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The first poem is written explaining the recollections and feelings
or visions from the past as if I actually lived in Scotland many years ago,
so the Scottish heritage and language remains intact, as it would have been,
but the second poem is written as if this was true except that over
the many years I have evolved as an Australian, including my language,
which is the case so common, as we are all descendants from
migrants from other countries. These feelings are true in real life with me
and often come to me without my being able to explain other than
to assume they are inherited through my genes from my
Scottish ancestors six generations ago.
Scottish Seeds. (1)
In previous times of yore my history recalls,
memories in my mind were locked up inside.
The hand of the eternal clock so slowly falls,
unlocking visions dormant with humble pride.
I glance at sweeping green pasture scenes,
As mountain ramparts tower over lochs below,
from rousing memories rooted inside my genes,
reminiscences of times past many years ago.
Unknown forebears from Scotland departed,
a century plus in time since leaving their land.
Of pioneering stock strong and stout hearted,
five generations since been slowly spanned.
Still I see that distant land across many seas,
though to bonnie Scotland I have never been.
I smell heather and feel a soft highland breeze,
a land these eyes of mine have never seen.
The swirl of dancers with swords on ground,
drums pounding and skirling bagpipes loud,
wee drams of uisce beatha* gladly downed,
men tartan kilted in a happy Sunday crowd.
Emotions flaring make full my feelings bright,
for nought stirs me like the bagpipes sound,
or bright sparkling stars in the chill of night.
Emotions relished on such hallowed ground.
I’ve been to battle escorted by bagpipe’s skirl,
and hear them summon as each day goes by.
Bonnie lassies dance while kilts flair and swirl,
as tears build up deep inside and I want to cry.
I’m far removed from my previous heritage,
but I was born an Aussie and mighty proud.
For I’m lucky to have such a great privilege,
so I sing those fond recollections out aloud.
* “Uisce beatha” pronounced “whiskey bah”
It is Scottish for “water of Life”
What we westerners call Scotch or Whisky.
In due reverence too, I must point out that a person from Scotland
is referred to as a Scot or Scotsman, NOT a Scotchman !!!
Aussie Seeds (2)
Scenes of years ago like tales read in me history book,
the clock of time is slow, an’ seems it’s stuffed or crook.
I see visions of high grassy hills, right ‘ere inside me head.
I wonder about these dreams, an’ then go on back to bed.
I see bright green paddocks, an’ some with hairy cows,
I wanna get an history book, an ‘ave a careful browse.
High mountains lookin’ down, on babblin’ creeks below,
these dreams seem they are, ‘bout years an’ years ago.
Some rellies chucked a wobbly, just north of pommy land,
real tough crazy bastards, a new start they'd all planned.
Awful lotta years since they shot through from over there,
countless times up the duff, they prospered heir to heir.
Somehow I still see me Scottish land, over the angry seas,
there ain’t no smell of gum leaves, in the morning breeze.
I’ve never seen that place though, pissed blind as I may be
an’ never been over there, though these things I clearly see.
Sheilas with their arms overhead, are jumpin’ up an down,
tons an’ tons of tinnies downed, an’ without a single frown.
Drums beating loudly an’ bagpipes, screeching out the cues,
I see blokes in tartan dresses wearin’ funny laced up shoes.
Me feelings are gettin’ numb’a, the grog’s affectin’ me sight,
I feel as cold as a mother-in-laws' kiss, each an’ every night.
I sit an’ shake an’ shudder, as the bagpipes squawk again.
Childhood memories come again, to taunt me pickled brain.
I’ve often been to BBQ’s that end in a Sundy arvo barney,
Sheilas jumpin over swords, is enough to send ya balmy,
A hair of the dog next day an’ careful first early morning sip,
I'm crook as a chook lookin’ for a possy to lay down for a kip.
My ancestors are all dead an’ gone, carked it that’s for sure,
me ‘ead is really poundin’, like a storm caught dunny door,
I’m bloody proud bein’ Aussie an’ that I want ya all to know,
but really must get goin’ now, an’ have a technicolour throw.
Me = my
Stuffed = broken
Crook = not well or not working, something wrong with it.
‘ere = here (‘h’ is mostly dropped or not pronounced)
paddocks = fields
hairy cows = cows Aussie cows are very short haired where Scottish are longer haired because of climate
north of pommy land = pommie land is England so north of that is Scotland
‘an = and (‘d’ is often dropped or not pronounced)
wanna = want to
‘ave = have
Rellies = relatives
Chucked a wobbly = had a fit
Pommy = an Englishman
Lotta = lot of
Shot through = left (often in a hurry) gone, went.
Up the duff = no good, buggared, stuffed, ruined, to be pregnant.
ain’t = is not, isn’t
gum leaves = leaves from the gum or eucalypt tree
pissed blind = drunk
sheilas = women or females
tinnies = the can or container that holds drink
numb’a = used cause there aint really a right way to spell other than number and that would confuse some
arvo = afternoon
hair of the dog = another of the same drink that got you drunk
possy = position or place to sit/rest/lie down
kip = sleep or a short sleep
carked it = died, passed away
dunny = outhouse, toilet, exterior/outside toilet shed
technicolour throw = vomit
.
In a list
A contest entry
- Opposites Attract! Prewrites Needed! 1000 Points! by PerVirtuous.
1000 points, ended April 23, 2007, 7 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Best of the Best by Sapphire Rose.
600 points, ended May 21, 2007, 50 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - For Multilingual poets / People who speak more than one language by Beating.
425 points, ended June 16, 2007, 14 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - optional/personality/time by mufrafra.
321 points, ended July 1, 2007, 11 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 14 of 14
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There is a lot of ocker speech me thinks
am glad i dont speak like this all the time but then english is english and australian is australian. Thank you for the pleasure good luck in the contest.
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Wow! I am impressed, thanks for the morning giggle. Good luck and thanks for entering
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wow, such creativity =D
i loved how it all flowed together.
this was very well written. good job
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Well done for winning the bronze!
Your poetry does express itself in a beautiful manner. One that tells me that I should look for rawness and genuineness in poetry like "imaginary gardens with real toads in them"...
best wishes
♦ ~ crisstiena
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Diverse field of ancestry!
Well, you've certainly pulled off two very differing voices in this interesting piece! I think you've caught the timbre of each coloquial lingo very nicely (although it must be pointed out to those who don't know us Aussies very well that the 'Aussie voice' is a bit of a bush-whacking redneck type!
Some of us can talk proppa!)
Yep ~ you did your roots proud on both counts...and congrats on receiving the HM for it, too.
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You've no idea how glad I am that you translated a bit of the second one. I got the majority, but otherwise I was at a loss as to what you were saying. I'm also glad you explained at the very beginning what I was getting myself into before I began reading. Helped me understand what you were writing about.
I love long poems (gives me something to do while waiting for something or other), and this will be one of the faves. The way you described Scotland made me feel as though I were really there, watching the Scots with their bagpipes and dances and wars and whatnot. Then the way you described it in an Aussie way... totally brilliant, I'd say. If there were any words that would do justice to this poem, I don't know what they'd be.
Sweetest of dreams! ~D
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Thank you
Thank you Sapphire Rose for such a sweet comment together with your generous applause. There are mnay other Scots (pipers) poems and a long one called The Axeman that I feel you would enjoy too. All are picture poems that are like watching a movie.
Barry
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Bazza, I just have to love this one with all my heart. I love it when you get all misty-eyed about Scotland, and I love it when you spread on the Aussie with a trowel!
One correction: "uisge beatha". It is written with a "g" but pronounced as though it was "c".
M
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thats really good. u dont kno me bcause im new. and tryin to figure out what to do on here.
brittanie
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i may have to read that some other time. Seems to long at the stage of where I am at.
Yet so far it seems very intelligently metaphorically challeneged also thought provoking. -
I was looking for one form poem and one work of prose. I will be happy to overlook the rhyming in the second piece and call it prose. The couplet rhyming scheme would not rate many points with the judge anyways. This is certainly good enough to forward to the finals. I love the colorful use of language and the amount of effort put forth. Thank you for entering. No bunnies given during the contest.
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Thankyou.
Thank you for the applause and comments. A lot better than some I've received, that's for sure. When something such as this is 'too long to read' I wonder what they do with newspaper articles ...
Bazza -
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I would like to make a suggestion for a coming write. Your understanding of language is a strong point. I would love to see you put to pen a dialog of people from vastly different places, each one speaking true to his nature. The more people involved the better, provided that there is a topic that can sustain them and remain interesting. Perhaps they could be telling stories in the pub? Each trying to outdo the other. I would love to see you use your colorful language in such a situation. Prose or rhyming, would not matter. Just a suggestion.
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Hi Baz,
I think in the 2nd stanza, "pastoral" would flow better than "pasture".
A truly wonderful effort - BOTH poems.
I've had some wonderful times in Scotland. My wife and I own a couple of racehorses, and I love going up to Ayr or Musselburgh (Edinburgh).
I've been meaning to go further North - the furthest I've been is to play golf at Carnoustie (north of Dundee) - well it didn't resemble golf ; it was blowing a gale the day I played and I shot over 100 for the first time for years - it was unplayable!
Anyway, wonderful poems ; however, if I were of Scottish descent, I'd keep quiet about it - they're all small, ginger-haired and foul-tempered!
Why do you think the good Emperor Hadrian built a ruddy great wall from Newcastle to Carlisle?
Kind regards,
Robin.
PS Have the clap!*
*
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