Poetry.... ish.

[empty-mirrors.livejournal.com]

An integral part of a Burns Supper is the recitation of poetry and the singing of songs. The offering, though primarily made up of works by the bard himself, can also include others written by the participants to reflect his style and spirit.

Since, in some quarters, these drouthy cronies are very likely to be drucken by the time this portion of the evening arrives, the home grown poetry is customarily either excruciatingly heartfelt, or amusing ribald. They are also, almost without exception, bad.

Thus, in that grand tradition, I bring you two, extremely bad, poems. Think 'the lads' but with very strong Scottish accents. The two works are not related and can be read separately. And for those who struggle with the language, can I recommend this page as an aid to translation.

ETA. And huge thanks to ailcia for reading these through and assuring me they weren't written in complete gibberish.




To a Golly, on being unfairly accused.

Wee, bainie, doolfu’, crankous chappie,
O, what's wi all thy haiths an' bluidy rantie?
Ye nae thinks twas at a' meant nasty?
A mite o' crack fae daffin,
Ne'er mair to do than laughin.
Was nocht but halesome claiver maistly.

Enow. Thy misca' me. Na swankie here
Tae catch and clutch at bunties as tha tentie.
Haith, a flittering e'e is cast, I'll nae deny,
An' birdies, blinkers, tawpies a'
Smile hookt and happy as a fish,
Til the twal is strak an' I return to thee!

Sae put doun thy nieves an' raise thy dowie heart.
Dinna stay abiegh an' ramgunshoch.
Na crunt nor dorty collieshangie here awa.
Rather smile an' raise thy buckled head
Tae bellow out tha toothsome clarty keckle,
Come kissin' swith an' kindle couthie wit me now,
My luve, my lambie, my loosome, randie laddie.






To a Scouse Git, on catching him raiding the fridge at midnight.

Ha! whaur ye bin, thou jauntie loupin' knave,
Wit skyrin hands that ca's and gab o' guilt?
Aye, cry loud and sturtin jump ye’se,
Trouse-less an' shawing tha bonnie hurdies for a' tae see.

Na tell me, ya sklentin churl, wha' mischief here awa?

Ta watercloset, tha say?
In butt an’ ben, wit fou painch
An' mouth smeared round wit fat?

Tha say't wrang, mispake thysel' perhaps?
E'en saints tugged from restfu' sleep
May guileless utter falsehood mae.

How no? Tha yard, ya say, without?
Fer breath of breeze to freshen thee.
Aye then, and through this door here?
The door that's steekt and lockt,
Ane key aneath mine cod wrapp't snug.

Ah Billie, ma fashous lad wit droukit lips,
Thy glib gabber 'll no save thee now.
I hae thee hooked and parcelt up,
An' wash ma hands o' thee.

Back ta bed?
Thy lane then, since I'm awa…

Oh, na blinkers now, nicket thee are and guid.
This time tha golden smile 'll coff thee naught.
Not sonsie face, nor bonnie leuk nor simmer een.


Nor hands!

Haud aff your hands! Mislear’d man!
Tha kiutlin's not a road tae this sair heart.
Nor kissin forgiveness wan.
That sausage wasna thine to eat!

Faith! tha feirrie carle,
Press'd swall'd an' het against ma leg.
Tha hands an' lips a' surely Hornie's work
Tae take my temper down an' make me think o' houghmagandie!

An' so, tae the de'il wi it. I surrender.
Come press tha lips to mine, grumphie breath,
Then hand in hand we’ll go,
Speel up yon stairs tae bed
To' sleep, an' sleep thegither,

Comments

[byslantedlight.livejournal.com]

You know that I adore these, but I'm saying so again and out loud! *vbg* That sausage wasna thine to eat! - heeee! And oh for Bodie's bonnie hurdies, and My luve, my lambie, my loosome, randie laddie. I just grin and grin whenever I read these... *g* Thank you!

[empty-mirrors.livejournal.com]

:D He has such bonnie hurdies, doesn't he.

Thank you, me dear, and for giving them the once over and being my front man, so to speak.

[heliophile-oxon.livejournal.com]

I was just thinking about those bonnie hurdies too! I wonder if he wore a cutty sark, and if that was why they were on view ... *g*

I can just see Bodie trying these devious methods to distract Doyle from his having raided the fridge, too.

Thank you so much for sharing these!

[empty-mirrors.livejournal.com]

And thank you!

[shooting2kill.livejournal.com]

grumphie breath......?! I spent ages trying to discover the meaning of the word grumphie and then realised you'd kindly provided a very helpful link but wasn't sure if it was 'gumphie' or 'grumphie'. Anyway, I think the original word in Scots sounds much nicer than what I think it means in English!

I take my hat off to you for writing this and thanks for sharing it.

[empty-mirrors.livejournal.com]

Eee, well spotted! I'd missed that. God knows how, but there you go, all corrected now. And yes, the Scots does sound a lot nicer, doesn't it.

Thank you!

[shooting2kill.livejournal.com]

Sorry, I really didn't mean to nick-pick as I hate it when people do that, but the reason I asked was because I really wanted to know the answer and, more important, to discover the English translation! It is translated as pig's breath isn't it?

And I forgot to say that I was very impressed with the whole post.

Cheers!

[empty-mirrors.livejournal.com]

LOL, oh no, nit pick away. I'd much rather be corrected than have a mistake stand. And yeah, it is pig's breath, or basically a round about way of saying sausage breath.

[shooting2kill.livejournal.com]

Blimey! Where did I get 'nick-pick' from? Obviously not enough red wine.......

Cheers, again!

[callistosh65.livejournal.com]

Nor kissin forgiveness wan.
That sausage wasna thine to eat! Oh how I read aloud and chortled merrily along! Magnificent, I loved both of these but the one to a Scouse Git is sublime. Thank you!!

[empty-mirrors.livejournal.com]

Whee! You enjoyed! Thank you!

[erushi.livejournal.com]

That sausage wasna thine to eat! should be immortalised. Engraved into a bronze plaque and hung on walls. It's brilliant and absolutely priceless. *g*

Am still grinning like a mad thing here. Thank you so much for this!

[empty-mirrors.livejournal.com]

*twirls*

So glad you enjoyed. Thank you!