"gie" poems
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
And surely ye’ll be your pint-stowp,
And surely I’ll be mine!
And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
We twa hae run about the braes,
And pu’d the gowans fine;
But we’ve wandered mony a weary fit
Sin’ auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
We twa hae paidled i’ the burn,
Frae morning sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roared
Sin’ auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere,
And gie’s a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll tak a right guid-willie waught
For auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
4k
ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY’S BONNET AT CHURCH
Ha! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie!
Your impudence protects you sairly:
I canna say but ye strunt rarely
Owre gauze and lace;
Tho’ faith, I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.
Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner,
Detested, shunned by saunt an’ sinner,
How daur ye set your fit upon her,
Sae fine a lady!
*** somewhere else and seek your dinner,
On some poor body.
Swith, in some beggar’s haffet squattle;
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle
Wi’ ither kindred, jumpin cattle,
In shoals and nations;
Whare horn or bane ne’er daur unsettle
Your thick plantations.
Now haud ye there, ye’re out o’ sight,
Below the fatt’rels, snug an’ tight;
Na faith ye yet! ye’ll no be right
Till ye’ve got on it,
The vera tapmost, towering height
O’ Miss’s bonnet.
My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out,
As plump an’ grey as onie grozet:
O for some rank, mercurial rozet,
Or fell, red smeddum,
I’d gie ye sic a hearty dose o’t,
*** dress your droddum!
I *** na been surprised to spy
You on an auld wife’s flainen toy;
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy,
On’s wyliecoat;
But Miss’s fine Lunardi!—fie!
How daur ye do’t?
O Jenny, dinna toss your head,
An’ set your beauties a’ abread!
Ye little ken what cursed speed
The blastie’s makin!
Thae winks and finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice takin!
O, *** some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as others see us!
It *** frae monie a blunder free us
An’ foolish notion:
What airs in dress an’ gait *** lea’e us,
And ev’n Devotion!
3.6k
Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o the puddin'-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye worthy o' a grace
As lang's my arm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin *** help to mend a mill
In time o need,
While thro your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.
His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An cut you up wi ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!
Then, horn for horn, they stretch an strive:
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
The auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
'Bethankit' hums.
Is there that owre his French ragout,
Or olio that *** staw a sow,
Or fricassee *** mak her spew
Wi perfect scunner,
Looks down wi sneering, scornfu view
On sic a dinner?
Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro ****** flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!
But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll make it whissle;
An legs an arms, an heads will sned,
Like taps o thrissle.
Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies:
But, if ye wish her gratefu prayer,
Gie her a Haggis
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC
An ither Burns night,
Has finally come alang,
If you've got an invite,
You'll hae to sing a song,
You'll soon be reciting poems,
Wi a whisky in one hand,
A haggis in the ither,
You'll be feeling mighty grand,
Daein wan o Rabbies,
Or wan you've writ yersel,
Gie it public airing,
You'll hae us in a spell,
Once the night's ower,
Poems spinning round yer heid,
Burns night is for aw body,
It's a pity that he's deid.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 10:44 AM UTC
My heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie,
Some counsel unto me come ***
To anger them a’ is a pity,
But what will I do wi’ Tam Glen?
I’m thinking, wi’ sic a braw fellow,
In poortith I might mak a fen’:
What care I in riches to wallow,
If I mauna marry Tam Glen?
There’s Lowrie, the laird o’ Dumeller,
“Guid-day to you,”—brute! he comes ben:
He brags and he blaws o’ his siller,
But when will he dance like Tam Glen?
My minnie does constantly deave me,
And bids me beware o’ young men;
They flatter, she says, to deceive me;
But wha can think sae o’ Tam Glen?
My daddie says, gin I’ll forsake him,
He’ll gie me guid hunder marks ten:
But, if it’s ordain’d I maun take him,
O wha will I get but Tam Glen?
Yestreen at the valentines’ dealing,
My heart to my mou gied a sten:
For thrice I drew ane without failing,
And thrice it was written, “Tam Glen”!
The last Halloween I was waukin
My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken:
His likeness cam up the house staukin,
And the very gray breeks o’ Tam Glen!
Come counsel, dear Tittie, don’t tarry;
I’ll gie ye my bonie black hen,
Gif ye will advise me to marry
The lad I lo’e dearly, Tam Glen.
2.9k
Is there, for honest poverty,
That hings his head, an’ a’ that?
The coward slave, we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a’ that!
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
Our toils obscure, an’ a’ that;
The rank is but the guinea’s stamp;
The man’s the gowd for a’ that,
What tho’ on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin-gray, an’ a’ that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man’s a man for a’ that.
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
Their tinsel show an’ a’ that;
The honest man, tho’ e’er sae poor,
Is king o’ men for a’ that.
Ye see yon birkie, ca’d a lord
Wha struts, an’ stares, an’ a’ that;
Tho’ hundreds worship at his word,
He’s but a coof for a’ that:
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
His riband, star, an’ a’ that,
The man o’ independent mind,
He looks and laughs at a’ that.
A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, an’ a’ that;
But an honest man’s aboon his might,
Guid faith he mauna fa’ that!
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
Their dignities, an’ a’ that,
The pith o’ sense, an’ pride o’ worth,
Are higher rank than a’ that.
Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it will for a’ that,
That sense and worth, o’er a’ the earth,
May bear the gree, an’ a’ that.
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
It’s coming yet, for a’ that,
That man to man, the warld o’er,
Shall brothers be for a’ that.
2.6k
O Mary, at thy window be,
It is the wished, the trysted hour!
Those smiles and glances let me see,
That make the miser’s treasure poor:
How blythely *** I bide the stour,
A weary slave frae sun to sun,
Could I the rich reward secure,
The lovely Mary Morison.
Yestreen, when to the trembling string
The dance gaed thro’ the lighted ha’,
To thee my fancy took its wing,
I sat, but neither heard nor saw:
Tho’ this was fair, and that was braw,
And yon the toast of a’ the town,
I sighed, and said amang them a’,
“Ye are na Mary Morison.”
O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace
Wha for thy sake *** gladly dee?
Or canst thou break that heart of his,
Whose only faut is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gie,
At least be pity to me shown;
A thought ungentle canna be
The thought o’ Mary Morison.
2.2k
We doh cur fer fancy werters
Bring us bangers in mashed terters
Gie us pork-pie caressed wi mustard
Rhubarb crumble topped wi custard
If yo’ve got a full day werkin
Black-pudding, eggs, beans and bercon
Un doh keep saying, ‘it’ll do ya no gud!’
We wont loads o’ graerty pud
If yo’me hungry jus the job
A great big hondfull of suetey gob
Grannies rice-puddin wi a gob o’ jam
Branston pickle on hunied-ham
Fish-un-chips wrapped in old newsperper
Ma’s bread puddin, nah that’s the cerper
Un if yo’ve got a babby-sitta
Wash it daen wi Bonks’s bitta
Black-Country fowk doh wont fancy starters
We wont bercon wie grey farters!
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 1:48 PM UTC
Ma haimmer stalled midswing,
a foot, yet, frae the nail -
frozen, useless and bizarre.
"Whit the hell?" I gasped,
tryin tae budge it.
I got my shouder ahent it, gie'd it a shove,
but nothin. It just hung there.
Turns oot it wis installin updates.
It's a ****** screwdriver noo,
and that nail hings hauf oot the waw,
grinnin at me.
Sep 16, 2012
Sep 16, 2012 at 4:12 AM UTC
She sat on her bed
looking out the window.
Hannah looked at
the fulling rain.
Her mother passed by
the bedroom door
and looked in.
Whit ur ye daein'?
Her mother said.
Looking at the rain,
Hannah replied.
Ye can help me
wi' the washin',
her mother said.
Do I have to help
with the washing?
Her mother stared
at her
Whit ur ye
waitin' fur?
I'm waiting
for Benedict,
Hannah said,
gazing at her
mother's stern gaze.
O heem th'
sassenach loon,
her mother said
and walked off
down the passage.
Hannah waited.
She'd was pushing
her manners close
to the limits.
Once upon a time
her mother would
have slapped her
behind for talking so,
but now at 12 years
old her mother dithered
and set her tongue
to work instead.
She eyed the rain
running down the glass.
She could hear
her mother in the kitchen
banging pots and pans.
Then a knock at the door.
Benedict no doubt.
Gie th' duir, Hannah,
her mother bellowed.
Hannah went to the door
and let Benedict in.
He was wet, his hair
clung to his head
and his clothes were damp.
Got caught
in the downpour,
he said,
shaking his head.
Hannah smiled.
I'll get you a towel
to dry your hair,
she said.
She got him a towel
from the cupboard
and he began
to rub his hair.
We can't go out in this,
Hannah said,
have to stay here
and we can play games.
He rubbed his hair dry,
took off his wet coat
and stood by her bed.
What games?
he said.
Ludo? Chess?
Draughts? She suggested.
Her mother came back
to the door of the bedroom.
Ye swatch dreich,
the mother said,
eyeing Benedict.
He looked at Mrs Scot
and then at Hannah.
Mum said you look drenched,
Hannah said.
O right, yes, I am,
he replied and smiled.
Mrs Scot didn't
smile back.
Dornt sit oan
th' scratcher,
Mrs Scot said icily.
Mum said don't sit
on the bed,
Hannah said.
Mrs Scot went
off muttering.
Where shall I sit?
He asked.
We'll sit on the floor,
Hannah said,
and play chess.
He nodded his head,
his quiff of hair
in a damp mess.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 1:35 AM UTC
Hannah lies
her collection of knives
on her bed
most given
by her father
-the largest
an SS knife
he took off a dead
SS man-
her mother
passing by
her open door
says
whit hae ye
those kni'es
oan yer scratcher fur?
I'm showing Benedict
my collection
Hannah replies
O heem
th' sassenach loon
Mrs Scott says
he's nice
Hannah says
and he likes knives
and guns
and he's interested
in seeing them
sae ye say
her mother says
and walks away
to the kitchen
Hannah sits
on her bed
and waits for Benedict
to arrive
she likes
the SS knife best
it has a kind
of haunting feel
about it
the door knocker bangs
gie th' duir
Hannah
it's th' loon
so Hannah goes
to the door
and Benedict
stands there
come in and see
Hannah says
so Benedict follows her
into her bedroom
here's my collection
she says
showing him
the knives spread
on her bed
he picks up a knife
or two and weighs
them in the palm
of his hand
and feels along
the blade
he picks out
the SS knife
and says
deadly thing this
have you one?
she asks
no I have a flick knife
my uncle gave me
he puts the SS knife
down on the bed
fine collection
he says
and they both sit
on the bed
near the knives
at the one end
Mrs Scott walks by
and stops and says
waur ye sittin'
oan th' scratcher?
just sitting and looking
at the knives
Hannah says
nae oan th' scratcher
her mother replies
Benedict looks puzzled
and Hannah says
she doesn't want us
sitting on the bed
Benedict nods his head
and says
o right
and looks at Mrs Scott
who stares at him
sternly and walks off
something I said?
he asks
no
Hannah says
she doesn't trust us
sitting on the bed
why is that?
he says
God knows
Hannah replies
hearing her mother
cursing in the kitchen
like a buzz of flies.
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 4:56 PM UTC
Auld Lange Syne
by Robert Burns
modern English translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
And days for which we pine?
For times we shared, my darling,
Days passed, once yours and mine,
We’ll raise a cup of kindness yet,
To those fond-remembered times!
Have you ever wondered just exactly what you're singing? "Auld lang syne" means something like "times gone by" or "times long since passed" and in the context of the song means something like "times long since passed that we shared together and now remember fondly." In my translation, which is not word-for-word, I try to communicate what I believe Burns was trying to communicate: raising a toast to fond recollections of times shared in the past. Keywords/Tags: Robert Burns, auld lang syne, old acquaintance, translation, modernization, update, interpretation, modern English, song
Original Scots Dialect Lyrics
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne.
CHORUS
For auld lang syne, my jo,
For auld lang syne.
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp!
And surely I'll be mine!
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
REPEAT CHORUS
We twa hae run about the braes
And pu'd the gowans fine
But we've wander'd mony a weary foot
Sin auld lang syne.
REPEAT CHORUS
We twa hae paidl'd i' the burn
Frae mornin' sun till dine.
But seas between us braid hae roar'd
Sin auld lang syne.
REPEAT CHORUS
And there's a hand, my trusty fiere!
And gie's a hand o' thine!
And we'll tak a right guid ***** waught,
For auld lang syne.
Apr 25, 2020
Apr 25, 2020 at 2:53 AM UTC
far *** ye ben,
ma closest freen.
ah did nae see ye.
files ah forget fit ah maun act aroon ye.
ye aye despised meh ben fran.
an fit cwid ah iver blame ye.
affen ah feel the same aboot ma ain decrepit hert.
ah miss ye like the bairns in the bothy miss the affa fantoosh summer sunshine.
slowly ye gie me back ma smile,
ah anely wish tae thank ye,
sae meet me aat the loch's lowse an lets hum the tunes we danced tae,
as geets wi nae convictions.
Where have you been,
my closest friend.
I did not see you.
Sometimes i forget how i must act around you.
You always despised my stubbornness,
And how could i ever blame you.
I often feel the same about my own decrepit heart.
I miss you like the children in the bothy miss the great summer sunshine.
slowly you give me back my smile,
i only wish to thank you,
so meet me where the loch's work ends and lets hum the tunes we danced to.
as children with no convictions.
.
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 10:20 PM UTC
CLOUDWATCHER
( for David Olaf Carney )
A cloud
gets the ****
Becomes a camel.
Another **** sees it
transform into a dromedary.
Now a kidney!
Then as on a whim
becomes a Picasso
or some such
thing.
Sometime there's
shape and sense.
Sometimes none.
We make up names
for the one's with none.
Here for instance
stolen
from an old religious tract
THE CLOUD OF UNKNOWING.
And here, from the same
"...the cloud of forgetting."
This one
we dub in Ancient Egyptian
"HPRR!"
"rising from....coming into being
itself.:
And this one" "HPR!"
"...to become...to change."
And while our minds run on
the Egyptian thing
why here is Nepthys
Goddess of the Death
that is not
Eternal.
Here Horus
Lord of things to come.
This here cloud
we give the moniker
THE AGENBITE OF INWIT
before it becomes
an Inuit.
Now an anvil and a hammer
in a Black Country summer
"Gie-in’ sum ‘ommer!"
we command it
commanding the skies.
Now here again
a nothing.
Clouds bring forth
not the gentle rain
that falleth from Heaven
but...thought
whatever the mind
imagine.
And here
why here
is a cloud
that is just
a cloud.
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 7:12 PM UTC
Come with me space boy,
don't let gravity get you down
let me kidss that tender frown
do not let go-these failsome hands
to me
you are king
of these lesser mans
so please do not stay
I see your eyes stray
I gie you all I can
the ship to the expand
it leaves at 6 o'clock
grasp my body and rock
we could be together forever
so I ask you not to say
I'm floating away
come with me space boy,
it is all I've ever asked.
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 4:15 PM UTC
You saw the girl
sitting
at the corner table
of the cafe
in Edinburgh
thin
ill looking
sipping the coffee.
You walked
over to her
and said
ye swatch nae weel.
She looked at you
what's it tae ye?
she said
buck aff.
You smiled
and sat down
can ah gie
ye something?
you said.
She looked
past you
at the small
cafe door
then back at you.
Chocolate
if ye want
she said
her voice softer
less hostile.
You went
to the counter
and bought
a few bars
of chocolate
and another coffee
and sat down again
and gave her
the bars.
Aw fur me?
she said.
You nodded
and smiled.
She opened a bar
of chocolate
and ate it quickly
eyeing you steadily.
What's in it fur ye?
she said.
Depends
you replied.
Depends oan wit?
she said.
Ye can bide wi' me
at mah place
you said
eyeing her paleness
and her thinness.
She ate on
looking at you.
After the one bar
she ate the other
sipping at her coffee
in between.
Once she'd finished
and said
she'd go with you
but had to go
to the toilet first
so she went off.
You sat there
watching
the other people
in the cafe.
She returned
after a while
looking white
and her eyes were red.
You both left the cafe
back to your place
with nothing more said.
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 8:30 AM UTC
Behold love.
I will come to you.
And won't even be a burden unto you.
For I'll be seeking your heart.
And your love too.
All my time will be spent toward you.
As I love you abundantly.
Until you gie me reasons not too.
Behold, my love.
I desire you to the depth of my soul.
From your head down to your toes.
We will walk in similar ways together.
Until we are face to face with one another.
Behold these words as truth, my love.
Challenge me, if I should fail to live up to them.
Because you deserve the best of me.
As I deserve the best from you.
My word is my bond.
Every word spoken to you is justified.
I love you with honor.
I love you with pride.
I boast not about, what I have?
Cause youre a blessing in my life.
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 11:31 PM UTC
I knock
on Hannah's
parent's door,
rain spitting down,
the morning air fresh
and lung biting.
Mrs Scot opens
the door:
O it's ye,
she says,
eyebrows rising,
eyes peering at me
hawk-like.
I've come
to see Hannah,
I say.
Ah didne hink
ye came tae
see me,
she says,
moving back
to allow me
to pass by.
I pass her by
like a mouse
passing a cat,
my eyes sidewards
gazing at her,
and moving past
as quick
as I can.
She closes
the door
and calls:
th' boy's haur,
gie it ay scratcher.
She indicates I go
into the lounge,
I do and sit down.
HANNAH!
She bellows.
She goes off
to the kitchen,
and I look around
the room.
Just coming,
won't be long,
Hannah says
from her bedroom.
Her mother says
something
incomprehensible,
and then all is quiet,
except for the ticking
of a clock.
The curtains
are drawn back
allowing light
to enter the room
(providing
it has wiped its
feet first
bringing
Dylan Thomas
to mind).
The picture
of a kilted man
stares at me.
He has big eyebrows
like dark caterpillars.
On the mantelshelf
is a photograph
of Hannah
and her parents
and her brother
who is away.
The bedroom doors opens
and Hannah appears.
Hello,
she says,
I overslept,
just going
for a wash,
and she is gone.
Dornt be lang,
her mother says.
Be quick
as Ah can,
Hannah calls back.
Water runs,
splash, splash.
She's a lazy huir,
her mother says,
coming into
the lounge,
holding a cup
and saucer of tea
for me,
puts it down,
smiles
the thinnest
lip smile,
then goes again.
Outside,
as I look through
the window,
is heavy rain.
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 3:27 AM UTC
We were sitting on the grass
at the side of Arrol House
by Rockingham Street
Hannah sipped
from a bottle of Tizer
where did your mum
meet your dad?
I asked her
in Scotland
during the War
Dad was stationed there
and Mum was working
in the Naafi
at an army base there
they married
then he went overseas
and was one of those
who helped liberate
Belsen concentration camp
in 1945
she said
she offered me the bottle
which I also sipped from
I was born in 1948
she added
her old man had told me
about Belsen once
when I asked him
about the War
what did your mum
say to him when
she first met him?
I said
whit dae ye want?
Dad said she said
and what did he say?
I asked
wiping the bottle top
gie us a kiss
he said
and what did your mum say?
gang kiss yer erse apparently
Hannah said laughing
I smiled too
and offered her back
the bottle
and they married
after that?
Hannah nodded
and said
odd thing love
no accounting
for taste or manners
she sipped
from the bottle
and then put it
beside her leg
then stared at me
with her dark eyes
how about
your mum and dad?
she said
they lived near each other
and married in 1947
then I came along
I said
have you ever
kissed a girl before?
she said
nothing serious
I said blushing
trying not to think
about Fay who had been
taken off with her mother
a few months back
and left me sad
have you?
I said
never kissed a girl before
she said
but I did kiss a boy
at a party last year
as a ***** prize
did you want to kiss?
I said
not here where Mum
could see or she'll blow
a gasket
Hannah said
maybe some place else
she added
I thought about how
the cowboys in the films
I’d seen went about
kissing girls
but that was usually
the part of the film
where I shut my eyes
out of boredom
so I had no clue
what to do.
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 3:48 PM UTC