scots

299d

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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292d

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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294d

See ma mammy
See ma dinner ticket
A pititnma
Pokit an she pititny
Washnmachine…

—Margaret Hamilton, “Lament for a Lost Dinner Ticket”
published in NEW POEMS 1972–73: a PEN anthology of contemporary poetry, ed. Douglas Dunn (Hutchinson, 1973)

https://www.scotslanguage.com/articles/node/id/21

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #childhood #children #Scots #Scotslanguage ##WorldChildrensDay

Lament for a Lost Dinner Ticket
Margaret Hamilton

See ma mammy
See ma dinner ticket
A pititnma
Pokit an she pititny
Washnmachine.

See thon burnty
Up wherra firewiz
Ma mammy says Am no tellynagain
No’y playnit.
A jist wen’y eatma
Pokacrisps furma dinner
Nabigwoffldoon.

The wummin sed Aver near
Clapsd
Jistur heednur
Wee wellies sticknoot.

They sed Wot heppind?
Nme’nma belly
Na bedna hospital.
A sed A pititnma
Pokit an she pititny
Washnmachine.

They sed Ees thees chaild eb slootly
Non verbal?
A sed MA BUMSAIR
Nwen’y sleep.

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293d

Cauld, cauld as the wall
That rins frae under the snaw
On Ben a’Bhuird…

—Nan Shepherd, “Cauld, cauld as the wall”
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 #Scots #Scotslanguage #winter

Nan Shepherd
Cauld, cauld as the wall

Cauld, cauld as the wall
That rins frae under the snaw
On Ben a’Bhuird,
And fierce, and bricht,
This water’s nae for ilka mou,
But him that’s had a waucht or noo
Nae wersh auld waters o the plain
Can sloke again,
But aye he clim’s the weary hicht
To fin’ the wall that lowps like licht,
Caulder than mou can thole, and aye
The warld cries out on him for fey.

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291d

Wha’s Doctor Wha? Wha better kens nor he
that jouks the yetts and rides the birlin wheels
o time and space, shape-shiftin as he reels
through endless versions o reality? …

—James Robertson, “Doctor Wha”
First published in Where Rockets Burn Through (ed. Russell Jones, 2012)

Today, 23 November, is Doctor Who Day!

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#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Scots #Scotslanguage #sciencefiction #SFpoetry #DoctorWho #DoctorWhoDay

Doctor Wha
by James Robertson

Wha’s Doctor Wha? Wha better kens nor he
that jouks the yetts and rides the birlin wheels
o time and space, shape-shiftin as he reels
through endless versions o reality?
Bit dis he ken himsel? Weel, mibbe sae,
yet wha’s tae ken gin aw that’s kent by Wha
maks mair or less or better sense ava
nor whit we ithers ken, or think we dae?
The universe is fou o parallels:
wha’s like us? Hunners? Thoosans? We oorsels
micht be mere glisks o life-forms yet tae be.
Whit’s real? Whaur’s here? When’s noo? Wha’s quick or deid?
Wha’s jist a thochtie in anither’s heid?
Wha’s Doctor Wha? Wha better kens nor he?

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286d

Oot behind a lorry,
Peyin nae heed,
Ablow a doubledecker,
A poor wean deid…

—James Copeland (1918–2002), “Black Friday”

Actor & writer James Gordon Copeland’s much anthologised poem “Black Friday” packs tragedy, compassion, & a sense of close community into nine short verses

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

Black Friday
James Copeland

Oot behind a lorry,
Peyin nae heed,
Ablow a doubledecker,
A poor wean deid.

Perra worn sannies,
Wee durrty knees,
Heh, erra polis,
Stand back please!

Lookit the conductriss.
Face as white as chalk,
Heh, see the driver but
Cannae even talk.

Anyone a witness?
Na, we niver saw.
Glad ah’m no the polis
Goin tae tell its maw.

Weemen windae-hingin
Herts in their mooth,
It’s no oor close, Lizzie
Oh Gawdstrewth!

Screams on the landin,
Twa closes doon,
It’s no wee Hughie!
Poor Nellie Broon.

Phone up the shipyard.
Oh, what a shame!
Yes, we'll inform him,
Please repeat the name.

See Big Hughie,
Jokin wi the squad,
Better knock off, Heug,
Oh dear God.

Whit – no his laddie?
Aw, bloody hell!
D’ye see Hughie’s face but,
He’s just a boy himsel.

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267d

doun riven the tint braith
mawkin scribbles owre the snaw
wee arles o sun-daith
water warstles wechty, slaw …

—Kate Armstrong, “Pantoum fer Winter”
published in A KIST O SKINKLAN THINGS (ASL, 2016)

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

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #pantoum #Scots #Scotslanguage #winter

Kate Armstrong
Pantoum fer Winter

doun riven the tint braith
mawkin scribbles owre the snaw
wee arles o sun-daith
water warstles wechty, slaw

mawkin scribbles owre the snaw
sternies bou tae the mockrife mune
water warstles wechty, slaw
nou the taid an puddock sloum

sternies bou tae the mockrife mune
houlets hunker saft as haar
nou the taid an puddock sloum
grippit fest in dwinin lair

houlets hunker saft as haar
winter’s nieve is cauld an sterk
grippit fest in dwinin lair
aa maun learn tae dree the mirk

winter’s nieve is cauld an sterk
doun riven the tint braith
aa maun learn tae dree the mirk
wee arles o sun daith

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246d

it wis January
and a gey dreich day
the first day Ah went to the school…

—Liz Lochhead, “Kidspoem/Bairnsang”
published in A CHOOSING: The Selected Poems of Liz Lochhead (Polygon, 2017)

https://birlinn.co.uk/product/a-choosing/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #scots #language #MinorityLanguages

Kidspoem/Bairnsang
Liz Lochhead

it wis January
and a gey dreich day
the first day Ah went to the school
so my Mum happed me up in ma
good navy-blue napp coat wi the rid tartan hood
birled a scarf aroon ma neck
pu’ed oan ma pixie an my pawkies
it wis that bitter
said noo ye’ll no starve
gie’d me a wee kiss and a kid-oan skelp oan the bum
and sent me aff across the playground
tae the place Ah’d learn to say
it was January
and a really dismal day
the first day I went to school
so my mother wrapped me up in my
best navy-blue top coat with the red tartan hood
twirled a scarf around my neck
pulled on my bobble-hat and mittens
it was so bitterly cold
said now you won’t freeze to death
gave me a little kiss and a pretend slap on the bottom
and sent me off across the playground
to the place I’d learn to forget to say
it wis January
and a gey dreich day
the first day Ah went to the school
so my Mum happed me up in ma
good navy-blue napp coat wi the rid tartan hood
birled a scarf aroon ma neck
pu’ed oan ma pixie an ma pawkies
it wis that bitter.

Oh saying it was one thing
but when it came to writing it
in black and white
the way it had to be said
was as if you were posh, grown-up, male, English and dead.

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245d

Snaw is bluffertin’ the toun,
Gurly wunds are roustin’ roun’,
Peety fowk in broken shoon
This winter nicht…

—Helen Burness Cruickshank (1886–1975), “Song of Pity for Refugees”
published in Collected Poems (Reprographia, 1971)

#Scottish #literature #Scots #Scotslanguage #poem #poetry #refugees #winter

Song of Pity for Refugees
by Helen Burness Cruickshank

Snaw is bluffertin’ the toun,
Gurly wunds are roustin’ roun’,
Peety fowk in broken shoon
This winter nicht.

Peety help the weary auld,
Claes nor fire to fend aff cauld,
Hoose nor ha’ them safe to hauld
This winter nicht.

Peety wham in a’ the warld
Fortune fell through hell has harled,
Hungert, hameless, broken, marled,
This winter nicht.

Peety men withooten kin,
Ne’er a freend to cry them ben,
Nane their deein’ sauls to sain
This winter nicht.

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262d

This is my winter song, Winter's Wings. Recorded while the sun went down yesterday.

#Scots #solstice #winter #music #acoustic

0d611b9c12baa0eb.mp3

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243d

Lourd on my hert as winter lies
The state that Scotland’s in the day.
Spring to the North has aye come slow
But noo dour winter’s like to stay
For guid,
And no’ for guid!

—Hugh MacDiarmid, “Lourd on My Hert”
published in SELECTED POETRY (New Directions, 1993)

https://www.ndbooks.com/book/selected-poetry/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #HughMacDiarmid #Scots #Scotslanguage #winter

Lourd on My Hert
by Hugh MacDiarmid

Lourd on my hert as winter lies
The state that Scotland’s in the day.
Spring to the North has aye come slow
But noo dour winter’s like to stay
For guid,
And no’ for guid!

O wae’s me on the weary days
When it is scarce grey licht at noon;
It maun be a’ the stupid folk
Diffusin’ their dullness roon and roon
Like soot
That keeps the sunlicht oot.

Nae wonder if I think I see
A lichter shadow than the neist
I’m fain to cry: “The dawn, the dawn!
I see it brakin’ in the East.”
But ah
– It’s juist mair snaw!

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242d

The laverock rises owe blin waas
At ane wi the great North wun
At the heid o hecht…

—“The Heid o Hecht” by Duncan Glen, born #OTD, 11 Jan, 1933. Starting out as an apprentice printer, he became a poet, designer, editor, publisher, & academic

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

#Scotish #literature #poem #poetry #20thcentury #Scots #Scotslanguage

Duncan Glen
The Heid o Hecht

The laverock rises owe blin waas
At ane wi the great North wun
At the heid o hecht. Here The Stuarts huntit the reid deer
And I look doun at that sma grey toun
Wi its fremmit Freench-like Palace
Whaur aince kings walkt wi thochts
O the saft wuns o the Sooth;

Saft wuns that cam lown north
Bringin the bricht bird o simmer
That has but a glisk o that cauld yin
Wha moves baith gress and pine. There
By toom waas whaur aince kings sat
Wi braw sudroun tapestries hidin
The grey stane that cam straucht
Frae the quarries o this hill.

Stanes and laverock risin heich
In the cauld wun that kens nae
Swallow, gouk, or that simmer swarm
O flees. And the great stanes are bare.
Nae claith or burnin wud that can
Gie and tak frae that cauld hunter oot
On the hill wi the laverock wha passes
Owre aw at the heid o hecht.

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239d

The burn was big wi’ spate,
An’ there cam’ tum’lin doon
Tapsalteerie the half o’ a gate,
Wi’ an auld fish-hake an’ a great muckle skate,
An’ a lum hat wantin’ the croon!

—David Rorie, “The Lum Hat Wantin’ the Croon”

As things start to thaw in the north-east, mind how ye go…

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #song #20thcentury #humour #Scots #Scotslanguage

The Lum Hat Wantin’ the Croon
Dr David Rorie

The burn was big wi’ spate,
An’ there cam’ tum’lin doon
Tapsalteerie the half o’ a gate,
Wi’ an auld fish-hake an’ a great muckle skate,
An’ a lum hat wantin’ the croon!

The auld wife stude on the bank
As they gaed swirlin’ roun’,
She took a gude look an’ syne says she:
“There’s food an’ there’s firin’ gaun to the sea,
An’ a lum hat wantin’ the croon!”

Sae she gruppit the branch o’ a saugh,
An’ she kickit aff ane o’ her shoon,
An’ she stuck oot her fit – but it caught in the gate,
An’ awa’ she went wi’ the great muckle skate,
An’ the lum hat wantin’ the croon!

She floatit fu’ mony a mile,
Past cottage an’ village an’ toon,
She’d an awfu’ time astride o’ the gate,
Though it seemed to gree fine wi’ the great muckle skate,
An’ the lum hat wantin’ the croon!

A fisher was walkin’ the deck,
By the licht o’ his pipe an’ the mune,
When he sees an auld body astride o’ a gate,
Come bobbin’ alang in the waves wi’ a skate,
An’ a lum hat wantin’ the croon!

“There’s a man overboard!” cries he,
“Ye leear!” says she, “I’ll droon!
A man on a boord! It’s a wife on a gate,
It’s auld Mistress Mackintosh here wi’ a skate,
An’ a lum hat wantin’ the croon!”

Was she nippit to death at the Pole?
Has India bakit her broon?
I canna tell that, but whatever her fate,
I’ll wager ye’ll find it was shared by a skate,
An’ a lum hat wantin’ the croon!

There’s a moral attached to my sang,
On greed ye should aye gie a froon,
When ye think o’ the wife that was lost for a gate,
An auld fish-hake an’ a great muckle skate,
An’ a lum hat wantin’ a croon!

Edited 239d ago

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240d

Fra banc to banc, fra wod to wod, I rin
Ourhailit with my feble fantasie,
Lyk til a leif that fallis from a trie
Or til a reid ourblawin with the wind…

—“Sonet of Venus & Cupid”, by Mark Alexander Boyd (1563–1601), born #OTD, 13 Jan
published in THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF SCOTTISH VERSE, @canongatebooks 2021

https://canongate.co.uk/books/3267-the-golden-treasury-of-scottish-verse/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #sonnet #16thcentury #17thcentury #earlymodern #Scots #Scotslanguage

Sonet of Venus and Cupid
by Mark Alexander Boyd

Fra banc to banc, fra wod to wod, I rin
Ourhailit with my feble fantasie,
Lyk til a leif that fallis from a trie
Or til a reid ourblawin with the wind.
Twa gods gyds me: the ane of tham is blind,
Ye, and a bairn brocht up in vanitie;
The nixt a wyf ingenrit of the se,
And lichter nor a dauphin with hir fin.

Unhappie is the man for evirmair
That teils the sand and sawis in the aire;
Bot twyse unhappier is he, I lairn,
That feidis in his hairt a mad desyre,
And follows on a woman throw the fyre,
Led be a blind and teichit be a bairn.

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126d

Dinna be glaikit, dinna be ower smert,
dinna craw croose, dinna be unco blate,
dinna breenge in, dinna be ayewis late,
dinna steek yer lugs, dinna steek yer hert…

—James Robertson, “A Manifesto for MSPs”
published in Voyage of Intent (Scottish Book Trust/Luath Press, 2005)

https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poem/manifesto-msps/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #ScottishElections #politics #ScottishPolitics #ScottishParliament #Scots #Scotslanguage

A Manifesto for MSPs
James Robertson

Dinna be glaikit, dinna be ower smert,
dinna craw croose, dinna be unco blate,
dinna breenge in, dinna be ayewis late,
dinna steek yer lugs, dinna steek yer hert.
Dinna be sleekit, dinna be a sook,
dinna creesh nae loof for future favour,
dinna swick nor swither, hash nor haiver,
dinna be soor o face, and dinna jouk.
Open yer airms and minds tae folk in need,
hain frae fylin and skaith the land and sea,
tak tent o justice and the commonweal,
ding doon hypocrisy, wanthrift and greed,
heeze up the banner o humanity,
seek oot the truth and tae the truth be leal.

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232d

If we lose our languages, do we lose ourselves?
21 Feb, free online

Investigating how languages travel with people through migration, conflict, economic pressures, & chance; reflecting on the love & connection languages bring; & the losses that can come with changing languages or disappearance

https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/if-we-lose-our-languages-do-we-lose-ourselves-online-tickets-1976704651825

#Scotland #Gaidhlig #Gaelic #Scots #Scotslanguage #BSL #minoritylanguages #immigration #belonging

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231d

Who Speaks Scots Where: What Crowdsourcing Reveals
2 February, Edinburgh Futures Institute – free

Jennifer Smith & Brian Aitken present findings from a new crowdsourced resource – Speak for Yersel – which sets out to map dialect use in Scots throughout Scotland

https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/who-speaks-scots-where-what-crowdsourcing-reveals-tickets-1975120018143

#Scotland #Scottish #language #Scots #Scotslanguage #minoritylanguages #linguistics

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231d

Gin I was God, sittin’ up there abeen,
Weariet nae doot noo a’ my darg was deen,
Deaved wi’ the harps an’ hymns oonendin’ ringin’,
Tired o’ the flockin’ angels hairse wi’ singin’,
To some clood-edge I’d daunder furth an’, feth,
Look ower an’ watch hoo things were gyaun aneth…

—Charles Murray (1864–1941), “Gin I Was God”
published in THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF SCOTTISH VERSE, @canongatebooks 2021

https://canongate.co.uk/books/3267-the-golden-treasury-of-scottish-verse/

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

Gin I Was God
Charles Murray

Gin I was God, sittin’ up there abeen,
Weariet nae doot noo a’ my darg was deen,
Deaved wi’ the harps an’ hymns oonendin’ ringin’,
Tired o’ the flockin’ angels hairse wi’ singin’,
To some clood-edge I’d daunder furth an’, feth,
Look ower an’ watch hoo things were gyaun aneth.
Syne, gin I saw hoo men I’d made mysel’
Had startit in to pooshan, sheet an’ fell,
To reive an’ rape, an’ fairly mak’ a hell
O’ my braw birlin’ Earth, – a hale week’s wark –
I’d cast my coat again, rowe up my sark,
An’, or they’d time to lench a second ark,
Tak’ bak my word an’ sen’ anither spate,
Droon oot the hale hypothec, dicht the sklate,
Own my mistak’, an’, aince I’d cleared the brod,
Start a’thing ower again, gin I was God.

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229d

Atween November’s end and noo
there’s really nithin else tae do
but climb inside a brindlet coo
and dream o Spring,
fur Winter’s decked hur breist and broo
wi icy bling…

—W.N. Herbert, “Rabbie, Rabbie, Burning Bright”
published in OMNESIA (Remix) (Bloodaxe Books, 2013)

Warming up for Burns Night …

https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poem/rabbie-rabbie-burning-bright/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Scots #Scotslanguage #RobertBurns #BurnsNight #StandardHabbie #winter

Rabbie, Rabbie, Burning Bright
by W. N. Herbert

Atween November’s end and noo
there’s really nithin else tae do
but climb inside a brindlet coo
and dream o Spring,
fur Winter’s decked hur breist and broo
wi icy bling.

It feels like, oan St Andrae’s nicht,
thi sun went oot and gote sae ticht
he endit up in a braw fire fecht
wi some wee comet –
noo he’s layin low wi his punched-oot licht
aa rimmed wi vomit.

We too hae strachilt lik The Bruce
and hacked up turkey, duck and goose;
and let aa resolution loose
oan Hogmanay,
but waddle noo frae wark tae hoose
lyk dogs they spayed.

Each year fails tae begin thi same:
fae dregs o Daft Deys debt comes hame
and we gaither in depression’s wame
aa duty-crossed –
but Burns’s birthday is a flame
set tae Defrost.

Ye dinna need tae be Confucius
tae ken, if Dullness wad confuse us,
ye caa ‘Respite! Let’s aa get stocious –
And dinna nag us.
Grant us that globe of spice, thi luscious
Delight caaed “haggis”!’

That truffle o the North must be
dug frae the depths o January,
but cannae pass oor lips, nor we
cross Limbo’s border –
unless that passport, Poetry,
be quite in order.

Sae thi daurkest deys o thi haill damn year
can dawn in yawns baith dreich an drear –
sae thi Taxman’s axe is at wir ear
fur his Returns?
We Scots sall neither dreid nor fear
but read wir Burns.

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220d

The Wigtown Poetry Prizes offer awards for poetry in all three of Scotland’s languages. The 2026 competitions are open for submission from today (2 Feb) until 6 May

https://www.wigtownpoetryprize.com/poetry-competition

#Scottish #literature #poetry #competition #writing #Gaidhlig #Gaelic #Scots #Scotslanguage

Wigtown Poetry Prizes

Founded in 2005, the Wigtown Poetry Prizes are some of the UK's best established writing competitions, offering awards in all three of Scotland’s languages with a prize pot of over £3000. The 2026 prizes mark 21 years of Wigtown Poetry Prizes and over £50,000 awarded to emerging and established poets.

The competition opens on 2 February and closes on 6 May 2026, with a prize-giving at Wigtown Book Festival in the autumn. We hope to see you there.

Wigtown International Prize: £1500
Runner-up: £200

Wigtown Scots Prize: £500
Runner-up: £200
Supported by Saltire Society

Wigtown Scottish Gaelic Prize: £500
Runner-up: £200
Supported by The Gaelic Books Council

Dumfries & Galloway Fresh Voice Award
Professional support including mentoring by Wigtown Festival Company and a retreat at Moniack Mhor Creative Writing Centre

Alastair Reid Pamphlet Prize
30 copies of a pamphlet of your work set by Gerry Cambridge
Supported by The Dark Horse Magazine

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220d

Today, 2 February, is Candlemas. As well as being a Christian holy day, it is one of the four Scottish Quarter Days, when rents were due.

The Scots poem “At Candlemas” by Marion Angus (1865–1946) is a typically unsentimental look at how swiftly youth turns to old age:

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Candlemas #Scots #Scotslanguage #womenwriters #20thcentury #aging

At Candlemas
Marion Angus

Lang syne at Candlemas
At first cam o’ the mune,
I, a bit lassie,
Hame-gaun fae the toon,
Fell in wi’ a stranger
Frail as ony reed,
Wi’ a green mantle
Hapt aboot her heid.

Haste, I wad haste me,
The whinny road along,
Whinny, crookit road
Faur the grey ghaists gang.
Wi her een fu’ o’ spells,
Her broo runkled sair,
She micht weel be the witch
O’ the Braid Hill o’ Fare.

Here cams Candlemas,
A wan deein’ mune,
Eh! bit I’m weary.
Cauldrife wis the toon!

Yon’s a blythe bairnie
Soople as a reed,
Rinnin’ wi’ a hankey
Tied aboot her heid,
Hastin’, hastin’,
Limber-licht fit,
Doon the crookit road
Faur the grey moths flit.

Quo’ she, ‘Ye’r sma’-bookit,
Yer broo’s runkled sair,
Er’ ye the auld witch
O’ the Braid Hill o’ Fare?’

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220d

The haill clanjamfrie: What’s so braw aboot Scots
13 March, Royal Society of Edinburgh & online – free, ticketed

Through live readings of poetry & prose, alongside open conversation, this RSE Investigates event explores Scots as a powerful tool for creative expression & social commentary – with writers Len Pennie, Chris McQueer, & Michael Pedersen

https://rse.org.uk/event/the-haill-clanjamfrie-whats-so-braw-aboot-scots/

#Scottish #literature #Scots #Scotslanguage #writing #creativewriting

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1y

Mastodon.scot is a Mastodon server mainly intended for people in Scotland or those who identify as Scottish:

https://mastodon.scot

You can find out more at https://mastodon.scot/about or contact the admin @trumpet

#FeaturedServer #Scotland #Scottish #Scot #Scots #Gàidhlig #Gaelic #Mastodon #Fediverse #FreeFediverse

Edited 1y ago

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115d

This chaumert cairn kists bitties
O oor bricht an battert past—
A things that Scots hae keepit or drappit or lost
Or couldna tak wi them when they deed
Or went awa for guid…

—Jim Alison, “Ingaunees”
originally published as a poster for The National Museum of Scotland

Today, 18 May, is International Museum Day

https://icom.museum/en/international-museum-day-2/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Scots #Scotslanguage #museum #LewisChessmen #archaeology #InternationalMuseumDay

Ingaunees
by Jim Alison

This chaumert cairn kists bitties
O oor bricht an battert past—
A things that Scots hae keepit or drappit or lost
Or couldna tak wi them when they deed
Or went awa for guid.

Dootless there’s ither grand ingaunees ootby
In Russia, India an sic fremmit fields
Whaur gangrel skelfs an shards o Scotland skinkle
Or gether stoor on shelves.

A feel fur thon wee Lewis keelies stuck in Lunnon
Goggle-e’ed wi chowin the taps aff their shields,
Haimseek fur Norroway ower the faem.

One of the Lewis Chessmen. Carved from walrus ivory, probably in the 12th century. This chesspiece depicts an armoured warrior – quilted armour or perhaps chain-mail is suggested by diagonal cross-hatched lines inscribed into the long coat, which also forms a hood over the character's head. He holds a full-length kite-shaped shield in front of him, bearing an X-shaped cross made of four interwoven lines. Holding a sword in his right hand, clutched close against his body, the warrior's outsized face stares over the top of the shield, his eyes wide. His top set of teeth are visible, chewing at his shield in berserker battle-frenzy.

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85d

I could blame da wye da sea is smoothed
da stanes; da sylk o touch; da waelin, laevin;
an will da haert be dere whin I come back?

—Christine De Luca, “Discontinuity”
published in DAT TRICKSTER SUN (Mariscat, 2012)

Hear Christine read this poem on The Poetry Archive:

https://poetryarchive.org/poem/discontinuity/

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

Discontinuity
Christine De Luca

I could blame da wye da sea is smoothed
da stanes; da sylk o touch; da waelin, laevin;
an will da haert be dere whin I come back?

Or I could blame da saandiloo. He wis clear
whit wye ta geng: dis wye noo, nae luikin
owre your shooder. Tide dusna wait;

see da wye da swill o joy is drained.
Dance daday. Damoarn you slip
inta eternity.

Or I could blame da hush at fills you
til you’re lik ta burst wi aa da wirds
at could be said but you hadd back.

Hit’s whit happens whan you step
in time, but sense a fault-line vimmerin
trowe you: dis side or dat?

Only da sea can greet an sing at da sam time:
shade an licht: cobalt, ultramarine an dan
da lönabrak – a tize, a frush o whicht.

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