#scots poetry

When he had slowly gathered his wits about him, Algy turned around and noticed that in his absence his assistants had installed a smart new deer fence, no doubt in an effort to keep the iconic and “Romantic” Highland cows and red deer - which the tourists so much loved to photograph - from Romantically devouring and trampling their garden…

Hopping up onto the top of one of the tall wooden posts, Algy gazed out to the north-west, in the direction where he should have been able to see the beautiful Sea of the Hebrides and the Small Isles…

But there was nothing; just nothing at all beyond the faint, grey hills which surrounded his home.

Algy wasn’t surprised. It was early autumn on the wild west coast of the Scottish Highlands, and instead of those golden colours and crisp, fresh days which so many of his friends seemed to celebrate at this time of year, the dense Scotch mist driving in from the Atlantic Ocean had washed out the landscape with “a smoky smirr o rain”:

A misty mornin’ doon the shore wi a hushed an’ caller air,
an’ ne’er a breath frae East or West tie sway the rashes there,
a sweet, sweet scent frae Laggan’s birks gaed breathin’ on its ane,
their branches hingin beaded in the smoky smirr o rain.

The hills aroond war silent wi the mist alang the braes.
The woods war derk an’ quiet wi dewy, glintin’ sprays.
The thrushes didna raise for me, as I gaed by alane,
but a wee, wae cheep at passin’ in the smoky smirr o rain.

Rock an’ stane lay glisterin’ on aa the heichs abune.
Cool an’ kind an’ whisperin’ it drifted gently doon,
till hill an’ howe war rowed in it, an’ land an’ sea war gane.
Aa was still an’ saft an’ silent in the smoky smirr o rain.

[Algy is quoting the poem The Smoky Smirr o Rain by the 20th century Scottish poet George Campbell Hay, who wrote in all three of the languages used in Scotland: Scots (as in this poem), Gaelic, and English.]

For the benefit of those who find the Scots words difficult to understand, Algy has made his own rough and literal translation, without any attempt at rhyming:

A misty morning down at the shore with a hushed and refreshing air,
And never a breath from East or West to sway the rushes there,
A sweet, sweet scent from Laggan’s birches was exhaled on its own,
Their branches draped with beads in the misty drizzle of rain.

The hills around were silent with the mist along the brows.
The woods were dark and quiet with dewy, glinting twigs.
The thrushes raised no alarm for me, as I went by alone,
Except for a tiny mournful cheep at my passing in the misty drizzle of rain.

Rock and stone lay glistening on all the heights above,
Cool and kind (?) and whispering it drifted gently down
Till hill and hollow were wrapped in it and land and sea were gone.
All was still and soft and silent in the misty drizzle of rain.