fir Jock an Eck
Oors up ti ma waist in watter,
cauld creeshy watter
the colour o deid faces;
an thae ileskins,
nivir did keep oot the arthritis.
Ye made a shuvel oot
o a wuiden pole an steel frame,
pittin wire nettin owre the frame.
Whiles ye caaed yer pan in
shuvelin the coal up;
whiles the sea shuveled it up fir ye.
A still mynd the maumy dirl
o the coal washin agin the wires.
Aabody had their ain patch.
A merked oot mine wi twa lines,
lik reid injun waurpent on the beach's brou.
Naebody touched yer patch;
fowk had weys o warkin then.
Ma guid faither had a horse an cairt.
Ye'd ti wauch yer horse didnae stummle
owre the boulders an coal coom.
Wance a horse got caught
in the slurry pond aside the bing;
A mynd it pauchlin in thon bleck quicksaun,
wi the ropes stickin oot lik birstin veins,
an its nostrils snortin curls o stoor.
Aye, the coal's aa awa nou,
bit mynd ye, sae are the pits.
Some nichts, when the haar's up,
there's a taiste ti the air,
o sauty derkness.
Thon wis the sea coal.
Water is a wet flame...
plants are dead stones...
every line is the axis of a world...
Novalis
Wha kens the quine whase flauchts are sae streamoury
i lamar that a sun-broch skimmers
abune her emerant een? Whase lie-by
is she, this guess o saunt an limmer?
Mulk an hinny-draps fae Friesian simmers
Spreckle her pairtit lips; halie berry-wine
purples her maumie breists - wha kens this quine?
Wha kens the loon whase sangs are sae dern i
thir lytach that anly a staunin-stane
dirls ti thir lilt? Whase luve roused his hert ti
cant, this laddie wi the thrabbin sairpent-bane?
Man-broued abune an ablow, whaur the lane
o veesion spinners; incaaed bi the rune
o seeven happit een - wha kens this loon?
Wha kens the spring-heid whase oot-poorins are
sae auncient that anly the leirichie-
larachies o haets let dab its ruits? Whase car
an richt are eikit bi kythin’s saicret ties?
Akhenaton kent its greeshoch, an whan fie,
sae did Christ; the Pechtish Magi’s mither-leid
wis borne fae this -wha kens this spring-heid?
Am aa din
am aa din
am aa din in
am aa din daein
fir am aa din in
dinnae dae this
dae dae that
am aa din daein
fir am aa din in
dae dae this
dinnae dae that
am aa din daein
fir am aa din in
am aa din
am aa din in
am aa din daein
fir am aa din in
Ti a Bairn Killt bi a Car
I’m no yer faither, son. I’ve nae bluid-richt
ti greet ma guts reid-raw. I didnae see
yer face the day ye got thon pet fir free,
the ane ye saved whan weird spat oot yer licht.
I’m no yer faither, son. The enles sicht
o bairnheid bleedin dry is spared fae me.
I’ve no ti fauld yer jammies up an dree
the daw, or stare awa the oors o nicht.
I’m no yer faither, son. I dae hae fowk
jink me i the toun, or fin the heidlines
o yer daith roun chips or makin syvers chock.
I’m juist a makar, son, wha kens nae quine’s
ti feel yer kiss, nae bairn’s ti caa ye Paw:
yet leeve ye wull whane’er ma horn I blaw.
auld men ken me
auld men ken me
gie me a nod in the street
a kennin smile
a musical aye
pickin me oot
fae aa the younger grey-hairs
in st andraes
mebbe A’m no trendy enough
younger kittit-oot enough
ti be ignored bi thae men
a glaikit wurld ignores
auld men ken me
gie me a nod in the street
a saft bannet smile
a baccy rich aye
pickin me oot
fae aa the younger grey-hairs
in st andraes
mebbe A’m no auld enough
soored ti the core enough
ti be ignored bi thae bairns
a glaikit wurld ignores
aye
