm delicht;
Yer pleisur is tae show
Yer muckle pouer in ony fecht,
Aye dingin doon—sae, go—
I carena whether east or north,
Sae I nae mair micht finn ye;
The angeret muse sae sings ye furth,
An claps the yett ahin ye.
77 Names o the Bawd (Hare) : Scots Owersett o a 13th Middle English poem frae Shropshire (Anon) tae gie pouer tae the hunter
The cheil fa meets wi the bawd
Will niver best him
Unless he pit doon on the grun
The weapon he hauds in his haun
(be’t huntin stick or bow)
An bless him wi his elbuck
An wi sincere devotion
Spikk this ae prayer
In praise o the bawd
Sae there’ll be better fare:
‘The bawd, the bawd-kin
Auld Big Bihoochie, Auld Bouchart
The bawd-ling, the player o pliskies
Auld Turpin, the faist traiveller
The wey dunter, the fite spottit ane
The lurker in sheughs, the orra breet
Auld Wimount, the cooard
The creep-awa, the chitterer
The ane it’s ill-luck tae meet, the fite-livered
The scutter, the cheil in the dyew
The girse etter, Auld Goibert
The ane fa disnae gae straicht hame, the traitor
The friendless ane, the cattie in the wid
Glowerowerum wi wide een, the cattie that hides in the breem
The purblin ane, the cattie o the thorns
The hyterer, the blear-eed een
The waa-eed ane, the keeker tae the side
An likewise the buss-jigger
The stag o the stibble, lang-luggit
The breet o the stibble, the kowper,
The wud breet, thebreenger
The cuttie breet, the lurker
The faist as win, the sleekit
The birzzer, the dowper in the buss
The dyew-dunter, the dyew stotter
The dowper on its form, the stotter in the girse
The footery-fittit ane, the dowper on the grun
The licht-fit, the dowper in the heath
The stag o the cabbages, the etter o herbs
The laigh creeper, the quaet dowper
The smaa dowpit ane, the ane fa turns tae the knows
The rise up faist
The ane fa gars ye chitter
The fite wymed ane
The ane that sikks a bield amang the lammies
The gype, the maet sooker
The thriftie ane, the twitcher
The ane fa gars fowk flee, the covenant brakker
The snocherer, the close cuttit heid
(His chief name is Vratch)
The stag wi the leathery horns
The breet that bides in the corn
The breet that aa cheils scorn
The breet that nane daur name’
Fin ye hae spakk aa thon
Syne is the bawd’s virr pit doon
Syne ye micht gae oot
East, wast, north an sooth
Fariver a cheil will
A cheil fa has ony skill
an noo, tata tae ye, Sir Bawd
God lat ye gyang sae ill
As will bring ye tae me deid
Either in ingin broth, or jist in breid
Amen
Kinker
Kinker was aince a steer o fowk
Three hunner years ago
Fin Bartle Fair wis gaithered near
A breeder’s cattle show
On their thatched reefs the locals sat
Owerwatchin drunken fechts
An lined their pooches frae the trade
Ower three Septemmer nichts
The kirkyaird it wi shame tae ills
O cursin, leein, swickin
As cyards an drovers wyled the time
Bi coortin, brawlin, chorin
There gangrel bodies played at cairds
Telt fortunes, fiddled, sang
Set up their stallies, tethered shelts
Wi joy Kinker wis thrang!
Agricultural Competitions, Greenholme
Gimmer hogg, tup hogg
Best legged in bane an colour
Agèd ram, shearlin ram
Finest luikin breeder
Dug the judge wid like tae ain
Dug wi waggiest tail
Muckle dug, wee dug
Best dug in the Dale
Best three sticks o rhubarb
Best trifle in a glaiss
Best jar o lemon curd
Will yer cheese scones pass?
Hamemade coaster, hamemade bag,
Best carvin frae a veggie
Crochet, knittin, needlecraft
Best laid free range eggie
A photie o a hedgeraw,
A selfie or a flooer
A photie o a cat or dug
Sunsheen or passin shooer
Bairns section- makk a pizza
Or decorate a cake
Screive a poem, or peint a stane
Makk yer ain snaaflake
Claes
Pringle sweaters gar ye tingle
Pringle sweaters are the bizz
Pringle sweaters …far’s yer jingle
Pringle sweaters fairly fizz
Paisley pattern comes frae Kashmir
Scotland claims it as its ain
Paisley pattern’s fit the chic weir
Paisley pattern’s niver plain
Tartan auncient dress or huntin
Ye need virr tae don a kilt
Sturdy hurdies, shanks o iron
Marra o the fiery Celt
Shetlan lace sae fine an silky
Like a wyver’s moosewab goun
Ye can slidder ben a ring space
Floats like faem far sailor’s droon
Lochnagar Reminisces
I’ve seen it aa
Daft wee lassies hyterin up in heels
A laddie in October catched in blin drift
Weirin a t-shirt
Alane except fur a Mars Bar
A ninety year auld wi cataracts
Shooglin on the lip o ma draps
Queen Victoria did her coortin here
Shot ma stags like a towrist swattin midgies
Byron, gammy-fittit
Hired a sheltie tae humph him ower the heather
Watch yersel. That’s aa I’m sayin
I can cheenge ma humour
Faist as a puddock lowp
Ae meenit yer dowpit doon
Admirin the loch in ma lap
Unpackin yer action packed health bars
Neist, I roll oot ma mist, fur a hee-haw
Ye canna even see tae dicht yer dowp
I luik a michty erne
Wi ma wings raxxed oot like a Roman legion’s standard
Snaa whyles coories in corries
Whyles aa simmer
Local fermers sclimm me in midsummer
Wi fuskey bottles stappit in their pooches
Fowk propose on ma shouders
An ilkie year, I makk a ghaist or twa
Ooto the unlucky, fa dinna takk me serious
I’m nae some shilpit knowe like Arthur’s seat
Drovers, smugglers, poachers, clansmen
Monyhae smored in ma snaas
I’m the hinmaist thing they see
Wi their deein een
Lochnagar. I’m poetry in steen
Paul Henderson Scott (1920-2019)
Born in Embro, raised in Portobello
Here, he read Walter Scott, Galt, Stevenson
The Border Ballads, sharpenin his harns,
Kenspeckle body, skeely an sherp witted
A laddie, he fand Hugh MacDiarmid’s Thistle
Wattit his whistle fur aa that Scots could gie
He jyned the Varsity Officer Trainin Corps
An canvassed in Argyll fur SNP
Billeted at Butlin’s in Morecambe
His buits wi cauld wir frozen tae the fleer
An syne, a Desert Rat, he fand himself
Emboiled in the stramash o war’s mineer
He drave alang the wrack that wis Berlin
Germanic erne, it’s wings dinged doon tae stoor
The rubble Allied bombin left ahin
Here, he administered a shoogly peace
Afore his wirk sent him tae hyne aff airts
Poland, Bolivia, Cuba, Canada
India, Pakistan….a lad o pairts
Tae Austria, Italy an steamin Burma
Scott tuik a wife, sired twa bairns… mair stravaigin
Tae Warsaw, La Paz, Montreal, Havana
Milan, Bolivia, musical Vienna
Cam hame divorced, wi a Miss Fiorentini
Tae jyne the cultural steer o Scottish life
Weel kent tae Embro Festival, the Saltire
The Satyre o Sir Lyndsay’s Three Estates
The SAC, The Art warld, Scottish opera
PEN and the Scottish Poetry Library
The Herald caad him ‘radical…patrician’
His mission aye tae further Scottish ploys
Tae champion them, ane o his keenest joys
A nation needs great men tae gie’t a heeze
Tae gar it staun, nae boo on servile knees
Paul Scott wis a colossus o a cheil
He held the Saltire heich, an served it weel
Nummers
Ae capercailzie risin in a roose
Twa corbies craikin, sing the corbie blues
Three hornygollachs, hotter in the haa
Fower hoolets hootin abune the kirkyaird waa
Five bawds a-breengin, ben the girssy howe
Sax futterats fechtin, on the widded knowe
Seven trooties treetlin splytrin doon the linn
Echt mochs a dauncin, oot an in the whin
Nine dyeuks stravaigin, plappin tae the puil
Ten jobby hurcheons dae an echtsome reel
Eleyven puggies lowpin, eftir a balloon
Twal baldie bubblyjocks nae feathers on their croon
Thirteen caperin kittlins kerfufflin their claes
Fowerteen deevilicks dauncin doon Auld Clootie’s braes
Fifteen bletherin hoosewives, haein a bit yammer
Saxteen perjink poodles, reddin up a chaumer
Seventeen forkietailies, polishin Big Ben
Echteen glegs aa sookin on shelties in the glen
Nineteen flechs abseiling doon Rapunzel’s hair
Twinty midgies heezin roon a bogle’s lair
Còmhradh an alltain: The Wee Burn’s Spikk
Troots slidder, wallop an lowp, syne splyter doon
As gluggerin on rowes the watter,
Wi a great clattervengeance o soun
Ma puil is a keekin glaiss fur the vauntie Bens
Swete smells the thyme, saft wyves the graceful fern
I am the liquid orator o the glens
The lift wi its clouds wheechs brawly ower ma heid
Slawly, I dauchle awhile, deep amber broon
The peat neth it’s plaid o heather, weeps its bluid
It’s in me that the deer in simmer slaiks its drooth
It’s in me that the sleekit tod weets his pechin thrapple
It’s in me that the brock, boos his snocherin mooth
Far else wid the bairns like tae paiddle, bit in ma shallas
Far else wid the whaup tred the seggs
Ben ma banks heich iris-yallas?
In winter I roar like a bull rampaging, ruggin
I pass like a scythe ower the girse
Like a muckle train chug-chuggin
In Spring I am sypin, sappy an saft an swack
In Simmer I’m crined tae a treetle
In Autumn, I’m stappit wi leaves
In Winter I’m cranreuch an black
I hae nae desire tae reenge the warld like an ocean
The glen is my alpha and omega
It claims ma hale devotion
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