Back To Reality: Scotstober

Back to reality or at least to a lot of laundry and kids' issues both at school and at home. Life always seems to trip you up when you try to take a break from it.

My trip to Fife was amazing, mainly because it was so laid back. I wandered the beaches when the weather was beautiful, the woods when it was a bit grayer and museums and churchyards when it was raining. I got to stand as close as I dared to the Forth Rain Bridge which I'm a bit obsessed with. None of these things would entertain my kids, so it was a good chance to entertain myself.

Here's a few new Scotstober posts, some inspired by my recent holiday in Scotland. I've combined them to catch up on those words I missed, although I haven't been unable to come up with anything poetic for Day 6 - boak - to throw up, the feeling you're going to throw up. That may be beyond my poetic ability.

#scotstober Days 7, 8 and 12 tap - top lang - long jouk - a quick movement, to evade Cloods tap thi hills thi firth bleacht siller an white thi lang stretch av beach bowlin wide dugs lowsed tae thi saunds joukin in an oot thi rocks up an doon thi stair Days 9, 2, 10 and 11 haver – to talk nonsense, to gossip dicht – to tidy up thole – to bear or endure bile - boil naebody tae haver wi naebody tae dicht up efter ah can thole thi seelence av a tuim hoose ah lang fae its echa in thi bile av thi kettle Days 13, 15 and 16 howff – a favourite place puddock – a toad cuddie – a stupid person ah sall gae tae Birnam Wid an staun in thi hert o thi aik ye’ll cry me a witch in mah howff wrunkelt as a puddock but yer a cuddie afeart o a wumman wi ideas Days 9, 14 and 17 haver - to talk nonsense gowster - to storm with wind and rain lum - a chimney a gowsterous day thi wind howlin thi rain blatterin oan thi windaes but thi lum is drawin weel an ahm haverin wi mah freends

Days 18, 21 and 22

tuim - empty
sook - to suck
heid - head

ahm tuim av thochts
staundin in thi wat leaves
thi wind sookin at mah skin
hair beelin around mah heid 

I'll try to catch up some more before the end of the month, but it's been so busy at work it's unlikely.

I've had some work published in Scotland recently. My poem 'Writing for Mr Stangeland' has been published in From Glasgow to Saturn, a magazine connected with the University of Glasgow, my alma mater. I can't wait to see a copy.

And my Fibonacci style poem 'Found in a Goniatite Ammonite' was published in Poetry Scotland. It contains such a great mix of poems from Scotland and abroad. A great wee read.  

Scotstober 2024

I'm on holiday in Scotland and I can't wait today for my first wander. I woke up to a pale sunrise and an alpaca in the field below my window. 

I was here twice over the summer, once with a school group and once with 3 of my kids, but this time it's just me. I have no plans really. I'm staying in the East Neuk of Fife where I've only visited once, besides St Andrews, decades ago. Summer was so stressful and dictated by others, I hope to just visit some of the coastal villages, do some writing in cafes and just chill. 

And maybe catch up on the Scotstober posting. Every year, Scotstober celebrates the Scots language on social media by posting a Scots Wird o thi Day, a new Scots word every day that posters can use creatively, writing their own poems or sentences, finding famous or humorous uses of the word, just sharing the love of Scots. 

Here's a list of the words

I don't speak Scots naturally. I lived in Scotland for about 17 years and I studied Scottish Literature. My ability to use Scots is like most of my languages, I can read better than I speak. But sometimes I can hear Scots in my head and that's the voice that I want for a poem. 

I'm way behind on my posting of the words, but here's my start. I tend to write snippets of poems and then try to stitch a poem together at the end of the month. 

#Scotstober Day 1 -  tyne - to lose, to suffer the loss. 

ah hae tint thi mune
deep in thi tangles
av thi epple trees

Day 2 - dicht - to tidy, to wipe up

Ah dicht thi rottin fruit
thi lace-leafslien on thi egress
abandont by thi rashin saison

Day 3 - noo - now.

ah hae tint thi mune an its story
in thi doctors an lesson plans
noo clutherin
mah mind

Day 4 - haar - a sea fog

memories
hingin oan lik a haar
saft an lawoer thi gairden

Day 5 - clype - to tell tales

but nane will clype oan me
if ah dae nae work thi day
no thi maggie
or thi hare

I'll head off soon, but I'm enjoying the slow start to the morning, even if the internet is dodgy.

Autumn's Brewing - Scotstober 2023 and When the Readers Don't Get A Poem

October is my month, my favourite month. Autumn in full swing, brazen colours and spice. Wet and slowing down. I bake, I cook, I begin to build a nest to hibernate in. It's also our autumn school holiday, so I've actually been able to do all those things which is more difficult when I'm working.

October is also #scotstober month. Scotstober is a challenge to learn and use a new Scots word every day. Here's the Twitter post for this year.  I love it, some are familiar to me, and some are new. I have done various takes on the challenge, sometimes finding poems that use the word, other times writing my own few lines. This year I'm doing the latter and creating a poem using some of the words. I can't keep up with all 31 words, but it's Day 22 and I have most of a poem written. 

As with most of my Scots poems, I prefer to use words I've heard in context or am comfortable with. Some words in the Scotstober challenge are older and not used much, so they don't feel right in my poems. So as I'm bringing this together as a poem, I'm changing some words to suit me. I'm grateful for the inspiration Scotstober brings.

Here's my Scotstober posts from my Mastadon and Twitter @grimalkingerry accounts. 

Day 20 and 22 - ablow and glower - below and to stare angrily.   

ah hunker doon ablow thi storm, 

thi glowerin cloods   

Day 13 fuil - a fool

a fuil thinkin

at thi year birls back on itsel

swallies its ain tail

ah micht hae growed ruits

but ahm no staundin still

Day 11 - marra - marrow

in mah marra ah ken this endin

it faws frae mah een,

frae thi birks an thi lift

an it faws tae me 

tae find mah new beginin.

Day 7 hunker - to stoop or to submit to one's circumstances

hunkerin doon aneath thi storm

bieldit but waws an a ruif 

arnae an acceptance o hame

Day 6 ettle - to try, to strive

ahm ettlin tae no sing thi same thrain,

but thi rain an its pebbly sklyter

drouns oot mah will

Day 5 faur - far

mah vizzie flits faur aff

intae thi next saison 

when gowd dees in cauld an banes

ruggin at thi braes

Day 4 - stamagast - astonished or disappointed

ahm stamagastert at thi leafs shift

ilka October, ilka year

thi claik lik a skelp av thi clock

Day 2 - doon - down

ahm fawin doon

wirds ah cannae unnerstaund

lik stanes in mah shoes

Day 1 - fain - happy or glad.

 

ah cannae pertend tae be fain

tae see thi snaw ootline thi trees

So I am writing, which I haven't really been doing lately. Not a lot, but a little bit as often as I can. However, the poems I've been working on haven't done too well when I've workshopped them with my main writers' group and another smaller online group I've joined. 

Sometimes I bring poems to workshop when I know there's something not right and I can't quite figure it out. A few sets of new eyes, often those who don't write poetry themselves, can help to unravel the problem. 

There's always a big pause after I read, but I'm used to that as poems can need more time to be digested than stories. But with one poem recently, the silence was longer than usual and weighted with the feeling of 'we don't get it' that I sometimes get when I read to this group. 

That's why I brought the poem, I was afraid it's too dense or obtuse, that the connections I've made are too close to my own thinking and not as obvious as I'd like for a public poem. So I get as much feedback as I can and then take it home and work on it. This particular poem has gone to the group twice and is still not hitting the mark. 

It's harder to get that dead silence when you think the poems are done, that they work. I had that happen in the online group with a poem I love and think works. It's not a subtle poem, I thought. There is an added layer if you know the book mentioned in the subtitle, but I didn't think it was necessary to the understanding. But they're not getting it and I now am debating whether I need to edit the poem and make it more obvious or hope that it's not as hidden as the readers suggest. 

I always tell the people I teach and other writers in writing groups that in the end the piece is your own, you make the changes you want. This doesn't always apply as fully when you want to get published, especially if you're working with an editor. The poem or story is leaving your side, it has to be able to exist on its own without follow-up questions. 

But you also don't want to spoon-feed the reader. I, at least, want them to work a little, to read closely, to make connections, to problem-solve the work. If they don't immediately get it, will they move on to the next poem in the magazine or collection and never give that poem a chance? Or will they slow down and do another read to find the gem you think you've written?

When do you draw the line and either say I'm not changing my poem or give in and make it more accessible, but lose your feel for what is right with the poem? When do you write for your audience?

Enjoy what's left of your October.

Zineton and Scotstober 2022

This weekend feels a bit like the last hurrah. University starts soon and I know any free time I have will be focussed on that. The weather is beautifully autumnal, leaves glowing with sunlight as if it's putting all their energy into one last show. It's infusing the poems I'm trying to write. And I'm writing which hasn't happened much lately. 

This weekend is Zineton, a 48-hour challenge to create a zine. Helsinki Writers are having their second go at it. I've discovered a fun AI art site Wombo which is making it even more interesting as I really don't have any talent for visual art. So I'm writing a couple of poems for that and waiting for the other writers to send me their work. Then the rush to put everything together begins. 

One of my pieces is inspired by #scotstober, which introduces one new Scots word every day in October. I also joined in that challenge last year where I found poems or snippets of poetry that used the Word of the Day and expanded it to share a bit about the writers. Here's a link to the first of a series of blogs where I shared my Twitter posts and more information.   This year I don't think I'll have the time for that. The poem I'm writing in Scots doesn't use the words but is inspired by them. I'll maybe write a line on Twitter about the WotD when I remember. 

And to finish off, here's a link to the recording of members of Helsinki Writers (Leah Martin, Csilla Csépke, Saara Kahra and Gerry Stewart) reading their poems on the theme of Under the Surface. Thanks to the support of Helsinki Open Waves and CAISA where the poems were recorded. It was an amazing experience for the group. 

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 - Days 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 and 9

More Scotstober words and poems. I've found most of my poems through the Scottish Poetry Library, a great resource of all Scottish poetry. I hope you're enjoying this taste of Scots as much as I am finding these poems, many of which I've never come across before. 

Word of the Day 4: shoogle - to sway or wobble. Stuart A Paterson uses the word and lots of other physical and perfectly descriptive words in this whimsical, but recognisable moment. 

Breenge

This morning, as the 372 shoogled

through Carsethorn, hirpled

wabbit past the kirk and through

dreich smirr hoyed down from

droukit braes above, I saw

a coupit yowe in a kelpit lea,

beelin-eened cuddies lean over a hazelrawed

dyke to lour at me, a fug of speugs

loup out of nowhere on

a whigmaleerie of peerie wings,

imagined I heard a lintie sing beyond

the engine’s pechin skreigh,

thought waukrife of a wattergaw,

time prismed to language’s muckle flaws

& need for a never-ending breenge,

thirlt to the whyles forfochen

adventure of it all.

Day 5: 'eldritch' - ghostly, unearthly. A short but beautifully poem by Ken Sutherland.

The Vixen 

The vixen skreichs I the wuid

at the hinmaist o’ the day;

thon’s an eldritch cry

frae the day-daw o’the warld

yit souns for us this nicht.

It hauds intilt oor desires, oor hopes,

forby oor benmaist fear.

It’s you an me alane my luve

aye seekin ane the ither,

it’s dreid unchancie weird

micht thwart oor socht thegitherness.

I’ll ne’er faddom my luve for you

mair nor the tod kens his desire,

gyte for the vixen.

Day 6: Word of the Day 'dreep - to drop is how I've always heard it, as from the top of a wall, but it has many other meanings according to the DSL, including drip and drippings. Walter Wingate has a lovely poem 'A Night's Rain' which gives  great imagery it. 

A Night's Rain

The thunder clap may clatter –

The lichtnin’ flare awa’:

I’m listenin’ to the water,

And heed them nocht ava.

I canna think o’ sleepin’:

I canna hear eneuch,

The sang the trees are dreepin’,

The music o’ the scheugh!

And ‘neath the roof that’s drummin’

Wi’ mair than rhone can kep,

Wi’ faster fa’ is comin’

The plop upon the step.

My famished flowers are drinkin’

In ilka drookit bed:

An’ siller blabs are winkin’

On ilka cabbage bled.

And in my blankets rowin’

I think on hay an’ corn –

I maist can hear them growin’:

We’ll see an odds the morn.

Day 7: I've heard 'skoosh' used in various ways, a bottle of fizzy juice, a spray of water, but also something being very easy. Matthew Fitt's poem plays with the onomatopoetic sounds of Scots, including 'skoosh'. Matthew's a strong voice in the Scots language through Itchy Coo Press with its Scots versions of famous children's books and rhymes and through his own writing. 

Fireworks aff the Castle

Fireworks aff the Castle

Goin WHEECH, WHEECH, WHEECH

Bairns in the library

Gettin WHEESHT, WHEESHT, WHEESHT

Cans o Irn Bru

Goin SKOOSHITAY, SKOOSHITAY, SKOOSH

Fitbaw in the playgroond

Gettin DOOSHITAY, DOOSHITAY, DOOSH

The snaw blaws in fae Norroway

And nips your TAES, TAES, TAES

We go skitin on wir sledges

Doon the BRAES, BRAES, BRAES

The rain comes doon in buckets

And it’s WEET, WEET, WEET

Your teeth is sair fae sweeties

And it’s GREET, GREET, GREET

You’re oot wi pals and aw the time

It’s BLETHER, BLETHER, BLETHER

But when awthin’s wrang and no goin right

Jist go and tell your MITHER

When awthin’s wrang and no goin right

Jist you coorie in wi MITHER

Day 8: 'Dreich' meaning wet, gray, miserable weather. Jackie Kay was Scotland's second Poet Laureate, our Makar. And this poem captures that sense of loss one feels after leaving a home through the lens of losing one's language. 

The Old Tongue

Jackie Kay

When I was eight, I was forced south.

Not long after, when I opened

my mouth, a strange thing happened.

I lost my Scottish accent.

Words fell off my tongue:

eedyit, dreich, wabbit, crabbit

stummer, teuchter, heidbanger,

so you are, so am ur, see you, see ma ma,

shut yer geggie or I’ll gie you the malkie!

My own vowels started to stretch like my bones

and I turned my back on Scotland.

Words disappeared in the dead of night,

new words marched in: ghastly, awful,

quite dreadful, scones said like stones.

Pokey hats into ice cream cones.

Oh where did all my words go –

my old words, my lost words?

Did you ever feel sad when you lost a word,

did you ever try and call it back

like calling in the sea?

If I could have found my words wandering,

I swear I would have taken them in,

swallowed them whole, knocked them back.

Out in the English soil, my old words

buried themselves. It made my mother’s blood boil.

I cried one day with the wrong sound in my mouth.

I wanted them back; I wanted my old accent back,

my old tongue. My dour soor Scottish tongue.

Sing-songy. I wanted to gie it laldie.

Day 9: 'kail' - meaning cabbage, often used in 'kail-yaird/yard' referring to a small garden, but also to a romantic ideal of Scotland in literature, of quaint, wee villages and rural romantics. Here's a Burns poem that exemplifies this style.

There Grows A Bonnie Brier Bush

There grows a bonnie brier bush in our kail-yard,

There grows a bonnie brier bush in our kail-yard;

And below the bonnie brier bush there's a lassie and a lad,

And they're busy busy courting in our kail-yard.

 

We'll court nae mair below the buss in our kail-yard,

We'll court nae mair below the buss in our kail-yard,

We'll awa to Athole's green, and there we'll no be seen,

Where the trees and the branches will be our safeguard.

 

Will ye go to the dancin' in Carlyle's ha';

Will ye go to the dancin' in Carlyle's ha';

Whare Sandy and Nancy I'm sure, will ding them a',

I winna gang to the dance in Carlyle ha'.

 

What will I do for a lad, when Sandy gangs awa?

What will I do for a lad, when Sandy gangs awa?

I will awa to Edinburgh, and win a penny fee,

And see an onie bonnie lad will fancy me.

 

He's coming frae the north that's to fancy me,

He's coming frae the north that's to fancy me;

A feather in his bonnet, and a ribbon at his knee;

He's a bonnie bonnie laddie, an yon be he.