Every time I think I know something about the place I’m living, I get thrown for a loop. I had no idea, for instance, that instead of just Scots and Gaelic — oh, and some say English — that Scottish people in the northeast speak Doric Scots. During the time of Chaucer, when people spoke Middle English, the Scots were speaking Middle Scots, or Doric. Doric dialect swaps “wh” with “f” so “with” becomes “fit.” There are, of course, other words that don’t have English equivalents as well.
Traditional Scots literature tends to be fairly sentimental religious or nature/farmland/sheep/home-life oriented, and Doric is no exception, especially in its 18th century revival literature. However, this poem by Charles Murray a late 19th-early 20th century poet of Aberdeen, is one I especially like. It’s …straightforward, opinionated, and amusing, like so many of the Scots I know.
Gin I Was God
- GIN I was God, sittin up there abeen,
- Weariet nae doot noo a’ my drag was deen,
- Deaved wi’ the harps an’ hymns oonendin’ ringin’,
- Tired o’ the flockin’ angels hairse wi’ singin’,
- To some clood-edge I’d daunder furth an’, feth,
- Look ower an’ watch hoo were gyaun aneth.
- Syne, gin I saw hoo men I’d made mysel’
[syne=since]- Had startit into pooshan, sheet an’ fell,
[pooshan=poison]- To reive an’ rape, an’ fairly mak’ a hell
- O’ my braw birlin’ Earth,–a hale week’s wark–
[birlin’=whirling]- I’d cast my coat again, rowe up my sark,
[rowe up my sark=roll up my sleeves]- An’ or they’d time to aench a second ark,
[aench=launch]- Tak’ back my word an’ sen’ anither spate,
- Droon oot the hale hypothec, dicht the sklate,
[dicht the sklate=clean the slate]- Own my mistak’, an, aince I cleered the brod,
- Start a’thing ower again, gin I was God.
- Charles Murray
(Need a wee translation? Here’s some help:)
IF I were God, sitting up there above,
Wearied no doubt, now all my work was done,
Deafened by the harps and hymns unending ringing,
Tired of the flocking angels hoarse with singing,
To some cloud edge I’d saunter forth and, faith,
Look over and watch how things were going beneath.
Then if I saw how men, I’d made myself
Had started out to poison, shoot and fell,
To steal and rape and fairly make a hell
Of my fine spinning Earth — a whole week’s work —
I’d drop my coat again, roll up my shirt,
And, ere they’d time to launch a second ark,
Take back my word and send another flood,
Drown out the whole shebang, wipe the slate,
Admit my mistake, and once I’d cleared the board,
Start everything over again, if I were God.
The Joan Osborne song “What if God was One of Us” always makes me laugh, wincingly. Given the fact that every day I want to scrub the slate blank — or scrub someone’s slate blank, anyway, it’s honestly just as well that none of us are…God.
I’m WAY out of the loop with regard to Poetry Friday stuff; this summer… I don’t know, I’m struggling to write, much less find and write poetry. But I DO know that my poetry sister Tricia is hosting today, and I had to come out of hiding for that. You, too, should hie ye on o’er to see who else is rhyming and rhapsodizing today.
Fantastic! Took me back to our Scottish trip last year. So wish we could go back!
I love:
Of my fine spinning Earth — a whole week's work —
Too irreverent and funny!
And while I couldn't make heads nor tails of it, I could just imagine a deep Scottish brogue with this poem. Sounded glorious. I was awfully glad for your translation, though.
I might make D. do a podcast; my Chaucerian English would make this sound non-Scottish, and Charles Murray would roll in his grave.
Very interesting about the Doric Scot, Middle Scot and all.
Thank you, thank you for providing the translation! 😉 I enjoyed the poem.
Paz
Go God! Clear the board!
And I second the call for a podcast!!
Tanita. If you are bored someday will you please, please, please make a podcast of this? Please?
(My word verification is neshi which is kind of like nessie which is clearly some sort of scottish serendipity…)
Oooh, this is grand. 🙂
I was feeling deaved by the children earlier tonight … that's going to ring in my head for a long time.
Yes, thanks for the translation. I imagine that sounds wicked spoken aloud. I have often thought similar things of wiping the slate clean. Haven't we all?
PS – Kelly, tell M. I well agree with her!!!
Sara – Look ower an' watch hoo tha work goes, eh, lass?
Susan – I'll bet you could understand some of this if you heard it spoken.
Janet – Methinks old Charles got a bit tired of church music.
Jules – I think I'd like your friend! Also: the eel story? Were you fishing in the South as well?? I was FLAT OUT TERRIFIED of that stupid thing.
Jama – Turnabout is fair play, lady. I *always* learn something at your blog!
Kelly – yes, if you read Middle English or did any Chaucer in school, you can just about bumble your way through. It's weird, you just have to get your voice in the right swing, and have heard enough spoken Scots/Ulster Gaelic to get by.
Like Sara, I read it aloud as best I could here in my hotel room in Virginia. M (my 14 yo) muttered "That's not English". Nae, lassie. It's not. But I got most of the sense of it without any of the translation, which is kinda cool, when you think about it.
I'd heard mention of Doric before – it can be a bear to try to translate straight into English without skewing the metre.
Doric Scots? Who knew? I feel smarter today, thanks to you, and love the sentiment in that poem! 🙂
Oh, how very, very funny. One of my very best friends of all time, who is Greek Orthodox, gets violent over that Joan Osborne song. Always makes me think of her.
I just came from Sara's post, and I also caught an eel my first-time fishing. Only time I ever went. Ack.
Even as I was struggling through the original, it occurred to me that you'd probably include a translation below. But I suffered anyway.
I love the idea of God
"deaved wi' the harps an' hymns oonendin' ringin'
tired o' the flockin' angels hairse wi' singin'"
I suffered through the draft. Thank you for the translation. And yes, it is funny. lol
Thanks for the translation, but it was a hoot bumbling through it the first time. I sounded daft, muttering the lines out loud in my office alone.
I'm going to start using "cleered the brod" about my manuscripts. Hee.