Tha Gaelic Archipeligo

A hae mind o tha quhile
No lang syne.
Dissydents
Dissentèrs
Fae Rooshae
Scrievin buiks in jail.
Scraichin fae tha Gulag.
Nae metter quhit the daen
Pettròl bombs, cryin names
Sticks an stanes
A cudnae say quhit-fur.
Nae metter.
The wur aye thocht big o,
But.

Guid on thaim aa
Billie boys.
Brave boys fae Rooshae
Agin thon Yin-Pairty State.
Thaim's tha Boys
At fears nae Noise
An niver wull,
Like Nappy Gandhi an wee Annie
Frank
Mairtin Luther
Käng
Billy
Boys - O
Boys.

Ye wudnae credit it.
Thran Orthydox
Protéstin Painites
Dissydents on fur tha Richts o Man.
Agin tha Yin-Pairty Pravda
O Thocht-Polis.
Sang, naethin like tha gates
O oor ain
Wastren democracies
Solidarities
Minorities
Free Press, wi nae lang'ls
Boys, it wuz gran
Bein thran
Bak then
Bak thonner.

See iz but
At biggit tha Mither o Parliaments
Wi oor Glorious Revolution
An biggit Americae
Wi oor Hill Billie generation
An biggit Bilfawst
Wi oor Moontain Men inventions
Wi oor Auld Lang Syne
Wi oor Help in Ages Past.
At knowed aa that.
See noo, but
Mither kens best
An Americae forbye
An a Majoritie.
Owrewhelmin.
Nailin up a Bilfawst Guid Friday thing.
Ay.
Sorry - Yes.
We'r lairnt we maun aye say YES.

Quhit wye maun we thole
Dissentèrs tha noo -
Minoritie owrewhelmit
Dissydents twuntie-echt percentit.
See iz noo
Thaim owrewhelmin yins
Scrievin
Thair ain democracie
Mair Pairtys nor fowk.
Divid in twa
Greement Pairtys, tha guid guys.
Yin Pairty rule fur PAICE.
Agin it aa
Tha Dissydents cum
"Dissydent scum,"
Craa it yinst mair,
An agane.
Mairchin raas o baddies wi blak hats.
Lang Kesh thaim?
Scrievin
Sic puzhin in oor Papers
Skailin dissent
Like oul dung on tha Green Paice
Dinosaurs fae These Islanns
Tha Gaelic Archipelago
Brave an guid New Warl.
Quhit richt hae they
Keepin on sayin
Na
Nane ava.
A doot.

Tha Loast Tribe

Forenent Scrabo,
Stan
Tha Kempe Stanes.
A racherie o stanes
Yin o dizzens
Frae tha days o Bronze
An Gowld
Airmbans.
Mairkin heidyins
O airmit bans.

A cairn
Twal muckle stanes
Brocht tae tha wattèr side
Frae aa airts
Wattèrs
Whaur yin day
Yinst mair
Loast tribes maun gaither

Twal stanes
Stannin
Fur twal sins an faithers,
Skailed
In tha days o Ice
An Airn
Fitbans
Tae aa airts
An pairts,
Buttèrlumps
On a wheen o shores.


A heich stannin stane
Stuid its lane
Frae tha days o Stane
Leevin
Wrocht
Tae a fing’r
Wae tha stane-men.

A stannin stane
Pit up
On tha brae heid.
A fing’r tae tha lift,
Tae tha sin
Or tha Sin
Roadin
Oot o a nieve o leevin roak,
Abane.

Frae thon heicht
No jist yin in sicht
Anither on anither.
A stane raa
A line up
Frae tha shore
Frae tha risin sin
Frae tha Aist.
A rodden
Fair forrits
Roadin
Frae tha Dear knows whaur
Strecht
Tae tha cairn.

A stan
Wae thon lanesome stane
Leukin forrit
Tae tha bairns.
Tae tha risin sins
O themorra’s moarn.
Leukin bak
Tae tha cairns.
Tae mae een
Tae mae shired heid
A strecht line
Athoot en.

A stan
Wae tha mairker stane
No loast
But fun
In tha moarnin
Licht.
No loast,
Mairkin tha heich grun.

At dailigan,
Historie
At peep o day,
Destinie.

Moontain Pass

Tha wye forrit
A fit-sair, heich sprachle
Ower stye blak-hairtit roaks.
Coul wat fing’rs,
Shoothers crooched,
Bent dibble wi tha pains.
Nae grup an nae mair püsh.

Apen coul mooth
Lang crack’t a-pechin
Frae breesht tae thrapple
Tae dinnlin teeth.
Tummlin oot
Wairm cloods o puff-baa steam,
An sae half-blin tae aa abane.

“Apen yer een
An tak a luk”, qo He.


Behin, an doon
Tha wye he cum on safter pads.
Tae stap an quät tha clim,
Tae gang hame,
Tae sangs o weans
An lichter, hairtsome thochts,
Faa intae tha dairk o memries.

Ower tha sheddins
Tha blin tap, loast in tha cloods.
Nae sicht nor soon o hoo far
Tha ither side,
Tha simmer fiels,
Or tha lenth o tha line afore him.
Or tae whit it micht be enchor’t.

“Apen yer een
An tak a luk”, qo He.


Graipin forrit.
Tha raip he pu’ed on yinst mair,
An wi tha pu, he seen
Tha ither en.
A helpin han
Tae dae tha pu’in, whan aa bes daen.
Tha nixt life’s coard hel ticht.
Tae tha en.

“Apen yer een
An tak a luk”, qo He.

Twa Heids

Fair Heid, norlin pointin,
Michtie heilan shoother
Jundyin tha watter. Juttin
Wi a big J,
Rid han at airm’s lenth
Tae baith sides, thaim an iz
Ulstèr-Scotch, wha hae
Thon shoart dash betwixt tha twa
Tha strang mither-dochter coard.
Five solemn leagues apairt an near
As monie Coveynants.

Forenenst Tor Heid an aa -
Last stan or brig-heid,
Or jist tha key
Tae it aa?
Mullin ower
Fergus an Tha Bruce
Brithers baith
Büll-heidit
Men o Tor.


Ulstèr-Scotch we hae
Thon wee shoart dash betwixt tha twa.
But noo, is riz
Learin haaks, twustin
Awa abane oor heids.
Huntin tha hyphen
Tae brak tha cleek an grup tha sinnert bairn.
Afore tha scaldie growes its ain
Eagle’s Wïngs.

Twustin mair nor tha haaks,
Doon unner
Tha Minotaur
Tha büll-heidit monster o state
Catched dairkly in tha licht o Paulin’ lettèrs.
Mannysters o tha States
That wud hae tha leal pit oot, an aa
Tha Loard wud own an whut tha hairt
Jist noo, an yit,
Houls dear frae days lang bye.
Dear knows, we’r no fun
Ahint tha waas, an dorrs, an desks
O Bilfawst
Whar jist tha wurd o tha Minotaur
Is writ.


Twa heids,
Yin apiece, at baith ens o tha Hamely Hïlls.
Lukkin baith roads like,
Janus, wi his twa faces -
Fair Heid, tha big yin tae tha noarth
Ben More, tae Ben Madigan,
Lukkin sooth tha tither - Boney’s Neb
Abane tha mooth
O Bilfawst.
Betwixt tha twa, tha yin hairt
Lan o tha hamely
Tongue.

Hoose o Strae

In, oot tha simmer sin,
Tha weefla rinnin wile
Tae Uncle Davie’s hye-shade.
Luk at thon,
Hae!
Hale cairt-fu’s o bales bigged heich.
Hye, or mebbe straa, or strae, wus it?
Uncle Davie cud tell ye
He’d a knowed oniehoo
Frae whut he wrocht theyeir,
Frae tha coorse taak o tha nighbors,
Frae his ain fiels an days,
O puein, an plantin,
An cuttin.
He knowed tha seed an breed o thaim aa.

In, oot tha gowden sin,
Tha meeda’s roastit gress
Tha coarnfiel’s gaithert crap
Tae Uncle Davie’s hye-shade.
Tha leevin proof
O iverie fairm,
Growein
Hootchin wi beese, wi gress, wi craps
Wi freens.
Iverie clump, thegither, wi tha yin root.
Iverie fiel a plantit tribe
O skailt seeds an tap breeds.
Ilka young blade
Pushin fur its ain place
In tha sin
Tae tha Reaper cum.

New bales noo bigged up
In giant steps
Stye
Up heich tae tha heid yins
Aa tha yin size, but, an poodher dry
Square as tha fiels,
Lake free-stane blocks, yella breeks
Bigged tha heicht o a hoose
Safe as hooses
Nae big bad wolf cud blaa
Uncle Davie’s hoose o strae doon.
Fur him
A secret hidey-hole
A wee hut fur tha makkin
A wairm nest amang Uncle Davie’s bales.
Boon tae be.

Davie wus lachin, fur his hoose wus slate’t.
“Tha yin thaing aboot thaim balers noo -
Tha strae’s nae uise fur thatchin”.
Tha coarn stacks in tha fiels lang syne,
Wus thatch’t forbye
Tha heid shaifs
On huts o coarn.
But noo tha strae
Aa push’d an beetle’t tae a pulp
In a ticht-boon bale hel thegither wi stranglin twine
Ticht eneuch tae cut tha han
O a weefla no strang eneuch tae lift
A lifeless bale
Harp-strung wi hingman’s raip.
Coontless dry banes o hairst, deid
Daen an dustit pushed dead
Square intae a machine.
Nae life noo
Apairt frae whut micht cum an
Mak its hame
Amang tha bales.

In, amang tha bales
Tha weefla stabs a tunnel.
Eneuch o an apenin jist
Fur ticht, draa’d in shoothers
Atween an up near tha tap
His ain wee hidlins hut
Big eneuch
Fur craalin in tae tha dairk
Wairm wame.

Anither warl, deep dairk in tha strae
Deep in his ain heid
Tha thocht o it
Hairt-liftin mystrie
Nae turnin bak, nae lukin bak
Nae licht, nae air
Huntin his past
Draims.
Hairt-stappin, heid turnin
Mooth shut agin tha stour.

A weel-shewed button catched tha ticht twine.
Hans an elbas trap’t forrit
Abane his shoothers
Wairm an ticht an dairk
Nae halie licht nor breath
O wun
Afore him noo.

A dug snorts in
Mair het air roon his anklers
Or a big bad wolf
Sweetin
Or tha deil hissel
Dairkenin tha dorr
Tha trap dorr
O this craalin hell-hole.

Jist twarthie fit awa
Ahint
Tae tha apen air
Whar tha halie spurit blaa’s like tha wun,
Whar it wull,
Tae cries o danger.
“Loard, Get iz oot!”

Blin panic.
Nae air tae breathe
Nae air fur sweerin, mutterin
Or makkin prayers oot lood,
Nae point oniehoo
Gulderin
Intae this saft queeit moontain o deid
Empie ears.
“There’s rats in thonner”
He mindit.
Elbas an airms an airse buckin an flailin
Tha strae
An tha deil in tha bales
Airsein oot
Shovin like buck mad.

Tae at lang last,
Oot
Free
Bak in tha lan
O tha leevin.
In tae tha apen air
Yinst mair.

Oot, in tha apen air
Dichtin wee bits o strae
Fae boggin claes.
Risin mair stour tae gar him blaa his neb.
Blak snatters, sair itchy een.
God
Nae lang’r mindit noo Uncle Davie cums up.
“Wud ye quat yer spittin”, quo he, “whut’s wrang”?
Tha weefla apen’t his tremmlin mooth,
“A wud gie oniethin tae get ma heid dunked in tha wattèr”.

Tha weefla’s blether wus near his een.
“Tha Meetin Hoose or tha lint hole”?
Davie axt, half coddin.
“Tha dam’ll dae richtlie”,
Dead serious.
“Ye’r aisie pleased. But mine”, quo he,
“There’s rats in thonner”.

Davie knowed tha dunkin tha weefla needit
Afore tha Reaper cum