TRANSLATIONS OF SCOTTISH POETS

TRANSLATIONS OF SCOTTISH POETS

These are my modern English translations of poems by the Scottish poets William Dunbar, Robert Burns, William Soutar and Hugh MacDiarmid.

Ballad

by William Soutar

translation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

O, surely you have seen my love

Down where the waters wind: 

He walks like one who fears no man

And yet his eyes are kind! 

O, surely you have seen my love

At the turning of the tide: 

For then he gathers in his nets

Down by the waterside! 

Yes, lassie we have seen your love

At the turning of the tide: 

For he was with the fisher folk

Down by the waterside.

The fisher folk worked at their trade

No far from Walnut Grove: 

They gathered in their dripping nets

And found your one true love! 

The Watergaw

by Hugh MacDiarmid

loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

One wet forenight in the sheep-shearing season

I saw the uncanniest thing�"

a watergaw with its wavering light

shining beyond the wild downpour of rain

and I thought of the last wild look that you gave

when you knew you were destined for the grave.

There was no light in the skylark's nest

that night�"no�"nor any in mine; 

but now often I've thought of that foolish light

and of these irrational hearts of men

and I think that, perhaps, at last I ken

what your look meant then.

Sweet Rose of Virtue

by William Dunbar

loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Sweet rose of virtue and of gentleness, 

delightful lily of youthful wantonness, 

richest in bounty and in beauty clear

and in every virtue men hold most dear―

except only that you are merciless.

Into your garden, today, I followed you; 

there I saw flowers of freshest hue, 

both white and red, delightful to see, 

and wholesome herbs, waving resplendently―

yet nowhere one leaf nor petal of rue.

I fear that March with his last arctic blast

has slain my fair rose and left her downcast, 

whose piteous death does my heart such pain

that I long to plant love's root again―

so comforting her bowering leaves have been.

If the tenth line seems confusing, it helps to know that rue symbolizes pity and also has medicinal uses; thus I believe the unrequiting lover is being accused of a lack of compassion and perhaps of withholding her healing attentions. The penultimate line can be taken as a rather naughty double entendre, but I will leave that interpretation up to the reader! 'Sweet Rose of Virtue' has been described as a 'lovely, elegant poem in the amour courtois tradition' or courtly love tradition. According to Tom Scott, author of 'Dunbar: A Critical Exposition of the Poems, ' this poem is 'Dunbar's most perfect lyric, and one of the supreme lyrics in Scots and English.' William Dunbar [c.1460-1530] has been called the Poet Laureate of the court of King James IV of Scotland.

Lament for the Makaris [Makers, or Poets]

by William Dunbar

loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

i who enjoyed good health and gladness

am overwhelmed now by life's terrible sickness

and enfeebled with infirmity...

how the fear of Death dismays me! 

our presence here is mere vainglory; 

the false world is but transitory; 

the flesh is frail; the Fiend runs free...

how the fear of Death dismays me! 

the state of man is changeable: 

now sound, now sick, now blithe, now dull, 

now manic, now devoid of glee...

how the fear of Death dismays me! 

no state on earth stands here securely; 

as the wild wind shakes the willow tree, 

so wavers this world's vanity...

how the fear of Death dismays me! 

Death leads the knights into the field

(unarmored under helm and shield) 

sole Victor of each red mêlée...

how the fear of Death dismays me! 

that strange, despotic Beast

tears from its mother's breast

the babe, full of benignity...

how the fear of Death dismays me! 

He takes the champion of the hour, 

the captain of the highest tower, 

the beautiful damsel in her tower...

how the fear of Death dismays me! 

He spares no lord for his elegance, 

nor clerk for his intelligence; 

His dreadful stroke no man can flee...

how the fear of Death dismays me! 

artist, magician, scientist, 

orator, debater, theologist, 

must all conclude, so too, as we: 

'how the fear of Death dismays me! '

in medicine the most astute

sawbones and surgeons all fall mute; 

they cannot save themselves, or flee...

how the fear of Death dismays me! 

i see the Makers among the unsaved; 

the greatest of Poets all go to the grave; 

He does not spare them their faculty...

how the fear of Death dismays me! 

i have seen Him pitilessly devour

our noble Chaucer, poetry's flower, 

and Lydgate and Gower (great Trinity!) ...

how the fear of Death dismays me! 

since He has taken my brothers all, 

i know He will not let me live past the fall; 

His next prey will be �" poor unfortunate me! ...

how the fear of Death dismays me! 

there is no remedy for Death; 

we all must prepare to relinquish breath

so that after we die, we may be set free

from 'the fear of Death dismays me! '

Comin Thro the Rye

by Robert Burns

translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

Oh, Jenny's all wet, poor body, 

Jenny's seldom dry; 

She's draggin' all her petticoats

Comin' through the rye.

Comin' through the rye, poor body, 

Comin' through the rye.

She's draggin' all her petticoats

Comin' through the rye.

Should a body meet a body

Comin' through the rye, 

Should a body kiss a body, 

Need anybody cry? 

Comin' through the rye, poor body, 

Comin' through the rye.

She's draggin' all her petticoats

Comin' through the rye.

Should a body meet a body

Comin' through the glen, 

Should a body kiss a body, 

Need all the world know, then? 

Comin' through the rye, poor body, 

Comin' through the rye.

She's draggin' all her petticoats

Comin' through the rye.

To a Mouse

by Robert Burns

translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

Sleek, tiny, timorous, cowering beast, 

why's such panic in your breast? 

Why dash away, so quick, so rash, 

in a frenzied flash

when I would be loath to pursue you

with a murderous plowstaff! 

I'm truly sorry Man's dominion

has broken Nature's social union, 

and justifies that bad opinion

which makes you startle, 

when I'm your poor, earth-born companion

and fellow mortal! 

I have no doubt you sometimes thieve; 

What of it, friend? You too must live! 

A random corn-ear in a shock's

a small behest; it-

'll give me a blessing to know such a loss; 

I'll never miss it! 

Your tiny house lies in a ruin, 

its fragile walls wind-rent and strewn! 

Now nothing's left to construct you a new one

of mosses green

since bleak December's winds, ensuing, 

blow fast and keen! 

You saw your fields laid bare and waste

with weary winter closing fast, 

and cozy here, beneath the blast, 

you thought to dwell, 

till crash! the cruel iron ploughshare passed

straight through your cell! 

That flimsy heap of leaves and stubble

had cost you many a weary nibble! 

Now you're turned out, for all your trouble, 

less house and hold, 

to endure cold winter's icy dribble

and hoarfrosts cold! 

But mouse-friend, you are not alone

in proving foresight may be vain: 

the best-laid schemes of Mice and Men

go oft awry, 

and leave us only grief and pain, 

for promised joy! 

Still, friend, you're blessed compared with me! 

Only present dangers make you flee: 

But, ouch! , behind me I can see

grim prospects drear! 

While forward-looking seers, we

humans guess and fear! 

To a Louse

by Robert Burns

translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

Hey! Where're you going, you crawling hair-fly? 

Your impudence protects you, barely; 

I can only say that you swagger rarely

Over gauze and lace.

Though faith! I fear you dine but sparely

In such a place.

You ugly, creeping, blasted wonder, 

Detested, shunned by both saint and sinner, 

How dare you set your feet upon her�"

So fine a lady! 

Go somewhere else to seek your dinner

On some poor body.

Off! around some beggar's temple shamble: 

There you may creep, and sprawl, and scramble, 

With other kindred, jumping cattle, 

In shoals and nations; 

Where horn nor bone never dare unsettle

Your thick plantations.

Now hold you there! You're out of sight, 

Below the folderols, snug and tight; 

No, faith just yet! You'll not be right, 

Till you've got on it: 

The very topmost, towering height

Of miss's bonnet.

My word! right bold you root, contrary, 

As plump and gray as any gooseberry.

Oh, for some rank, mercurial resin, 

Or dread red poison; 

I'd give you such a hearty dose, flea, 

It'd dress your noggin! 

I wouldn't be surprised to spy

You on some housewife's flannel tie: 

Or maybe on some ragged boy's

Pale undervest; 

But Miss's finest bonnet! Fie! 

How dare you jest? 

Oh Jenny, do not toss your head, 

And lash your lovely braids abroad! 

You hardly know what cursed speed

The creature's making! 

Those winks and finger-ends, I dread, 

Are notice-taking! 

O would some Power with vision teach us

To see ourselves as others see us! 

It would from many a blunder free us, 

And foolish notions: 

What airs in dress and carriage would leave us, 

And even devotion! 

Auld Lang Syne

by Robert Burns

translation/interpretation/modernization 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.

Banks of Doon

by Robert Burns

translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

Oh, banks and hills of lovely Doon, 

How can you bloom so fresh and fair; 

How can you chant, diminutive birds, 

When I'm so weary, full of care! 

You'll break my heart, small warblers, 

Flittering through the flowering thorn: 

Reminding me of long-lost joys, 

Departed�"never to return! 

I've often wandered lovely Doon, 

To see the rose and woodbine twine; 

And as the lark sang of its love, 

Just as fondly, I sang of mine.

Then gaily-hearted I plucked a rose, 

So fragrant upon its thorny tree; 

And my false lover stole my rose, 

But, ah! , he left the thorn in me.

The poem 'Comin Thro the Rye' by Robert Burns may be best-known today because of Holden Caulfield's misinterpretation of it in *The Catcher in the Rye*. In the book, Caulfield relates his fantasy to his sister, Phoebe: he's the 'catcher in the rye, ' rescuing children from falling from a cliff. Phoebe corrects him, pointing out that poem is not about a 'catcher' in the rye, but about a girl who has met someone in the rye for a kiss (or more) , got her underclothes wet (not for the first time) , and is dragging her way back to a polite (i.e., Puritanical)  society that despises girls who are 'easy.' Robert Burns, an honest man, was exhibiting empathy for girls who were castigated for doing what all the boys and men longed to do themselves.

Comin Thro the Rye

by Robert Burns

modern English translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

O, Jenny's a' weet, poor body, // Oh, Jenny's all wet, poor body,

Jenny's seldom dry; // Jenny's seldom dry;

She draigl't a' her petticoattie // She's draggin' all her petticoats

Comin thro' the rye. // Comin' through the rye.

Comin thro the rye, poor body, // Comin' through the rye, poor body,

Comin thro the rye, // Comin' through the rye.

She draigl't a'her petticoatie, // She's draggin' all her petticoats

Comin thro the rye! // Comin' through the rye.

Gin a body meet a body // Should a body meet a body

Comin thro the rye, // Comin' through the rye,

Gin a body kiss a body, // Should a body kiss a body,

Need a body cry? // Need anybody cry?

Comin thro the rye, poor body, // Comin' through the rye, poor body,

Comin thro the rye, // Comin' through the rye.

She draigl't a'her petticoatie, // She's draggin' all her petticoats

Comin thro the rye! // Comin' through the rye.

Gin a body meet a body // Should a body meet a body

Comin thro the glen, // Comin' through the glen,

Gin a body kiss a body, // Should a body kiss a body,

Need the warld ken? // Need all the world know, then?

Comin thro the rye, poor body, // Comin' through the rye, poor body,

Comin thro the rye, // Comin' through the rye.

She draigl't a'her petticoatie, // She's draggin' all her petticoats

Comin thro the rye! // Comin' through the rye.

A Red, Red Rose

by Robert Burns

modern English translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Oh my luve is like a red, red rose // Oh, my love is like a red, red rose

That's newly sprung in June: // that's newly sprung in June

Oh my luve is like the melodie // and my love is like the melody

That's sweetly play'd in tune. // that's sweetly played in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonie lass, // And you're so fair, my lovely lass,

So deep in luve am I; // and so deep in love am I,

And I will luve thee still, my dear, // that I will love you still, my dear,

Till a' the seas gang dry. // till all the seas run dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, // Till all the seas run dry, my dear,

And the rocks melt wi' the sun; // and the rocks melt with the sun!

And I will luve thee still, my dear, // And I will love you still, my dear,

While the sands o' life shall run. // while the sands of life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve! // And fare you well, my only love!

And fare thee weel a while! // And fare you well, awhile!

And I will come again, my luve, // And I will come again, my love,

Tho' it were ten thousand mile! // though it were ten thousand miles!

Keywords/Tags: Scot, Scotland, Scottish poem, modern English translation, translations, Robert Burns, William Dunbar, William Soutar, Hugh MacDiarmid

Author's Note

TRANSLATIONS OF SCOTTISH POETS