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PART OF THE Scots, Whay-hay! ISSUE

A sing o a Scotland whit’ll chant hits hairt oot dounstairs o the Royal Oak, whit’ll pouk hits timmer clarsach hairtstrangs, whit like glamour will sing hits hairt intae, existence, whit haps sang roon hits bluidy nieve hairt, whit sings.

Harry Giles is one of Scotland’s most exciting poets working today. His collection Tonguit explores themes such as nationality and sexuality with real verve, inventiveness and a rigorous playfulness with language. We hope this taster has you seeking out the full collection.

 

Extract taken from Tonguit
By Harry Giles
Published by Stewed Rhubarb

 

Brave

Acause incomer will aywis be a clarty wird,
acause this tongue A gabber wi will nivver be the real
Mackay, A sing.
Acause fer aw that we’re aw Jock Tamson’s etcetera, are
we tho? Eh? Are we.
Acause o muntains, castles, tenements n backlans,
acause o whisky exports, acause o airports,
acause o islans, A sing.
acause o pubs whit arena daein sae weel oot o the
smokin ban, A sing.
acause hit’s grand tae sit wi a lexicon n a deeskit mynd,
A sing.
acause o the pish in the stair, A sing.
acause o ye,

A sing o a Scotland whit wadna ken workin class
authenticity gin hit cam reelin aff an ile rig douned six
pints o Tennent’s n glasst hit in the cunt,
whit hit wadna
by the way.

A sing o google Scotland,
o laptop Scotland,
o a Scotland sae dowf on bit-torrentit
HBO drama series n DLC packs fer
paistapocalyptic RPGs that hit wadna
ken hits gowk fae hits gadjie,
tae whas lips n fingers amazebawz
cams mair freely as bangin.

A sing o a Scotland whit hinks the preservation o an
evendoun Scots leeteratur is o parteecular vailyie
n importance bit cadna write hit wi a reproduction
claymore shairp on hits craig,
whit hinks Walter Scott scrievit in an either tide,
whit hinks Irvine Welsh scrievit in an either tide.

A sing o a Scotland whit wants independence fae Tories
n patronisin keeks
n chips on shouders
bit sprattles tae assert ony kin o
cultural autonomy whit isna
grundit in honeytraps.

A sing o a Scotland whit hinks thare’s likely some sort o
God, richt?
whit wad like tae gang fer sushi wan nicht but
cadna haundle chopsticks,
whit signs up fur internet datin profiles n nivver
replies tae the messages,
whit dreams o bidin in London.

A sing o a Scotland whit fires tourists weirin See You
Jimmy hats the puir deathstare,
n made a pynt o learnin aw the varses tae Auld
Lang Syne,
n awns a hail signed collection o Belle n
Sebastian EPs.

A sing o a Scotland bidin in real dreid o wan day findin
oot juist hou parochial aw hits cultural references mey be,
n cin only cope wi the intertextuality o the Scots
Renaissance wi whappin annotatit editions,
n weens hits the same wi awbdy else.

A sing o a Scotland whit hasna gied tae Skye,
or Scrabster,
or Scone,
bit cin do ye an absolute dymont
o a rant on the plurality o Scots
identity fae Alexandair mac
Alexandair tae Wee Eck.

A sing o a Scotland whit cadna hink o a grander wey tae
end a nicht as wi a poke o chips n curry sauce,
whit chacks the date o Bannockburn on
Wikipaedia,
whit’s no sae shuir aboot proportional
representation,
whit draws chairts on the backs o beermats tae
learn ye aboot rifts n glaciation
n when hit dis hit feels this oorie dunk,
this undesairvt wairmth
o inexplicable luve,
whit is heavt up,
in the blenks afore anxiety is heavt up
by the lithe curve o a firth.
Whit wants ye tae catch the drift.
Whit’s stairtin tae loss the pynt.

A sing o a Scotland whit’ll chant hits hairt oot dounstairs
o the Royal Oak, whit’ll pouk hits timmer clarsach
hairtstrangs, whit like glamour will sing hits hairt intae
existence, whit haps sang roon hits bluidy nieve hairt,
whit sings.

 

Maeshowe
Chambered Cairn, Winter Solstice

Lown i the lair
o five thoosan year,
we wauk the luntit
lip o winter
whiles hit starn
the runit flags.

We’re suithless: gabbin,
lowsin shaidaes,
raxin fer some kin o
mynd i the muivement
o starns n starn.

Haud haunds n braith.
Aw unconcernit
the thief cried sun
steals intae the rouk.

The wicht cried muin
taks back the lift.
Wi sou wi the birlin.

Banes wir nivver
kistit here.
Nae faith but in time.

 

Tonguit by Harry Giles is published by Stewed Rhubarb, priced £10.99

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