scots

67d

Robert Fergusson (1750–1774) died #OTD, 17 Oct, aged just 24. Notable for his poetry in both Scots & English, his works include “Auld Reikie”, “The Daft Days”, & “Hallow Fair”. His legacies are broad, from the literary & cultural to the medical.

1/5

https://robert-fergusson.glasgow.ac.uk

#Scottish #literature #poetry #18thcentury #RobertFergusson #Scots #Scotslanguage

A head and shoulders portrait in oils of Robert Fergusson by Alexander Runciman (1736–1785). Runciman has painted his friend, a young poet, lost in creative thought. His exaggerated features – huge eyes, full lips – suggest brilliance and intensity.

Edited 67d ago

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83d

“I’ll nae longer tolerate this climate of wholesale copulation, it’s costin me a fortune! And I’m tellin yow I’ll no huv ye footerin wi ma chauffeur, cos the place is gone tae hell and there’s a leemit tae ma forebearance!”

—from “Mr Puntila & his Man Matti” (1999) by Peter Arnott, translated from Bertolt Brecht
Published in SERVING TWA MAISTERS: Five Classic Plays in Scots Translation

https://asls.org.uk/publications/books/volumes/serving_twa_maisters/

#Scottish #literature #Scots #Scotslanguage #Scotstober #drama #theatre #translation

PUNTILA (Yells) Get them oot! (To EVA) I’m absent fer hauf an hour and the hale place gangs tae buggery. Aye, weel dae yow ken how come the cuddies are in ma claver? Cos the stableman’s shaggin the gairden quean, that’s how come. And how’s thon fourteen-month hutheron got baggit afore her time? Cos the lassie’s joab it is tae mind ma cattle is mixin her moggans wi the prentice boy, which disnae gie her leesure tae ensure ma prize bull isnae lowpin oan ma hiefers and committin random fornication wi onythin oan four legs, that’s how. Mind me tae huv a word wi the wee gairden quean, gin she’d kindly abstain from lowsin her scanties for five minutes, mebbe we’ll huv some tomatoes this year. There’s money in tomatoes, and I’ll nae longer tolerate this climate of wholesale copulation, it’s costin me a fortune! And I’m tellin yow I’ll no huv ye footerin wi ma chauffeur, cos the place is gone tae hell and there’s a leemit tae ma forebearance!

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79d

Love is all you need: Remembering The Kingis Quair

Alan Riach discusses The Kingis Quair – a poem attributed to King James I of Scots (1394–1437), & described by C.S. Lewis as “the first modern book of love”

https://www.thenational.scot/news/17372009.love-is-all-you-need-remembering-the-kings-quair/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #lovepoetry #medieval #Scots #Scotslanguage #15thcentury #Scotstober

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78d

Noo Maunsie’s wis as guid a tongue
As ever psalm o’ Dauvid sung.
It fittit weel a godly mooth,
And said few wirds ’at wirna truth,
An’ never swöre by Guid or Deil
Excep’ whan kyunnens ate his kail…

—from “Auld Maunsie’s Crü” by B.R. Anderson (1861–1888), in Broken Lights: Poems & Reminiscences of the Late Basil Ramsay Anderson (1888) – republished in 2021 by Northus Shetland Classics

https://www.michaelwalmer.com/northus-shetland-classics/p/broken-lights-poems-and-reminiscences-of-basil-ramsay-anderson-introduced-by-robert-alan-jamieson

#Scottish #literature #Scots #Scotslanguage #Shetland #Scotstober #poem #poetry

Noo Maunsie’s wis as guid a tongue
As ever psalm o’ Dauvid sung.
It fittit weel a godly mooth,
And said few wirds ’at wirna truth,
An’ never swöre by Guid or Deil
Excep’ whan kyunnens ate his kail.

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78d

Aifter the boombers cleck
and the sodgers traik thro the skau
there’s an auld air sterts up –
bubblin and greetin.

It’s a ballant mithers sing
on their hunkers i the stour
for a bairn deid.

They ken it by hert.

—Alastair Mackie, “Pietà”
published in The Golden Treasury of Scottish Verse, @canongatebooks, 2021

#Scottish #literature #Scots #Scotslanguage #poem #poetry #warpoem #warpoetry

Pietà
Alastair Mackie

Her face was thrawed.
She wisna aa come.

In the trams o her airms
the wummin held oot her first bairn.
It micht hae been a mercat day
and him for sale.
Naebody stoppit tae niffer.

His life bluid cled his breast
wi a new reid semmit.
He’d hippens for deid claes.

Aifter the boombers cleck
and the sodgers traik thro the skau
there’s an auld air sterts up –
bubblin and greetin.

It’s a ballant mithers sing
on their hunkers i the stour
for a bairn deid.

They ken it by hert.

It’s the cauldest grue i the universe
yon skelloch.
It niver waukens the deid.

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77d

The reason, gin ye waant the truth,
I sleep like this – ma gairdie stieve
upon yer breist, its steekit nieve
laid on yer sma’ hert like an aith –

is no’ for waarmth or peace o’ mind
but that in ma dreams, ma dou,
I’m staunin here upricht, wi’ you
the lang sheld that I grue ahind.

—Don Paterson, “The Human Sheld”
published in RAIN (Faber 2010)

https://www.faber.co.uk/product/9780571251742-rain/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Scotslanguage #Scots #Scotstober

The Human Sheld
by Don Paterson

The reason, gin ye waant the truth,
I sleep like this – ma gairdie stieve
upon yer breist, its steekit nieve
laid on yer sma’ hert like an aith –

is no’ for waarmth or peace o’ mind
but that in ma dreams, ma dou,
I’m staunin here upricht, wi’ you
the lang sheld that I grue ahind.

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77d

Pathways to Research for Scots in Education
28 Oct, free online

A series of short presentations from current educators, sharing personal insights into teaching the Scots language & rethinking the role of the teacher. Following the talks, take part in an interactive Q&A session & help shape the future of Scots-focused educational research, exploring potential directions & opportunities

https://www.eventbrite.com/e/frlsu-webinar-pathways-to-research-for-scots-in-education-tickets-1764632787169

#Scottish #teachers #education #Scotslanguage #Scots #minoritylanguages

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76d

Daith an’ dule will stab ye surely,
Be ye man or wife,
Mony trauchles an’ mischances
In ilk weird are rife;
Bide the storm ye canna hinder,
Mindin’ through the strife,
Hoo the luntin’ lowe o’ beauty
Lichts the grey o’ life.

—Helen Cruickshank, “Sea Buckthorn”
published in A KIST O SKINKLAN THINGS (ASL, 2017)

https://asls.org.uk/publications/books/volumes/a-kist-o-skinlan-things/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #20thcentury #Scots #Scotslanguage #Scotstober

Sea Buckthorn
by Helen Cruickshank

Saut an’ cruel winds tae shear it,
Nichts o’ haar an’ rain –
Ye micht think the sallow buckthorn
Ne’er a hairst could hain;
But amang the sea-bleached branches
Ashen-grey as pain,
Thornset orange berries cluster
Flamin’, beauty-fain.

Daith an’ dule will stab ye surely,
Be ye man or wife,
Mony trauchles an’ mischances
In ilk weird are rife;
Bide the storm ye canna hinder,
Mindin’ through the strife,
Hoo the luntin’ lowe o’ beauty
Lichts the grey o’ life.

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76d

And by the halie tree
In the leaman licht o the wuid,
Squired by a houlet, a hawk and a doo,
Wes his Euridikee…

—“Orpheus”, by Tom Scott (1918–1995)
from A KIST O SKINKLAN THINGS

https://asls.org.uk/publications/books/volumes/a-kist-o-skinlan-things/

#Scottish #literature #Scotstober #poem #poetry #Scots #Scotslanguage

Tom Scott
Orpheus

Ye think thon wes the end?
Yon meetin in the wuids
When Thracian Orpheus heard the drum, the cries,
The whud o the bacchantes’ thrangan feet
And, seik in saul,
Mad to be jyned for aye to his Eurydikee,
Strung his harp
And gaed to meet them wi a sang.
Ye think thon wes the end?

Na. Eftir the thrang breeled on, red
Fingert, bluidie-mawed, the riven limbs
Quiveran aye amang the mairtyred gress,
There wes a lull
And throu it syne a roun
And syne as muckle’s a moan
And syne a voice,
Yon voice o his
That quietit the forest and its fowk,
That reconcilit lion and lamb,
Ordert the rain,
Spoke frae the grund
And threept in the greitan tree
‘Euridikee! Euridikee!’

And at the name
A ferlie thing wes duin.
Thir broken bits o bodie, bits o bane,
Brisket, gash, airm and droukit hair
Cam thegither as gin some will
Mair nor the merely real
Had wrocht on them.
And on yon slauchtert grund was formed
Orpheus anew,
Orpheus the singer, Orpheus the makar,
Orpheus cleansed o the auld despair.
And by the halie tree
In the leaman licht o the wuid,
Squired by a houlet, a hawk and a doo,
Wes his Euridikee.

They say he made a new sang,
A nobler nor the auld,
And sings it aye in the great haa o the warld.

They say it will nevir end.

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66d

Du gies hooseroom tae a swap o scarfs,
lodgins ta mallies. A shjalder swanks
apo dy shooder…

—Christine De Luca, “Growin Auld (Wasterwick)”
published in WAST WI DA VALKYRIES (Shetland Library, 1997)

https://www.christinedeluca.co.uk/pages/wast_wi_da_valkyries

#Scottish #literature #Scotstober #poem #poetry #Shetland #Shetlandic #Scots #Scotslanguage

Christine De Luca
Growin Auld

Wasterwick

Wasterwick, auld wife o da sea, worn
tae a beauty only age can bring. Du sits
straight-backed, airms reck oot
bi clett an stack. Dy sang is
da sang o sels an a thoosand shiftin shalls
is dey beach demsels. Da Waarie Gyo
is a secret fowld i dy skurt, whaar
a kittle o tang swills to an fro.

Du gies hooseroom tae a swap o scarfs,
lodgins ta mallies. A shjalder swanks
apo dy shooder, nest safe in a reffel
o trefoil an smora. Banks-flooers
mak a wavy aedge ta dy simmer hap.

We look on dee at’s cradled grown men,
trace lines o kennin on dy wise repose.
Da wasterin sun at faas saaftly lays
a wild rose apo dy granite face.

Vocabulary:
da: the
clett: cliff, rock, crag
stack: column of rock in the sea
dy: your (familiar)
shalls: shells
dey: they
demsels: themselves
gyo: steep, narrow inlet
fowld: fold
i: in
skurt: bosom
kittle: tickle
tang: seaweed
du: you (familiar)
gies: gives
tae, ta: to
swap: a sudden beat or blow
scarfs: shags
mallies: fulmars
shjalder
oyster catcher
apo: on
shooder: shoulder
reffel: tangle
smora: clover
banks flooers: sea pinks
aedge: edge
hap: shawl
dee: you (familiar)
at’s: who has
kennin: knowing
faas: falls
saaftly: softly

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74d

A man walked out of the sea one February morning dressed in a boilersuit & bunnet, and wearing a tartan scarf which had been tucked crosswise under each oxter to be fastened by a safety-pin at a point roughly centre of his shoulder blades…

—James Kelman, “Incident on a Windswept Beach”

Published in THE STORY OF THE STONE: Tales, Entreaties, and Incantations (PM Press, 2025)

https://pmpress.org/index.php?l=product_detail&p=1769

#Scottish #literature #JamesKelman #Flashfiction #Scots #Scotslanguage #Scotstober

James Kelman
Incident on a Windswept Beach

A man walked out of the sea one February morning dressed in a boilersuit & bunnet, and wearing a tartan scarf which had been tucked crosswise under each oxter to be fastened by a safety-pin at a point roughly centre of his shoulder blades; from his neck swung a pair of heavy boots whose laces were knotted together. He brought what must have been a waterproof tobacco-pouch out from a pocket, because when he had rolled a smoke he lighted the thing using a kind of Zippo (also from the pouch) and puffed upon it with an obvious relish. It was an astonishing spectacle.
Hastening over to him I exclaimed: Christ Almighty jimmy, where've you come from?
Back there, he muttered oddly and made to proceed on his path.
At least let me give you a pair of socks! I said.
But he shook his head. No ... I'm not supposed to.

Edited 74d ago

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63d

WRITERS!

Submissions are invited to NEW WRITING SCOTLAND 44! We want poetry & prose in English, Gaelic, & Scots from writers who are Scottish by residence, birth, or inclination. All successful contributors are paid – deadline 31 Oct!

@writingcommunity

Submit free via Submittable 👇

https://nws.submittable.com/submit

#Scottish #literature #writing #WritingCommunity #IAmWriting #poetry #shortfiction #shortstories #Scots #Scotslanguage #Gaelic #Gaidhlig

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62d

🚀Launch
A CHAOS OF LIGHT: New Writing Scotland 43
28 Oct, The Book Nook, Stirling
Pay as you please (suggested £3)

Celebrate this year’s amazing edition of NEW WRITING SCOTLAND & hear a selection of featured authors reading from their work, in English, Gaelic & Scots. All welcome!

https://thebooknookstirling.co.uk/tickets/New-Writing-Scotland-Anthology-Launch-p566956822/

#Scottish #literature #poetry #shortfiction #Scots #Scotslanguage #Gaelic #Gaidhlig #Stirling

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63d

CFP: “Our three-voiced country”: 20th-century cross-currents in Gaelic & other Scottish writing
26–28 Jun 2026, Sabhal Mòr Ostaig, Skye

Proposals for papers are invited exploring literary interactions between Gaelic, Scots & English in poetry, drama, the novel, song, media, & education in the 20th century – deadline 2 Feb

@litstudies

https://www.smo.uhi.ac.uk/co-labhairt-bhliadhnail-asl-2026/?lang=en

#Scottish #literature #Gaelic #Gaidhlig #Scots #ScottishLanguage #drama #novel #poetry #song #tv #film #education #media #mediastudies

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15d

Michel Byrne on poet & translator George Campbell Hay | Deòrsa Mac Iain Dheòrsa (1915–1984) – born #OTD, 8 Dec

Gaelic & Scots: Cultural Connections & Inspirations in the 20th Century (Forum for Research on the Languages of Scotland & Ulster webinar, 6 May 2025)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SIesmENZ0Iw

#Scottish #literature #20thcentury #poetry #Gaelic #Gaidhlig #Scots #Scotslanguage

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58d

In Gránada, in Gránada,
They dumbed the mou o a makar,
In Gránada, in Gránada,
They strak doun Garcia Lorca…

—“In Gránada, in Gránada (Llanto por Federico Garcia Lorca)”, by Syndey Goodsir Smith (1915–1975) – a major figure in the 20th-century Scottish renaissance, born #OTD, 26 Oct

1/4

https://asls.org.uk/publications/books/volumes/a-kist-o-skinlan-things/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Scots #Scotslanguage #20thcentury #Lorca

Sydney Goodsir Smith
In Gránada, in Gránada
(Llanto por Federico Garcia Lorca)

In Gránada, in Gránada,
They dumbed the mou o a makar,
In Gránada, in Gránada,
They strak doun Garcia Lorca.

Ye bard o the tinks, o gipsy Spain,
Frae Gránada, frae Gránada,
Aa the gangrel folk that scorn chains—
O wae for Garcia Lorca!

At dawin fornent a sunwhite waa
In Gránada, in Gránada,
The rifles reik, O see him faa,
Daith rins at the tyrant’s order.

But they sall pey for that fell deed,
In Gránada, in Gránada,
Franco and his men o bluid,
Their fingers reid wi murder.

Mair nor juist ane enemie
Was kill yon morn in Gránada,
For daith is neer a bundarie
Til the voice o a folk was Lorca.

Ay, he was Spain, anither Burns,
In Gránada, in Gránada,
O wae for thae when the tide turns
That strak doun Garcia Lorca!

And wae for thae in ilka land,
Or Galloway or Gránada,
That thirl the libertie o man
For bards nor daith are stranger.

And aye their leid is Freedom,
In Galloway or Gránada,
Ay, greit for the tinkler’s martyrdom
And the white dumb mou o a makar.

Ay, greit for Lorca, bard o the waifs,
Saw birth and daith in Gránada,
Wae for the sang was stanched yon day
While the sand ran reid wi clangor.

But sing o the victorie was gained,
In Gránada, in Gránada ———!
For aye your bluid sall dirl throu Spain,
Federico Garcia Lorca!

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14d

In to thir dirk and drublie dayis,
Quhone sabill all the hewin arrayis
With mystie vapouris, cluddis and skyis,
Nature all curage me denyis
Off sangis, ballattis, and of playis…

—William Dunbar (c.1459–1530), “Meditatioun in Wyntir”

Full text with glosses available online (poem no. 15)

https://metseditions.org/read/Kk2rqEDflvYQH57qHG5EqhWNP2p8v3y

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #winter #15thcentury #medieval #Scots #Scotslanguage

Meditatioun in Wyntir
William Dunbar (c. 1459-1530)

In to thir dirk and drublie dayis,
Quhone sabill all the hewin arrayis
With mystie vapouris, cluddis and skyis,
Nature all curage me denyis
Off sangis, ballattis, and of playis.

Quhone that the nycht dois lenthin houris,
With wind, with haill, and havy schouris,
My dule spreit dois lurk for schoir.
My hairt for langour dois forloir
For laik of Symmer with his flouris.

I walk, I turne, sleip may I nocht,
I vexit am with havie thocht.
This warld all ouir I cast about,
And ay the mair I am in dout,
The mair that I remeid have socht.

I am assayit on euerie syde.
Despair sayis ay, "In tyme provyde
And get sum thing quhairon to leif,
Or with grit trouble and mischeif
Thow sall into this court abyd."

Than Patience sayis, "Be not agast,
Hald Hoip and Treuthe within the fast,
And lat Fortoun wirk furthe hir rage,
Quhone that no rasoun may assuage
Quill that hir glas be run and past."

And Prudence in my eir sayis ay,
"Quhy wald thow hald that will away?
Or craif that thow may have no space,
Thow tending to ane uther place,
A journay going everie day?"

And than sayis Age, "My freind, cum neir,
And be not strange, I the requeir.
Cum, brodir, by the hand me tak.
Remember thow hes compt to mak
Off all thi tyme thow spendit heir."

Syne Deid castis upe his gettis wyd
Saying, "Thir oppin sall thee abyd;
Albeid that thow wer neuer sa stout,
Undir this lyntall sall thow lowt,
Thair is nane uther way besyde."

For feir of this all day I drowp.
No gold in kist nor wine in cowp,
No ladeis bewtie, nor luiffis blys
May lat me to remember this,
How glaid that euer I dyne or sowp.

Ȝit quhone the nycht begynnis to schort
It dois my spreit sum pairt confort,
Off thocht oppressit with the schowris.
Cum lustie Symmer with thi flowris,
That I may leif in sum disport.

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55d

WRITERS!

Submissions invited to NEW WRITING SCOTLAND 44! We want poetry & prose in English, #Gaelic, & #Scots from writers who are Scottish by residence, birth, or inclination. All successful contributors are paid – deadline 31 Oct!

@writingcommunity

Submit free via Submittable 👇

https://nws.submittable.com/submit

#Scottish #literature #writing #WritingCommunity #IAmWriting #poetry #shortfiction #shortstories #Scots #Scotslanguage #Gaelic #Gaidhlig

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55d

He telt us his wife had run aff wi Super Mario.
Noo, he wis dinin on the dustbins, dwinin awa
for want o a pouer pill and a braw sheenie cherry…

—Amy Jo Philip, “Pac-Man’s Last Stand”
in DOUBLE BILL (Red Squirrel Press 2014)
🟡 🍒 👻

Happy 45th birthday to Pac-Man!

https://www.redsquirrelpress.com/product-page/double-bill-andy-jackson

#Scottish #literature #PacMan #poem #poetry #Scots #Scotslanguage #gaming #retrogaming #GoogleDoodle

Pac-Man’s Last Stand
Amy Jo Philip

We funt him dossin in a piss-scented close
oot the back o a defunct arcade,
his canary coupon dulled fae dool and stour
tae say naething o the bargain booze he swallied
fae a bottle happed in a broun paper poke.

He telt us his wife had run aff wi Super Mario.
Noo, he wis dinin on the dustbins, dwinin awa
for want o a pouer pill and a braw sheenie cherry;
in a constant, feartie, blootered dwam
o Inky, Blinky, Pinky and even Clyde closin in

for the kill. Haurdly a shaddae o his auld sel.
The worst o it wis, every time he yawned
his gub wid gant that wee tait wider till it seemed
he’d fauld in on hissel and the air aroun him growe
shairp wi they twa wirds ilka gamer dreids.

Naiturally, we taen him hame wi’s and fed him up
on spare fou stops, Morellos and tartrazine.
Man, ye shuid hae seen thon appetite!
The trouble stairted wi a toattie bite taen out
the sofa. Afore lang, the living room was a guddle

o sawdust, torn swatches and chowed wires. Im gey feart
he’ll soon hae eaten us oot o hous and hauld.
And that’s whaur youse come in. A puckle wee ghosties
dinnae fleg me, but yon yellae golach’s anither story.
The doors and windaes is aw locked. He’ll no suspect a thing.

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53d

A boannie nicht for castin kale:
a fat mön vaegin owre Sannis,
a hale gadderie o laads an lasses…

—Christine De Luca, “Hallowe’en Hansel”
published in WAST WI DA VALKYRIES

Listen to Christine reading her poems online here

https://www.christinedeluca.co.uk/pages/wast_wi_da_valkyries

#Scottish #literature #Shetland #Halloween #poem #poetry #Scots #Scotslanguage #Shetlandic

A dark-blue postcard. In the top-left corner is a spider's web; in the bottom right there's a bubbling cauldron. The postcard has the following poem in white text:

Hallowe'en hansel
bi Christine De Luca

A boannie nicht for castin kale:
a fat mön vaegin owre Sannis,
a hale gadderie o laads an lasses.

A spree i der blöd,
laads loupit dykes
purled kale-stocks
iggit een anidder on
ripe da rigs
hunse fur hens
whit a stramash
an dan da dash
tae a porch door
lift da sneck
ball in da booty
rin like da mellishon
dunna look back.

But dee an me
pooskered wi da bassel
fell ahint ta draa breath,
taste wir first smoorikin.
But aa I can mind is da mön
gaffin at me in mi cöttikins
wis ahint a uncan barn
an dy blate hansel
anunder a kendlin o starns.

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55d

Dod! – that’s him nou – eik up the byne;
afore the hairth, his claen sark hing:
pit claes is waffin on the line;
merle on a rowan singin fine.

—David Purdie, “Merle on a Rowan”

https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poem/merle-rowan/

#Scottish #literature #Scotstober #poem #poetry #Scots #Scotslanguage

Merle on a Rowan
David Purdie

Pit claes is waffin on the line,
sinlicht’s keekin ower the bing;
merle on a rowan singin fine.

A braw souch’s blawin, aathin’s fine,
an wi the merle I stert tae sing;
pit claes is waffin on the line.

Himsel wull be hame ony time,
frae pit mirk, stour an dunt an ding;
merle on a rowan singin fine.

He’s late the day, that man o mine . . .
Ach! dinna lat ma thochts tak wing,
no wi pit claes on the line!

Bit . . . Da wis late, yon shift lang syne,
o seiren’s gowl and deid bell’s ring,
an merles on rowans singin fine . . .

Dod! – that’s him nou – eik up the byne;
afore the hairth, his claen sark hing:
pit claes is waffin on the line;
merle on a rowan singin fine.

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43d

Ravens are kekklin’ prophecies o’ woe,
Pyots in black an’ white spiel superstitions,
The rooks mak’ bedlam i’ the elms below,
An’ saft-winged hoolets plan their midnicht missions…

—Helen Cruickshank, “Corstorphine Woods”
pulished in A KIST O SKINKLAN THINGS (ASL, 2017)

https://asls.org.uk/publications/books/volumes/a-kist-o-skinlan-things/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Scots #Scotslanguage #naturewriting

Helen Cruickshank
Corstorphine Woods

Ravens are kekklin’ prophecies o’ woe,
Pyots in black an’ white spiel superstitions,
The rooks mak’ bedlam i’ the elms below,
An’ saft-winged hoolets plan their midnicht missions.

Amang the haws an’ brambles whinchats clink,
The blue-tits flit amang their ferny covers,
The greedy gulls ahint the ploo-tail sink,
An’ hidden cushats croodle low like lovers.

Heich i’ the frosty air, uneirdly cries
Tell that a gaggle o’ wild geese are flightin’—
Luik! there they are against the parchment skies,
Like movin’ brush o’ ancient Chinese writin’.

Near hame, the ruif-heid raws o’ stirlins haud
Their evenin’ guild o’ scandal and o’ chatter,
And sparrows, randy gossips, rogue or jaud,
Scavenge their hindmost crumb wi’ fuss an’ clatter.

And, as I roond the corner, best of a’,
The mavis, singing on my gavel wa’—
Happy am I, altho’ I bide my lane,
To ha’e a singin’ hert that’s a’ my ain.

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1y

A birthday 🧵 for Violet Jacob (1863–1946) – poet, novelist, short story writer, & key figure in the 20th-century Scottish renaissance & #Scots language revival – born #OTD, 1 September

#Scottish #literature #Scotslanguage #19thCentury #20thcentury #WomenWriters
1/7
https://www.scottishwomenwritersontheweb.net/writers-a-to-z/violet-jacob

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39d

McIntosh Lecture: “Scots as a Cinderella Language”
9 December, Glasgow – free

Professor Joanna Kopaczyk-McPherson will ask how has the story of Scots been told, & what are the perceptions created.

This lecture is sponsored by the Scottish Text Society. All are welcome to attend.

https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/mcintosh-lecture-scots-as-a-cinderella-language-tickets-1968052449856

#Scottish #Scots #language #Scotslanguage #minoritylanguage

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32d

I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion
Has broken Nature’s social union,
An’ justifies that ill opinion,‍‍
‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍Which makes thee startle,
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,‍‍
‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍An’ fellow-mortal!

—Robert Burns, “To a Mouse, On turning her up in her Nest, with the Plough, November 1785”

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #RobertBurns #Scots #Scotlsanguage #environmentalism #naturewriting #18thCentury #Romanticism #November #winter

To a Mouse, On turning her up in her Nest, with the Plough, November 1785.
Robert Burns

Wee, sleekit, cowran, tim’rous beastie,
O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,‍‍
Wi’ bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee‍‍
Wi’ murd’ring pattle!

I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion
Has broken Nature’s social union,
An’ justifies that ill opinion,‍‍
Which makes thee startle,
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,‍‍
An’ fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave‍‍
’S a sma’ request:
I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave,‍‍
An’ never miss’t!

Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
Its silly wa’s the win’s are strewin!
An’ naething, now, to big a new ane,‍‍
O’ foggage green!
An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin,‍‍
Baith snell an’ keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste,
An’ weary Winter comin fast,
An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,‍‍
Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter past‍‍
Out thro’ thy cell.

That wee-bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
Now thou’s turn’d out, for a’ thy trouble,‍‍
But house or hald,
To thole the Winter’s sleety dribble,‍‍
An’ cranreuch cauld!

But Mousie, thou art no thy-lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men‍‍
Gang aft agley,
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,‍‍
For promis’d joy!

Still, thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But Och! I backward cast my e’e,‍‍
On prospects drear!
An’ forward, tho’ I canna see,‍‍
I guess an’ fear!

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