Scotstober: Days 27-31, The End

Last of my #Scotstober round-ups. It's late due to me starting a new role at work and just being so tired every evening. But I managed to keep up, though I missed mervaill as I did neep and tumshie separately. 

Word of the Day 27: 'sklent' which means meaning things to do with slanted or sideways, including a sideways glint of light or look, or to move sideways. Willie Hershaw is a contemporary poet, musician and playwright working in Scots. His poem captures the action of a night sky with the verb use of sklent perfectly. 

Starry Nicht

Stars sae heich

abuin the muin

cauld and changeless

sklentan doun.

Stars o frost

bruckle as braith

kyth like howp

melt like faith.

Word of the Day 28: 'bauchle' - an old shoe or slipper. This poem by Sir Alexander Gray is not what I expected from an economist, but his poem 'Scotland' rings beautifully to this poet missing her adopted home. 

This is my country,

The land that begat me.

These windy spaces

Are surely my own.

A contemporary of MacDiarmid, Gray also translated many European poems into Scots. His poem 'Grief' is a touching elegy. 

Grief

What ails you, you puir auld body?

What gars you greet sae sair?

Hae you tint the man that’s been kind to you

This forty year and mair?

O, I didna greet when I tint him,

Nor yet on the burrel-day;

But though I saw to the hoose and the byre,

God kens that my hert was wae.

But this mornin’ I cam on his bauchles;

What cud I dae but greet?

For I mindit hoo hard he had wrocht for me,

Trauchlin’ wi’ sair, sair feet.

Day 29 'skreich' usually used as shriek, but there are also the phrases 'skreich o lavrocks' or 'skriech o day' meaning daybreak. I've found it in 'Mornin' a translation of Du Fu's poem in Chinese by Brian Holton a Scots translator and poet. Originally published in The Scores Journal.

Mornin

translated from the classical Chinese

Ane

Skreich o day at the sunnyside o the Southron Palace,

Rimie air keps a thousan rigs an bens;

Nou a kintra bodie is traivellin his lane,

Trees an haar convoyin him i the dawin.

A braw merlin passes seilintlike owreheid,

A hungert corbie comes eident doun ti feed;

A’m that dwaiblie A’ll niver muve nae mair,

A leaf tremmles, faas on the river puil.

Twa

A sail on the watterfit sets oot i the grey dawin,

Ma outlan yett’s steikit conter the cauld;

In tuim shaws, yalla leafs dounfaa,

In this lown kintra, an oncome o white sea-maas.

The pedisters is weit, but gey droukit nae mair,

The lift fairs, the clouds gae hauf-roads awa;

On Carlin Braes whit an unco winter it’s been,

Yestreen on a suddentie, hurls an hurls o thunner!

Day 30 Word of the Day 'mervaill' was difficult because it's an old word, not really used after the 1700s. It means a miracle or to wonder at something. To be honest, I'm too tired to scour old Scots texts trying to find it. So we'll move on to easier beasts. 

Day 31 'tumshie or neep' which means turnip. Scots used to carve turnips for lanterns for Halloween. I've tried it once and it was really difficult because they are so hard. 

For neep I found a sweet poem by Gerry Cambridge 'Field Days', not all in Scots, but it has a great sense of character with the use of Scots. Gerry edits the great The Dark Horse Magazine which has promoted many Scottish poets over the years.

Field Days

Old Davie still did much farm work by hand.

Tae thin neeps, ye gae up an doon thae rows.

Leave jist yin each six inches, sae it grows.

The thought of lunch was a breeze-fanned island,

What is the time? our common famous question.

The shrinking patch of field still to be weeded

was joy and thought we’d be no longer needed.

He’d blow through his lips: Gerad, ye’re the best yin

O thae young uns that come here!

                                                        Or biggest fool

I sometimes thought, those languid days

After the last exams, when I skipped school.

But no jam pieces nor hot tea’s tasted more

Significant than that field’s, and strongest praise

The two green pounds each day’s end, my limbs sore.

And for tumshie, which can also mean a foolish person, I used a quote from a poem by Janet Paisley "tushie waled tae dree the weird, / poued frae a cauld yirth." It's about a girl digging up turnips. I couldn't find the whole poem though it was printed in The Hunterian Poems, poems written on items in Glasgow Unviersity's Hunterian Gallery. 

Janet Paisley was another poet I worked with in my time in Scottish publishing. She sadly passed recently, but her work and her approach to writing was important when I first started out. 

And done. I have to admit, I'm relieved as it was hard keeping up with the challenge. I learned so much about Scots and about Scottish literature, names I'd never come across, poems and poets that touched and inspired me. Thanks to Dr Michael Dempster for organising #Scotstober and to all the writers, artists, translators, academics and everyone interested in Scots who took part. 

Scotstober: Words of the Day 21, 22, 23, 24 and 25

I hope you've no tired of my Scotstober catch-up. Too bad if you are, I'm loving discovering all these new words, poets and poems. Definitions of the Words of the Day and more examples can be found in the Dictionary of the Scots Leid.

Annoyingly I've gotten myself out of order on Twitter, so I will be keeping these posts in order. 

Word of the Day 21: 'weird' meaning fate or to do with destiny. It can also be used as verb, to be assigned a destiny or to be fated. 

I've chosen an extract from Sydney Goodsir Smith epic elegy Under the Eildon Tree. Published in 1948 the collection of 24 elegies about the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice is out of print now, but even this short extract shows how Smith strived to give Scots a chance to shine again like the earlier translations of classic works. 

I know Smith mostly through his artwork as I worked on a book based around his drawings in the late 1990s, but his own work and his editing of collections of Scots writing was influential during the Scots Renaissance. It's inspirational to non-native learners such as myself that he only came to Scotland and started learning Scots as a teen.

XII. Orpheus

i

Wi sang aa birds and beasts could I owrecome,
Aa men and wemen o’ the mapamound subdue;
The flouers o’ the fields,
Rocks and trees, boued doun to hear my leid;
Gurlie waters rase upon the land to mak
A throwgang for my feet.
I was the potent prince o’ ballatrie,
My lyre opened portes whareer I thocht to gang,
My fleean sangs mair ramsh nor wine
At Beltane, Yule or Hogmanay
Made wud the clans o’ men –
There wasna my maik upon the yerth
(Why should I no admit the fack?)
A hero, demi-god, my kingrik was the hert,
The passions and the saul –
Sic was my pouer.
– Anerlie my ain sel I couldna bend.
“He was his ain worst enemie,”
As the auld untentit bodachs say –
My hert, a leopard, ruthless, breme,
Gilravaged far and near
Seekan sensatiouns, passions that wad wauken
My Muse whan she was lollish.
No seenil the hert was kinnelt like a forest-bleeze …
I was nae maister o’ my ain but thirlit
Serf til his ramskeerie wants
– And yet I hained but ane in the hert’s deepest hert.

She, maist leefou, leesome leddy
– Ochone, ochone, Euridicie –
Was aye the queen of Orpheus’ hert, as I kent weill,
And wantan her my life was feckless drinkin,
Weirdless, thieveless dancin,
Singin, gangrellin.
– And nou she’s gane.

Day 22: 'aye'. Of course, it means yes, but aye or ay can also mean always or still. Here's a poem by Liz Lochhead with a poem called 'Fetch on the First of January'. Liz Lochhead was Scotland's second Makar. I love and am so proud that of Scotland's four Makars we've had three woman, one person of colour and two LGB. Starting off right.

Fetch on the First of January

Nae time eftir the Bells, an the
New Year new in wi the
usual crowd, wi whisky, cheers and kisses –
Ah’d aboot manage the windaes shut
some clown had thrown wide
hopin tae hear the hooters on the Clyde
when the door went
                               Well, well,
who’d’ve thought Ah’d be staunin there
tae first foot masel?
This some kinnuf Huntigowk for Hogmanay?
Hell-mend-ye, ye’re
a bad penny, Jimmy -
Mr. Ne’erdy Ne’re-do-Weel
sae chitterin ill-clad for the caul
sae drawn and pale
oh, wi the black bun burnin a hole
in yir pocket and the coal
a Live Coal.

‘Gawn git’ – Ah should shout it,
should shake a stick or ma fist,
oh, but Ah should fight ye by Christ,
the wey ye chased that big black tyke
that dogged ye once, mind?
aw the wey fae Hope Street hame.

Ah’ll no let ye near me
don’t make me laugh,
got a much better,
Better Half.
Och, aye tae glower at each other
was tae keek in a gey distortin mirror,
yet ye’ve the neck tae come back again
wi yir bare face, Jack Fetch,
the image o my ain.

Ice roon yir mouth when ye kiss me
the caul plumes o yir breath
Ah’m lukin daggers
Yer lukin like Death.
Ah’m damned if ye’ll get past ma door,
nae fear.

Come away in, stranger, Happy New Year.

Scotstober Word of the Day 23: 'skelp' meaning to hit or slap someone or the slap itself. I'm well familiar with the word, but my poet of the day Gregor Steele is a new-to-me.

Gregor Steele

Mrs Nae Offence

We cry her Mrs Nae Offence –

That’s whit she likes tae say,

Afore sayin somethin awfie,

Then heidin on her way.

“Nae offence, but see yon skirt ye bocht,

It maks ye look gey fat.”

“Nae offence, ye’re like a standard lamp

When ye wear yir new blue hat.”

“Nae offence, but see yir perfume,”

She whitters like a doo,

“It minds me o thae yellae cubes

Ye get in a laddies’ loo.”

“Nae offence, but see yir hairdo,

Ye must hae been a mug

Tae fork oot twenty quid for that –

Ye look like a Pekingese dug.”

It fell upon ma granny

Tae pit her in her place.

Gran skelped her wi a brolly, sayin, “

Nae offence, but shut yir face.”

Word of the Day 24: 'bogle' - a ghost or a scarecrow as in 'tattie-bogle'. W D Cocker uses it in his poem 'The Bogle' who was a contemporary of Hugh MacDiarmid and involved in the debate of plastic (Lallans) vs natural Scots.

The Bogle

There’s a bogle by the bour-tree at the lang loan heid,

I canna thole the thocht o’ him, he fills ma he’rt wi’ dreid;

He skirls like a hoolet, an’ he rattles a’ his banes,

An’ gi’es himsel’ an unco fash to fricht wee weans.

He’s never there by daylicht, but ance the gloamin’ fa’s,

He creeps alang the heid-rig, an’ through the tattie-shaws,

Syne splairges through the burn, an’ comes sprachlin’ ower the stanes,

Then coories doun ahint the dyke to fricht wee weans.

I canna say I’ve seen him, an’ it’s no’ that I am blin’,

But, whene’er I pass the bour-tree, I steek ma een an’ rin;

An’ though I get a tum’le whiles I’d raither thole sic pains,

Than look upon the likes o’ yon that frichts wee weans.

I daurna gang that gait ma lane by munelicht or by mirk,

Oor Tam’s no feart, but then he’s big, an’ strang as ony stirk;

He says the bogle’s juist the win’ that through the bour-tree maens.

The muckle gowk! It’s no the win’ that frichts wee weans.

Word of the Day 25: 'glisk' which means a glance, a peek or a glimmer or gleam.  Here's a beautiful poem 'Solway Tide' by Dorothy Margaret Paulin.

Solway Tide

An unco sough i’ the gloamin’

An’ a flaff o’ risin’ win’,

A glisk o’ stoundin’ waters

By the weirdly licht o’ the mune,

An’ the fell dark tide o’ Solway

Comes breengin’, whummlin’ in.

Whaur glistenin’ sands lay streikit

Ablow the sunset sky

Noo a wan wide sea is reestin’

An’ the yammerin’ sea-birds cry,

An’ a wheengin’ win’ rings eerily

I’ the salmon nets oot-by.

Scotstober: Days 17, 18, 19 and 20

Over halfway done with my #Scotstober Challenge and I'm loving exploring words, poems and poets I've never encountered. 

Day 17: 'gype' - meaning a fool or to act like one. A new word to me and a new poet. I haven't read many Scottish war poets, so enjoyed finding one that wrote in Scots. Charles Murray was in the Boer war as well as WWI. Here's an extract from 'Fae France'. You can read all of his poem here.

The rippit spread, the rockets raise; 'twas time for hiz to skice,
An' tho' we joukit as we ran, an' flappit eence or twice,
Ower aft oor pig gaed to the wall, for noo we strack the day  —
Oor brow Lieutenant onywye — fan a' in lames it lay;
A bullet bored him throu' the hochs, it took him like a stane,
An' heelster-gowdie doon he cam' an' brak his shackle-bane:
To hyste him up an' on my back nott a' my pith an' skeel,
For aye he bad' me lat him lie, an' cursed me for a feel.
'Ging on an' leave me here, ye gype, an' mak' yer feet yer freen.'
'Na, na,' says I; 'ye brocht me here, I'm nae gyaun hame my leen.'

Day 18: Word of the Day 18: 'stour'. Stour has many meanings, but I've always heard it connected with dust and dirt. I was excited to learn that my mother-in-law called her vacuum a 'stour sooker' which was similar to the Norwegian I learned 'støvsuger'. I think my MIL would have done well in Norway, with her Scots vocabulary, there's so many words in common.

A short poem by William Soutar, who was best known for his bairn-rhymes. He was part of the Scottish Renaissance with Hugh MacDiarmid and had a short tragic life. His poems capture the fleeting beauty of life that passed his sick-bed's window.

Nae Day Sae Dark

Nae day sae dark; nae wüd sae bare;
Nae grund sae stour wi’ stane;
But licht comes through; a sang is there;
A glint o’ grass is green.

Wha hasna thol’d his thorter’d hours
And kent, whan they were by,
The tenderness o’ life that fleurs
Rock-fast in misery?

Word of the Day 19: 'baukie/bawkie'. It is another name for bat, sometimes seen as bawkie-bird. It can also mean a ghost or bogle.  Edwin Morgan, Scotland's first Makar, uses it in this fun poem.

James VI to His Treasurer

Oh for Christ’s sake gie the signor his siller.

Alchemist my erse, but he’s hermless, is he no?

He’ll never blaw us up in oor beds, I tak it.

If makkin wings is his new-fanglt ploy

It’ll no cost the earth – a wheen o skins,

Or silk if he can get it, wid for the struts,

Fedders, is he intae fedders?, gum, oh aye,

Ane prentice or twa, keep their mooths shut,

It micht be kinrik secret stuff, ye ken,

Fleg the enemy, sky black wi baukie-birds,

My Gode, whit could ye no drap on thaim –

This signor, whit’s he cried, Damiano,

Tell him he’ll get his purse, but tell him:

Nae mair elixirs, quintessences, faux gowd!

Ye say he wants tae loup frae the castle-waws

At Stirling. Weel weel, that’s a dandy step,

And lat the warld tak tent o sic a ferlie.

But jist suppose there’s a doonbeat scenario

For Signor Damiario: ane wing snapt aff,

He faws, he breks a leg, it’s a richt scunner.

Signor, help is at haun! Ane speedy litter

Wheechs him tae Edinburgh, whaur the new College

O Surgeons welcomes him with aipen erms.

I’ll be there, signor, a king can set a leg.

I need mair practice, but I can dae it, oh yes.

And noo for the warst-case scenario:

The bird-man whuds doon splat, doon tae his daith.

Oh what a bonus: we’ll hae ane public dissection.

My Charter will hae wings, it’ll tak aff,

Whit can we no dae gif we set oor minds tae it?

Tell Signor Damiano, be he limpin or be he a corp,

The College o Surgeons stauns honed and skeely and eident.

Day 20: the Word of the Day is 'birl'. One of my favourite Scots words meaning, among other things, to spin around, to whirl. I've chosen a poem by James Robertson who has been influential in the Scots movement through his imprint Kettillonia which was just getting started when I was still at Chapman Publishing and Itchy Coo with Matthew Fitt. 

His poem 'Dr Wha' brings us into more contemporary writing and thinking, something I love to see in Scots writing. 

Dr Wha

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 thoctie in anither’s heid?

Wha’s Doctor Wha? Wha better kens nor s^he?

Scotstober: Days 12, 13, 14, 15 and 16

Five more Scots words for you to discover through poetry and song for #Scotstober - a celebration of the Scots language. 

Scotstober Word of the Day 12: 'stramash' - meaning an uproar or a disturbance. Poem by J K Annand who was mostly known for his children's rhymes.  

Street Talk

There was a rammie in the street,

A stishie and stramash.

The crabbit wifie up the stair

Pit up her winda sash.

“Nou what’s adae?” the wifie cried,

“Juist tell me what’s adae.”

A day is twinty-fower hours, missis,

Nou gie us peace to play.

“Juist tell me what’s ado,” she cried,

“And nane o yer gab,” cried she.

D’ye no ken a doo’s a pigeon, missis?

Nou haud your wheesht a wee.

“I want to ken what’s up,” she cried,

“And nae mair o yer cheek, ye loun.”

It’s only yer winda that’s up, missis.

For guidsake pit it doun.

Day 13: Word of the Day 'dour'. One of the most well known Scots words, meaning 'hard, stern, sullen, gloomy'. Marion Angus' poem captures that grim atmosphere in her poem 'The Tinker's Road'. Here's a link to her collection by the same name, well out of print. 

The Tinker's Road

The broon burn’s speerin’,

Frettin’ a’ the wye,

“What gars ye gang,

Auld Tinker’s Road,

Whaur there’s naither fouk nor kye,

“Kirk nor croft nor mill,

A’ thing lane and still?”

But it’s aye “Haud on”

Wi’ the Tinker’s Road

Fur the far side o’ the hill.

Stannin’ stanes gloomin’,

Grim an’ straucht an’ dour—

“An unco place for a Tinker’s Road

On sic a ghaist-rid moor!”

Ghaist or witch or de’il,

Stanes o’ dule an’ ill,

It’s aye “ Hing in ”

Wi’ the Tinker’s Road

Fur the far side o’ the hill.

The black thorn’s maenin’,

“O rauch winds, let me be !

Atween ye a’

Ye’ve brak ma he’rt,

An’ syne I canna dee!”

Weerin’ til a threid,

Smoored wi’ mosses reid,

The soople road wins ower the tap

An’ tak’s nor tent nor heed.

Day 14: 'stookie' - a plaster cast. Word of the Day 13: 'stookie' - a plaster cast. I found a lovely wee poem by Angela Blacklock-Brown on the StAnza Poetry's Poetry Map. So happy to share this site, not only because one of mine appears on there. A great site with some amazing work. 

Ben Gulabin

(Glenshee)

Snaw crooned ben

toorin abuin,

still as a stookie,

nae wun skirlin.

Hairst's gowden chaff

keeks thru the white

an the brig, quate as the sabbath,

stauns wi the gates snecked ticht.

Day 15: 'lowp' which usually means to leap or jump as in the English equivalent lope, but I've most often heard it in Glasgow used as an expression of pain 'mah heid is lowpin'. Here's a lovely tune by the singer-poet Sheena Blackhall who uses a North-Eastern version of Scots often cried Doric.

Braes o Skene

Tune: Plooman Laddies

Fan first I cam tae the Braes o Skene,

The corn parks they stood thick an green.

Chorus: Noo ferm rigs, they growe hooses gray,

Anither change comes wi ilkie day.

The milkin kye gaed frae park tae byre,

An Hillie’s wids fed a lowpin fire.

The bramble buss fulled the berry pan,

The chaumer bed held the orra man.

Noo cottar bairns they hae roved awa,

An swallas bigg in the kitchie waa.

The toon creeps oot like a swallin tide,

Haps steen an lime ower the kintraside.

Fin lost I cam tae the Braes o Skene,

The fowk war gaen an the fermhoose teem.

Word of the Day 16: 'grue'. A new word and a new poet for me today. The DSL seems to mostly define grue as a shudder of fear or cold. This beautifully wrought poem Pietà by Alastair Mackie uses Scots with scalpel precision. A contemporary and friend of George Mackay Brown, the Orkney poet, Mackie's life was tragic and inspiring. You can read about his life here. It's especially interesting his reaction to how schooling beat his Scots out of him.

Pietà

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 breist

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.

More Scotstober Fun: Days 10 and 11 - Older examples of Scots

A reminder of the word list here for Scotstober, where Scots words are explored through writing. 

Word of the Day 10: 'sprauchle' - means to move slowly and awkwardly or a person who does so. I have to admit I hadn't come across this poem before and struggled to find anything. It didn't help that it could be several ways. As Scots fell out of use and Scots speakers discouraged from using it because it was seen as uneducated or coarse, it became primarily a spoken language. This is reflected in the spelling which is erratic because people spell it how they say it. 

Even the Scottish Poetry Library didn't have an entry that used sprauchle, so I did some deeper internet diving and through the DSL (Dictionary of the Scots Language/Leid) found a poet called Henry Scott Riddell (1780-1870) who wrote a poem that used the word in a song. Even the poem was hard to find, buried in an internet archive.

Geordie Tair’s Courtship

 

Air — "Willie was a wanton wag"

A wilfu' man maun hae his way,

 

At least, if he's like Geordie Tait,

Ae night when lately he wad gae

 

To court his curlie-headed Kate.

The rains rushed doun spate after spate,

• And murky were the moorlands grey.

Yet manfully he took the gait —

A wilfu' man maun hae his way.

 

He thocht to loup the Bogle syke.

 

But landed in it to the chin,

And seiched, and said, Do as ye like.

 

Ye canna cool the love within.

Near was he borne out-owre the linn,

 

Ere he gat spraugheled to the brae ;

But then, my sooth ! how he did rin ! —

 

A wilfii' man maun hae his way. 

And if you're interested in the song he based the words on here's a wee link. 

Day 11: 'bourach'. I knew the word, meaning 'a mess, confusion, a crowd', but finding a poem wasn't that easy. It's hit mainstream media lately as it was used in politics as 'clusterbourach' to describe an absolute mess, as in Brexit. But finding it in a short Scots poem. I branched out and found it in a translation by Robert Forbes in the mid-1700s of Ajax's Speech from Ovid's Metamorphoses, describing the moment when his men settle down to listen to him. 

The wight an’ doughty Captains a’ 

Upo’ their doups sat down; 

A rangel o’ the common fowk 

In bourachs a’ steed roun.

The use of bourach here is brilliant because it shows the disorganised mess of the common soldiers beyond the Captains - an English translation describes it as "when the captains were seated, and the rank and file were standing, in a circle, around them". 

I think the Scots does so much more, using bourach.

Little is known about Forbes other than he was a hosier based in London, but what this wee stanza reminds me, and I think it's often forgotten, that Scots used to be a language used broadly enough that it needed classics translated into so they could be understood by those who could read, Gavin Douglas' translation of the Aeneid for example in 1513.

I'm really enjoying all this research, it's been a while since I've read older versions of Scots. 

Scotstober: Poems and Writings in Scots, Days 1, 2 and 3

I studied Scottish Literature in Glasgow. I still love and try to read as much Scottish writing as possible, but I also really enjoy writing in Scots, one of Scotland's national languages. I can read most modern Scots and even some of the older versions, but I can't speak it naturally. I usually know the words to use, but it doesn't sound right when I say it, my accent is too forced, so I pepper my language with the occasional word. I asked a teacher yesterday if they were puggled and then struggled to find another word to explain what I meant. 

I do occasionally write in Scots when I feel the voice of the poem suits. I've been working on one this week, so when I noticed on Twitter yesterday the trend of #scotstober to encourage the use of Scots and one poster had added a poem in Scots that they had written I thought it was a good chance to share some of the poems I loved.

I didn't realise at first there was a list of words we're working from, so at first I just posted any Scots poem I liked, but now I'm setting myself the challenge to post writing in Scots on Twitter every day in October using the word of the day. Here is link to the 'rules'. If you want to join the challenge proper, the idea is to use a Scots word in a poem, flash fiction, a joke, anyway you can. 

But as I have a few projects on at the moment, I will just give a taster of Scots writing here. I wish I could say more about each writer and poem, but hey hoo. Dictionaries of the Scots Language is where to go if you need help understanding any words in these poems. 

@Lenniesaurus is a good feed to follow on Twitter to learn a bit about Scots. It looks like she'll also be doing her Scots Word of the Day based around the list. She's also a great wee poet herself, so check out her links to her videos. 

Day 1: First poem is by Hugh MacDiarmid one of my favourites who helped bring around the renaissance of Scottish literature and the Scots language. 

The Eemis Stane

 

I’ the how-dumb-deid o’ the cauld hairst nicht  

The warl’ like an eemis stane

Wags i’ the lift;

An’ my eerie memories fa’

Like a yowdendrift.

 

Like a yowdendrift so’s I couldna read  

The words cut oot i’ the stane

Had the fug o’ fame

An’ history’s hazelraw

No’ yirdit thaim.

Day 2: Violet Jacob, an Angus poet and novelist.

The Field by the Lirk o’ the Hill

 

Daytime an’ nicht,

Sun, wind an’ rain;

The lang, cauld licht

O’ the spring months again.

The yaird’s a’ weed,

An’ the fairm’s a’ still –

Wha’ll sow the seed

I’ the field by the lirk o’ the hill?

 

Prood maun ye lie,

Prood did ye gang;

Auld, auld am I,

But O! life’s lang!

Ghaists i’ the air,

Whaups cryin’ shrill,

An you nae mair

I’ the field by the lirk o’ the hill –

Aye, bairn, nae mair, nae mair,

I’ the field by the lirk o’ the hill!

Day 3: Word of the Day is nicht - night. I've come across this Franco-Scot poet Paul Malgrati and I love his modern take on Scots. 

Afore a Nicht Oot

luvebites o efternoons

wither unner tweed;

souches o Lapsang Souchong

sing in the storey;

tirrivees o kettle hae skived

oot o mind;

lust bakes shortbreads

ablaw the stove;

it feels like the door cuid jar an let bee bops o banter ben.

I've spent this weekend creating a zine from scratch in 48 for the Helsinki Writers Group for the Zineton event. 48 hours from getting the prompt, writing the work and designing and editing the zine. It's probably pants and I'm not sure if the PDF will even work, but hopefully something will be usable. It will hopefully be exhibited at events in Helsinki, Turku and Tampere here in Finland and online on the website. We'll even get some paper copies. Really stressful and challenging. The Group was great, getting work in on time and helping with proofing and design ideas. I can't wait to see the end result.