Christmas Dinner at home

Normally we don't bother much about xmas, but last year Guo Ying asked me to make her a traditional christmas dinner. Well, not exactly traditional, (a chicken tagine with olives and preserved lemons we bought in Casablanca), but close enough...... This year it'll be xmas in Sri Lanka. 

ON-GOING WORK

in Scots

translated from the Chinese

Some recent work: this is the beginning of a poem of around 370 lines, dating back to at least 2,000 years ago, and probably much further. It's obscure, but beautiful.

FORGAITHERT WI DULE

bi Qu Yuan

A come o the stock o Gaoyang, see

ma fore-elder wis cryit Bo Yong

whan the Heizer Starn wis at the Sneck, ay

on Ne’erday A wis born

ma faither spaed it out the firsten day, see

an braw bairn-names he gied me

the name he gied wis Suithfast Ensamplar, ay

an the byname o Halie Balance

born wi beautie in ma benmaist sel, see

eikit ti that A wis buskit brawlie

luvage A wure an the beildit seggans, ay

twyned hairst bawderries for ma garlant

swippert A gaed like in hot trod, see

feart the years wadna wait on uis

A gaithert angelica frae the hill i the dawin, ay

an poued rashes on the annays i the gloamin

days an months skelpit on like they’d ne’er devaul, see

springs an hairsts cam efter ither bi ane an bi ane

A thocht hou the gerss an trees fades, ay

feart ma Weill-faurd Ane wad dwyne awa an dee

yir youthheid ingaither an gie owre sculdudrie, see

hou no mend yir weys an haud yirsel forrit?

A’ve graithit braw horses for ye ti ride, ay

c’wa nou an A’ll gang afore ye ti airt ye yir gate

theThree Langsyne Kings wis douce an onspottit, see

ilka sweet flouer wis laid by shuir in its place

black spice and cannel they mellit thegither, ay

an throuither they twyned rare fynnigrief in garlants

Yao an Shun, thae twa, they rang great an glorifeed, see

for that they follaed the richt wey and keepit the richt gate

hou muckle the menselessness o Jie an Zhou, ay

wha gaed an ill gate ti misgovern an misfare

tentless gowks rins efter gomerel pleisurs, see

drumlie an derk’s their road, dour their danger

hou wad A fear skaith ti ma ain sel, ay

whan ma soverane’s weir-cairt cud be cowpit?

ramstam A gaed afore an ahint ti ser ye, see

ti airt ye in the fuitsteids o the kings o auld

but ma Muskit Ane wadna see ma benmaist hairt, ay

trewin the ill-tonguit he gaed wuid at me

fine weill A ken leal hairts gets mishanter, see

but A maun thole it for A canna gie owre

A obtest nine-fauld heiven for ma witness, ay

It was aa for the sake o ma Guidman

yince wi me he’d be fair-spoken, see

but then he forthocht an tuik the rue

it’s no for masel A care bi this sinderin, ay

        but A’m hairtsair ma Guidman sud be sae kittle

monie’s the acre A plantit wi bawderries, see

an sheucht in basilic in monie’s the brek

A set pairkfus o peonies an cairt-stell, ay

        mellin the seggans wi the melissa

And these are the work of the great 8th-century master, Du Fu:

FRAE HIE ABUNE 

a grumlie gowl, a lowerin lift

puggies greit an mane

caller shaulds, white sauns

birds flee hame ti reist

nae en o failin trees, leafs

faan i the reishlin wund

ne’er still, the lang Yangtze Watter

rowin an pirlin doun

a million mile o heart-sair hairsts -

an here’s me, fremt for ay

a lang life o seikness tae –

sclimmin the touer ma lane

cark an care an wersh wersh rue

an cranreuch at ma haffets

a pugglt auld gangrel – an juist gien

up the bluidie booze

 

 NAE TITLE 

ane

our land’s gey bonnie i the settin sun

gress and flouers perfumin the waretime wund

swallas flee abune the slaistery slatch

doverin deuks beik on the warm saun

 

twa

the watter’s emerant, the birds whiter yit

the hills is green, their flourish skyrie-gettin

here’s anither waretime winnin awa -

an whan ‘ll come ma ain hame-gaun?

 

 

THE WATTERSIDE CLACHAN

 wi the ae jouk the caller watter

oxters the clachan as it rins

this watterside clachan aa simmer

lithe an lown it lies

the swallas is aye joukin in an out

amang the riggin-trees

an seamaas coorie in aa crouse

thegither on the watter

the cailleach scrieves hersel a paper

ti mak a dambrod o’t

the younkers  chap awa at preens

ti mak their fishin heuks

gin A hed a guid auld frein

ti help wi meal an siller

a simple hameart sowl like me -

whit ither wad A seek for?

  

FORENENT THE SNAA

weir, an greitin, an monie new ghaists

chantin doul an wae, an auld bodach his lane

the tapsalteerie cairrie’s gaun doun ti dayset

flauchts o snaa dancin i the whidderin wund

the caup’s cuisten awa, an the coggie’s tuim

the stove’s there yit, an fair like reid

sindert frae the stewartries, nae news at aa

an me, sitten waefulike, scrievin i the air

 

THE WALCOME

 Fair pleased at Shirra Cui cryin in…

 besouth an benorth ma but an ben

naethin but waretime fluidin

naethin ti see bar seamaas in flochts

comin day an daily

ma flouerie bauks hes niver yit

been soupit for a veisitor

ma wicker yett for the firsten time

‘ll open for ye the day, sir

fancy breid? the mercat’s fer

there’ll be naethin ti gust yir gab, sir

a gless, ye say? it’s a tuim wee hous

forbye oor fernyear’s brewin

but gin ye’re willin to cowp a gless

wi the auld ane at’s ma neibour

A’ll cry him in outowre the dyke

ti hae a rowth o drams thegither

   

 

Staunin ma lane

 hyne awa i the lift the eagle hings

inben the braes, a pair o pickie-maas

scovin an tovin, handie for the onding

dandie an cantie, playin back an forrit

the gress wi dew is fair droukit yit

the ettercap’s wab still no taen awa

providence is neaurhaun by aa the warks o man

A’m staunin ma lane, a million reasons for care

  

VIZZY I THE SPRING 

the kinrik’s by wi’t, but our land’s ti the fore still;

our city, this spring, is growthie wi weeds:

at times like nou, tears splatter our blooms

an birds brek in on the sorra o our pairtins.

beacon fires hae bleized in spring efter spring:

the ae note frae hame, A’d pey thousans for.

ma lyart hair I’ve scartit sae thin, that

muckle tho A ettle at it, it winna haud ma hatpreen.

 

FRAE THE HAIRT, TRAIVELLIN

 on the haugh fine gress an a smaa wind

on ma boatie a hie-tiltit stang an lanesome nichts

the staurs hingin owre the even outland's braid

an the muin wallachin whaur muckle watters jow

whit wey 'll musardrie e’er mak ma name?

A'm auld an seik an shuirlie maun reteir

whit am A like, fleein an flichterin about?

a pickie-maa, atween the yirth an lift!

 

---

 

It's simple: Scotland is ready to be an independent nation again. After 300 years of being part of the Union, it's time we gave the English their independence.

A chance to have no more war, and no more bankrupting ourselves and going without for the politicians' hard-on that is Trident (the "British" nuclear weapons system that is rented from the USA). No more wasting the revenue from our oil, no more delusions of imperial grandeur

No more wars....Hamish Henderson said it right:

Nae mair will our bonnie callants
Merch tae war whan our braggarts crousely craw
Nor wee weans frae pitheid an clachan
Murn the ships sailin doun the Broomielaw
Broken faimilies in launs we've hairriet
Will curse 'Scotlan the Brave' nae mair, nae mair

The time will come. I long for the day. No more gutted kilties, no more broken lives. no more war.