Saturday, 10 June 2017

Robert E. Howard in Scots: "Adventurer"

With Scotland and its future being predominant in my life at this stage, a great deal of that focus has been on Scottish culture and language. In particular, I've been looking deeper into the Scots language itself. I look at all the fine translations of great works into a multitude of languages, and think: why not Scots?

So while I'm absconded from my friends in Cross Plains and the world of Robert E. Howard, I think there's no better way to keep that connection alive than to continue translating Howard into the mither leid.

So, here's the latest. Hoping all my friends in Cross Plains have a wonderful adventure!

Screivit by Rabert E. Howard

Huim oan the sea; the dwynin' gloamin shifts
The nicht wind beirs the mar’s hishie brim —
Wind, oan yer bosie mony a phanton drifts —
A siller starn clims up the blae waurld rim.
Wind, mak the green leafs jig abuin me here
An' idly swee ma silken hammock — so;
Nou, oan thon gleeterin' mowten siller mere
Set the lang lippers switherin' tae an' fro.
An let yer muin-white locks titch ma face
An let me ken yer slamp-airmit, cuil hause
While tae ma maupie sowel ye hishie law.

Dream — aye, A’ve dreamt sin lest nicht lea'd her tour
An nou agin she comes oan starn-solit feet.
Hailsin, auld freen; here in this rose-gemmed bour
A’ve droused awa' yer Sultan’s gowdie heat.
Here in ma hammock, Time A’ve dreamt awa'
For A hae but tae streek a haun oot, ho,
A’m trampin thowless Shores o' Yesterday,
Muin-sillert deserts or the starn-weird snaw;
A fleet owur seas whaur ships are purpie shells,
A hear the tinkle o' the caumel bells
That waff doun Cairo’s streets whan daw winds blaw.

Sooth Seas! A watch whan uismal gloamin comes
Makin loom gods o' auncient, sea-set trees.
The waurld paith wyses - lood the meestic drums -
Here at ma haun the magic gowdie keys
That fit the doors o' Romance, Wunner, strange
Blee slaumach adventurs; seas an starns.
Why, A hae roved the far Muin Muntain reenge
Whan sundoun mintit gowd in skimmerin baurs.
Aw aiver ee'd A’ve sailed frae ports o' Spain
An watchit the skymin topaz o' the Main
Whan daw wis flingin witch fire oan the spars.

A am content in dreams tae rove ma fill
The vaiger, driftin sport o' wind an tide,
Thirl o' the muckle freedom, ventur’s thrill;
Here ivery magic ship oan whilk A ride.
Gowd, green, blae, reid, a priceless treisur trove,
Mair walth then iver pirate daured tae dream.
Ma hammock swees — aboot the waurld A rove.
The day-set’s huim, the dawin’s glide an gleam,
Muin-dappelt leafs are curmurrin in the wind
Whilk hishie tales. Ho, Tyre is juist ahint,
Throu seas o' daw A sail, Romance abeam.

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