Scottish Poetry

[Cù Dubh]

wan mair and wan o ma favourites tae.

Such A Parcel Of Rogues In A Nation

Robert Burns

Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame,
Fareweel our ancient glory;
Fareweel ev'n to the Scottish name,
Sae fam'd in martial story.
Now Sark rins over Solway sands,
An' Tweed rins to the ocean,
To mark where England's province stands-
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

What force or guile could not subdue,
Thro' many warlike ages,
Is wrought now by a coward few,
For hireling traitor's wages.
The English stell we could disdain,
Secure in valour's station;
But English gold has been our bane-
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

O would, or I had seen the day
That Treason thus could sell us,
My auld grey head had lien in clay,
Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace!
But pith and power, till my last hour,
I'll mak this declaration;
We're bought and sold for English gold-
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

[stoirmeil]

I hope it's OK to put this poem here, as well as a nice bit of commentary on it. It's a brilliant, funny, canny bit. The link at the end is to a photo of Schiehallion.

VOICES OFF THE MAP: PLACE-NAMES IN A POEM BY EDWIN MORGAN

Canedolia
An Off-Concrete Scotch Fantasia

oa! hoy! awe! ba! mey!

who saw?
rhu saw rum. garve saw smoo. nigg saw tain. lairg saw lagg.
rigg saw eigg. largs saw haggs. tongue saw luss. mull saw yell.
stoer saw strone. drem saw muck. gask saw noss. unst saw cults.
echt saw banff. weem saw wick. trool saw twatt.

how far?
from largo to lunga from joppa to skibo from ratho to shona from
ulva to minto from tinto to tolsta from soutra to marsco from
braco to barra from alva to stobo from fogo to fada from gigha to
gogo from kelso to stroma from hirta to spango.

what is it like there?
och it's freuchie, it's faifley, it's wamphray, it's frandy, it's
sliddery.

what do you do?
we foindle and fungle, we bonkle and meigle and maxpoffle. we
scotstarvit, armit, wormit, and even whifflet. we play at crossstobs,
leuchars, gorbals and finfan. we scavaig, and there's aye a bit of
tilquhilly. if it's wet, treshnish and mishnish.

what is the best of the country?
blinkbonny! airgold! thundergay!


and the worst?
scrishven, shiskine, scrabster, and snizort.

listen! what's that?
catacol and wauchope, never heed them.

tell us about last night
well, we had a wee ferintosh and we lay on the quirang. it was
pure strontian!

but who was there?
petermoidart and craigenkenneth and cambusputtock and
ecclemuchty and corriehulish and balladolly and altnacanny and
clauchanvrechan and stronachlochan and auchenlachar and
tighnacrankie and tilliebruaigh and killieharra and invervannach
and achnatudlem and machrishellach and inchtamurchan and
auchterfechan and kinlochculter and ardnawhallie and
invershuggle.

and what was the toast?
schiehallion! schiehallion! schiehallion!

From Selected Poems by Edwin Morgan, printed by permission of Carcanet Press.




What the reader notices at once is that something is going on here at a level of meaning that seems to bypass that of ordinary discourse. A supreme attentiveness to language is felt to be at work, with every place-name milked for meaning or associations it might convey to the ear or eye, on its own or in association with its neighbours. There is a mercurial, shifting quality, a celebratory nervous energy that makes the hair stand on end when you read the poem aloud. Some kind of dialogue is going on between two or more speakers, of which one seems to be a stranger, asking for and receiving information or reassurance from another who seems to be part of a larger group. To whom might these voices belong?
One of the abiding concerns of Edwin Morgan's poetry is to voice the unvoiced, to endow with speech those -whether people, creatures, or things-who cannot speak for themselves. As he says in an interview with W.N. Herbert, '[t]he world, history, society, everything in it, pleads to become a voice, voices!' (Gairfish, 1:2). In his poem, 'Afterwards', a Vietnamese child speaks; in other poems, an apple, a hyena; the sounds of Prospero's island, the Glasgow starlings; and Shakespeare in the moving 'Instructions to an Actor'. It should come as no surprise, then, to find he may have given a voice to the place-names of Scotland, to Caledonia-or rather Canedolia.
One of the great strengths of Morgan's poetry is that it comes at the world obliquely, from a different perspective, and this oblique stance, as Robyn Marsack has suggested in her essay, 'Edwin Morgan and Contemporary Poetry', may be conditioned by his homosexuality. He has said that it is always the human story that attracts him, and many of his poems give dramatised speech to those on the margins of society. Canedolia is 'Caledonia' re-arranged, seen from a different perspective, and this anagram gives us the first hint that we should prick up our ears for all possible forms of word-play. 'Canedolia' itself sounds as though it might mean 'the howling of dogs', and the first line of the poem , with its monosyllabic, almost consonant-less cries, does indeed sound like that.
The answer to the first question, 'who saw?', couples together place-names which are still monosyllabic, but more complex. The question also suggests that these are entities capable of seeing. Some conjunctions seem to involve like with like, as in 'rigg saw eigg', while others seem to offer an attraction of opposites, as in 'nigg saw tain', or 'garve saw smoo'. Given that 'garve' [Gaelic garbh] means rough, and that 'smoo' sounds like smooth, we know that meaning will be found at the level of near-pun. That what is going on here is actually an exuberant and joyful coupling becomes clear as body-parts start emerging, with legs and hair entangled in 'lairg saw lagg. . . . largs saw haggs', and a lusty tongue going about its business. Moreover there are parts that more often go unmentioned, except as obscenities, but which are here given voice and recognition: 'unst saw cults. . . weem saw wick. trool saw twatt.'
What is intriguing about the answer to the question, 'how far?', is the way place-names ending in o and a are paired. These words have the look of first names in a Romance language-men's names ending in o, and women's in a. Moreover they are arranged back to back: the repeated pattern is 'from o to a from a to o' throughout the stanza, with no dividing punctuation. Notice that alternative couplings may take place on the back of the rhythm; on the off-beat, as it were, couplings like 'to a from a' and 'to o from o' are accommodated like a rich syncopation, with near-rhyme or full rhyme, as in 'to stobo from fogo', or 'to minto from tinto'.
Asked, 'what is it like there?', the Canedolian comes up with words that have the look and feel of adjectives. What they all share is a kind of lack of definition, a comfortable, fuzzy quality. Even the 'och' at the beginning of the line sounds as though the speaker feels it would be impossible to convey in a word what the essence of canedolia might be, but that it might be all of these things-a generous, compendious kind of place.
As for 'what do you do there?', the names suggest that congress of the most uninhibited and imaginative kind takes place, from the obvious 'foindle and fungle' and 'bonkle', and the physicality of 'we scotstarvit, armit, wormit, and even whifflet', to the ludic infantilism of 'we play at crossstobs, gorbals and finfan', and the teasing precision of 'if it's wet, treshnish and mishnish'. 'Scavaig' suggests stravaig, while 'tilquhilly' reminds us of the old Scots word for penis-quhilly.
The three sonorous names epitomising 'the best of the country', are suggestive of clear-sightedness, air, daylight, and an outspoken confidence in sexual orientation; while 'the worst' are more like sneers and snorts of disapproval-sounds suggestive of tightly-pursed mouths, and the twitch of net curtains. Indeed, it may be the catcalls of homophobia that are heard in 'catacol', whose taunts the stranger is invited to disregard as worthless or stale.
The phrase, 'we had a wee ferintosh' evokes the ghost of an old whisky, once made by Duncan Forbes of Culloden, an anti-Jacobite, who was afterwards granted a licence to distil whisky when taxes made this prohibitive to anyone else; and, remembering that the parish of Strontian gave its name to the radio-active element, strontium 90, it is tempting to feel that the pleasures of lying 'on the quirang' (the sound of a springy divan?) are potentially dangerous. Ever playful, Morgan dares us to ignore or pursue such historical resonances.
You will not find 'petermoidart' or any of his companions on any map, except one of 'canedolia', of course. All these names have been allowed to indulge in linguistic promiscuity and swap their usual partners for others. Some have done a straight swap, like peterculter and kinlochmoidart, but others, more daring, have ventured further afield, or even come to the party on their own. You will look in vain for 'hannish' -'machri''s usual partner-and have fun deciding whether 'tillie' has been partnering 'whally' and 'tudlem'.
What is interesting is how natural these new couples sound, as though the land of 'canedolia' had space enough for all. In the poem's final lines, homophobic abuse is mischievously and wittily recuperated: as the reply to 'what was the toast' rings out three times, we imagine glasses being raised, and the effect of this upward movement is to make us see Schiehallion. itself - the fairy hill of the Caledonians - rising up before our eyes.

Anna Crowe
(Selected Poems by Edwin Morgan can be obtained from CARCANET PRESS LTD, 208-212 Corn Exchange, Manchester M4 3BQ.)


http://www.dallestate.co.uk/images/Schieha...20-%20small.jpg

[stoirmeil]

Here is another beautiful, sad little gem by David Morrison. This appears in the volume Contemporary Scottish Verse 1959-1969, edited by Norman McCaig and Alexander Scott. This volume is wonderful -- a good English, Lallans and Gaelic (with translations) mix of poems.


The Root

You cut the root o the tree
And left tae dee, that flower
Sae reid an fresh
A sang, witherin wi the sun.

Petals crack i the haun
And ashes lie aneath
Branches that sheltered the yerd
Where roots aince twined.

Aye, you cut the root o the tree
And left tae dee, that sang
Tae ma hauchlin* hert
A sang weel sung.

You cut the root o the tree.


*limping, stumbling

[stoirmeil]

And here's another from the same volume, by T. S. Law:


Importance

He daesnae juist drap a name
or set it up and say grace wi 't,
he lays it oot on his haun
and hits ye richt in the face wi 't.

Generous, tho, tae a faut.
Aye, no a ticht* man, no mean wi 't.
Gie him anither chance
and he'll hit ye atween the een wi' t.


*ticht -- tight, miserly.

[sorbus]

I was Lucky to Be inGlasgow when Tom Leonard Tom McrGrath Danny Kyle
Eric Bogle Gerry Rafferty Billy Connolly The Tannnahill Weavers Matt MacGinn
Hamish Imlach all walked abroad in The Scotia The Third Eye oftimes I argued with
Tom Leonard :
That Glaswegian was a separate Language with it`s own grammar and punctuation

Like This

Wher Hiv Aw Rha"Tossin` Schools" Gon?
_________________________________


Wher hiv aw rhe "Tossin` Schools" gon
"Pitch an` Toss "
and "Moshie" tae?

When AH wis a wee smaw lad,
Ah`d go on a Sunday Wi Mah Dahd
Doon tae Rha Glesca Green ,

Tae Rha Biggest "Tossin` School"
Ye ever did see .
Ye`d get Fity ,Sixty,
A Hunner ur mair
Aw tryin` tae "Even up Rha Score"

Bit Ye Cannae Play "Moshie IN CUMBERNAULD
Cos Ye Cannae Maik "Moshie" Holes in Concrete

Ye Ask Mi Wher aw Rhe "Tossin` Schools Hiv Gon?
Well AH`ll Tell Ye .
Rher Aw DEID.
Rheh Died wen "RHEH" Demolished
AW RHASTREETS

Wher hi aw rhe "Tossin` Schools Gon?
Rhey`re aw BURIET
Under Rhe GlESCA MOTORWAE
Cos Rhe Folks RHat Ran Rhem
WUR AW MOVED AWAY.

Sorbus Nov 1977

[stoirmeil]

Well, you know what they say. A language is a dialect with an army and a navy.

Wicked spelling system on that sample you wrote (which I like, though it's sad). I take it that's how it sounds? Is that actually a standard way of spelling the dialect, or yours?

I love Billy Connolly, btw. I'm guessing his bit about the Weegie lad who wrestled with Ivan the Terrible is in the Glasgow inflection. It about paralyzes me laughing, but I confess I can only catch maybe 2 out of 3 words.

[sorbus]

Well this is what all the arguement was about
I argued it was an actual Language with different grammar and punctuation
A Fusion of Gaelic Erse Lallans English and American English
Tom Leonard said it was a matter of inflection a Dialect
Yet Glaswegian is not place of just One Dialect
but a multitude. Yet a Guy From Parkhead
Can Chat to a Girl from Partick both are speaking different
dialects of the one Language and it`s neither Gaelic or English
it`s Broad Glaswegian
Look at these Three Sentences
"Heh Hen Dae ye Fancy a wee donner doon tae Kelvingrove"
"Will Ye gang tae Kelvingrove Bonnie Lassie O"
"Will you go to Kelvingrove Beautiful Maiden"

"Will Ye gang tae Kelvingrove Bonnie Lassie O"
"Will you go to Kelvingrove Beautiful Maiden"
These Two can be seen as being related

This is a separate Language
"Heh Hen Dae ye Fancy a wee donner doon tae Kelvingrove"

Yet all Say The Same Thing

[stoirmeil]

Hard for me to say. I know the same problem exists with yiddish, which had an incredibly wide-flung speaking terrain at the beginning of the 20th century. Lots of larding with local languages and dialects, and huge variation in the way it's pronounced (so that a speaker from Transylvania, say, would not have a prayer of understanding either speech or nonstandard writing from Siberia). But it still all came under the one name "yiddish", for nationalistic and political reasons -- which is perhaps the most important criterion after all.

So -- how about another of your verses?

[stoirmeil]

Here are two in plain english, if that will be all right, by George Mackay Brown. But so scottish in spirit, and so attuned to the sense of women. I love these. The second one has an old-religion feel to it, something of Lammas.

Jess of the Shore
The three fishermen said to Jess of the Shore
"A wave took Jock
Between the Kist and the Sneuk.
We didn't get him. We wouldn't give much for his life."
They left Jock's share of fish at the door.
She laid off the gray shawl.
She put on the black.
She took the score of shrugging fish
And a sharp knife
And went the hundred steps to the rock.
A cold wife
In a cold measured ivory ritual.



Country Girl
I make seven circles, my love
For your good breaking.
I make the gray circle of bread
And the circle of ale
And I drive the butter round in a golden ring
And I dance while you fiddle
And I turn my face with the turning sun till your feet come in from the field.
My lamp throws a circle of light,
Then you lie for an hour in the hot unbroken circle of my arms.

[stoirmeil]

Time for another? These are anonymous.

Dolly
Mary had a little lamb, its fleece was slightly grey,
It didn't have a father, just some borrowed DNA.
It sort of had a mother, though the ovum was on loan,
It was not so much a lambkin, as a little lamby clone.
And soon it had a fellow clone, and soon it had some more,
They followed her to school one day, all cramming through the door.

It made the children laugh and sing, the teachers found it droll,
There were far too many lamby clones for Mary to control,
No other could control the sheep, since their programs didn't vary,
So the scientists resolved it all, by simply cloning Mary.
But now they feel quite sheepish, those scientists unwary,
One problem solved, but what to do, with Mary, Mary, Mary.


Ye Cannae Shove Yer Granny Aff a Bus!

Ye cannae shove yer granny aff a bus,
Oh ye cannae shove yer granny aff a bus,
Ye cannae shove yer granny, for she's yer mammy's mammy,
Ye cannae shove yer granny aff a bus.

Ye can shove yer other granny aff a bus,
Ye can shove yer other granny aff a bus.
You can shove yer other granny, for she's yer daddy's mammy,
Ye can shove yer other granny aff a bus.