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BOAGIES OOR

 

Eftir nyghtfaa, da poorie gjings araagin

Koories’im sam’is a hurchin ati’da neuk a’da shaamir,

apo’a skelf ir sumwy inahint me, kloss bie

da blattrin lowe, at da fætil hert

owreseein aa da flughtirs a’midchiks, moghs, flies

an iddir timmirsim saatilyts.

 

Poorie krugs him sikkis he wis gjaain t’lowp

da Bosfiris, bitjit quhan da spyog roonds and yokks

an obchik’at’s atill’is fæs, hit’s aa noght damoarn:

a nivir-liet shaa a’pyaag, an no a

varg fir propir fie. He skjoos his hed an

tentilie draas his kloors: dat’s him. Stappit fast:

 

Næ buddir ava. Mær o’a varg t’yokk a boagie hygh

abøn da flør, ati’da lift. Quhan he gjits his ie

apo da tivlig a’da røf an waa

ir klimmirs da hyght a’da jam a’da doar

I koorie me doon fardir ati’da shær

sikkis I miesel wis bit a mukkil boagie

 

froasint ati’da hidmist taas a’lyf. Bit dan da foan

gjings, hit’s Adam Wiedeman shaargin

‘at sumien’s stowin awa mie dræms. I promies

‘at A’ll send’im twartrie mær, shøn as A’m dræmt dim.

His start in Nurnberg he’d spent sielfillie.

Cheerie, sie de shortlie. An noo, hit’s a mogh

 

‘at’s laandit’po da fræm o’a piktir, a prent

a’Caraveggio’s Depoanmint a’Kryst. Poorie baals him

aff a’da jam, lowps twaartrie lents læk a poal-vaaltir,

flies trow da æir an wie bæth spjogs

haals da mogh aff a’da swaart metal fræm.

He hunkirs læk a kjunnien, swaps mogh atil’is moo.

 

Slems a’chaas, klakks a’tung, swag a’hed.

Luv is jit mær sikkir’is poarnoagrafie.

I haal a bottil bakk fæ oot a’da brukk-bukkit,

twaartrie pierie syps a’vodka ati’da dregs a’him,

ows dim apo mie fingirneb an draa hit

owir mie mull, bit kanna kjill da smakk.