I see masel fae in aneth,
in a swite or in a dwam,
rinnin in watter.
Abeen, the clowds hap themsels
an whisper; in dags they weave roon
coupit trees that spik only the claik o wid.
Dayset faas, unfeenisht, an ilka body
in this warld looks for thir ain face,
haikin their een tae the mirror’t luft.
Oor cranreuch hairts,
though gealin noo, hiv risen up
tae pairt the wins atween.
Cauld haar slides in the hooses,
ower the fleerboords, aroon cheils
and their deems, roon their bairns.
Watter gaes on rinnin in silence
as ma feet loss themsels
amang swalls full o naethin.
Aneth the sea-dag,
vyces geck themsels,
skirlin in the shaddas
far a muckle bluid-hund
reeves his luckless prey,
like a ghaist.
Faa kens, faa kens?
I’m breathin sic dreams in by mou
an they’ll ayewis be there, in the nicht
an, for aa time yet tae come,
the deif-dumb warld nips awa
at the remainin hoors.
This began as something else - completely different - in 1985, then edited in 2018. A poem in English and French, as it happens. I decided to create a Scots rendering but translation - transliteration even - seemed awkward. It evolved then into a piece about dreaming. Some of the imagery remains but with a completely altered mood.
in a swite or in a dwam,
rinnin in watter.
Abeen, the clowds hap themsels
an whisper; in dags they weave roon
coupit trees that spik only the claik o wid.
Dayset faas, unfeenisht, an ilka body
in this warld looks for thir ain face,
haikin their een tae the mirror’t luft.
Oor cranreuch hairts,
though gealin noo, hiv risen up
tae pairt the wins atween.
Cauld haar slides in the hooses,
ower the fleerboords, aroon cheils
and their deems, roon their bairns.
Watter gaes on rinnin in silence
as ma feet loss themsels
amang swalls full o naethin.
Aneth the sea-dag,
vyces geck themsels,
skirlin in the shaddas
far a muckle bluid-hund
reeves his luckless prey,
like a ghaist.
Faa kens, faa kens?
I’m breathin sic dreams in by mou
an they’ll ayewis be there, in the nicht
an, for aa time yet tae come,
the deif-dumb warld nips awa
at the remainin hoors.
© BH, 2022
This began as something else - completely different - in 1985, then edited in 2018. A poem in English and French, as it happens. I decided to create a Scots rendering but translation - transliteration even - seemed awkward. It evolved then into a piece about dreaming. Some of the imagery remains but with a completely altered mood.
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