Alexander Hutchison | Article Tags

Author: Fitzgerald Kusz
Translator: Alexander Hutchison, Donal McLaughlin, Sarah Tolley

[Translations into Scottish by Alexander Hutchison and into English by Donal McLaughlin and Sarah Tolley]

liebe XII	Love XII	Love XII
lou ä mall inn roll loo roo nou lou i di	row the blin richt doon noo an a’ll row thee	let the roller blind down now and I’ll let you

Fitzgerald Kusz From: morng sixtäs suwisu nimmä, Rothenburg ob der Tauber, 1973	Scots by Alexander Hutchison	English by Sarah Tolley

es meer	the sea	the sea
es meer schbrichd middi felsn es blaudäd, es brülld, es flüsdäd seid millioonä joa es meer werd ned mäid es hörd ned auf es machd immä weidä es meer is blau es is gräi es is grau es meer schbrichd middi felsn di felsn horng zou si schweing seid millioonä joä es meer schbrichd middi felsn di felsn braungs meer es meer brauchd di felsn miä väschdennä es meer ned miä väschdennä di felsn ned weä schbrichd mid uns	the sea claiks to the craigs it’s been gabbin’ an bellochin an wheeplin for millions o years the sea nivver gets wabbitit nivver stauns still it’s aye tyaavin awa the sea is blae is green is grey the sea claiks t’ the craigs the craigs are herkin close their tongues have been tethert for millions o years the sea claiks t’ the craigs the craigs are thirlt t’ the sea the sea is thirlt t’ the craigs we canna faithom the sea we canna faithom the craigs fa’s spikkin til’s?	the sea speaks to the rocks it’s been chatting, been roaring, been whispering, for millions of years the sea doesn’t tire doesn’t stop it keeps going and going the sea is blue is green is grey the sea speaks to the rocks the rocks listen have been silent for millions of years the sea speaks to the rocks the rocks need the sea the sea needs the rocks we don’t get the sea we don’t get the rocks who speaks to us

Fitzgerald Kusz From: wouhii, ein lesebuch, Cadolzburg 2002	Scots by Alexander Hutchison	English by Donal McLaughlin

iich möchäd ämall …	A widna mine …	I’d like to write
iich möchäd ämall ä gedichd schreim des mä iberoll miidhiinehmä könnäd su klaa daßs in jede husädaschn bassäd ned viel gräißä wäiä daschndäiglä obbä wemmäs rauszäichäd und vuälesädwirräd aff amm schlooch allers anders iich möchäd ämall ä gedichd schreim wemmä draffrumdrambläd derfäds ned kabuddgäih wemmäs oozindäd derfäds ned brennä wemmä midderm messä neischdechäd derfäds ned bloudn iich möchäd ämall ä gedichd schreim des kannä meä aufhaldn könnäd dessi ausbreidäd wäi ä krankheid gechä däi ka kraud gwachsn is bissi jedä mid iä ooschdeckäd iich möchäd ämall ä gedichd schreim des einfach oofangäd und nie meä aufhöräd und middndrin iich	A widna mine, ae day, comin up wi a poem that ye could cairry ony place: that teeny it wid fit intil ivry trooser pocket nae muckle bigger nor a hanky – but if ye took it oot t’ read aathin wid chynge in a blink A widna mine coming up wi a poem that if you danced aboot on it widna faa t’ bits that if you pit a licht til’t widna be consumed if you jabbit a knife intil’t widna bleed A widna mine comin up wi a poem that quidna be foonert – that wid spreid lik a dose o somethin for which there widna be ony remeid afore aabody wis richt smitten A widna mine comin up wi a poem that wid jist get under wey an nivver come t’ a close an smack dab in the middle o’t aa wid be me	I’d like to write a poem at some point that you could take anywhere with you so small it would fit into every trouser pocket and not much bigger than a hankie but if you took it out and read it out everything would change instantly I’d like to write a poem at some point that if you jumped about on it wouldn´t fall apart that if you set it alight wouldn’t burn that if you stuck a knife into it wouldn´t bleed I´d like to write a poem at some point that couldn´t be stopped that would spread like an illness for which there wouldn´t be a cure until everyone had caught it I´d like to write a poem at some point that would simply start and would never end and right there in among it all would be me

Fitzgerald Kusz From: muggn, gedichte, Cadolzburg 2007	Scots by Alexander Hutchison	English by Donal McLaughlin

4 Haikus
in jedä nachd vo jemand anders draimä: su kummd mä aa undi di laid!	tae dream o ither fowk ivry nicht – jist anither wey o gettin acquantit	dreaming of someone else every night it’s just another way of meeting folk!

Fitzgerald Kusz	Scots by Alexander Hutchison	English by Sarah Tolley

ä naßkalde novembänachd: wenn di audo schloufm fangä di bamm zum blaudern oo	a caal dreich November nicht fan the motors are nappin the trees crank up wi their claik	a chilly damp november night when the cars are sleeping that’s when the trees start chatting

Fitzgerald Kusz	Scots by Alexander Hutchison	English by Sarah Tolley

drei zeiln ibern schnäi? aff di erschd fälldä aff dä zweidn bleibdä lieng aff dä driddn schmilzdä	three lines aboot snaa first it faas, syne it bides neist it’s aa meltit awa	three lines about the snow? on the first it falls on the second it lies on the third it melts

Fitzgerald Kusz From: wouhii, ein lesebuch, Cadolzburg, 2002.	Scots by Alexander Hutchison	English by Sarah Tolley

so edz gäihi middä fernbedienung aff di schdraß und drigg: obbä di laid senn immä nu dou	richt, a’ve taen my remote on a daunner ootside an thoombed it – bit the fowk dinna tak the hint	so now i’ve taken my remote out onto the street and pressed it but the people are still there

Fitzgerald Kusz From: schdernla, 144 haikus, Cadolzburg, 1996.	Scots by Alexander Hutchison	English by Sarah Tolley

Author: Helmut Haberkamm
Translator: Alexander Hutchison, Donal McLaughlin, Kay McBurney, Robert Alan Jamieson

[Translations into Shetlandic by Robert Alan Jamieson; into Scots by Alexander Hutchison and Donal McLaughlin; and into English by Donal McLaughlin and Kay McBurney]

Idendidäd	Ydentitie	Identity
Wurri herkumm, wirri haaß, wemi Gleichsiech, wemi noochgrood Wosmer kaaßn hemm, wosmi Baggd, wosmi miedgnumma hadd Wossi gsehng hobb, wurri Gweesn bin, wossi glernd hobb Weni droffn hobb, wossi Derlebbd hobb, wossi waaß Wossi kann, wossi kenn, wossi Du, wossi sooch, wossermer denk Wos dief drinhoggd, wosmi Ausmachd, wosmer noochgehd Wossermer aufkalsd, wossermer Kolld hobb, wosmer oodoo hemm Mid wossi wos oofang, wosmer Wos oogehd, aus wossermer wos mach Fier wossi groodsteh Fier wossermi grummleech Obber wossi woor, binni nämmer, wossi Bin, bleibi nedd, wossi sei meecherd Binni nunni – Ach Wos waaßn iech?	Quhar A’m kum fæ, quhit I ans ta, quha A’m Da læklie o, quha I takk eftir Quhit d’ir kaad me, quhit’s Grippt me, quhit it is’at’s shiftit me Quhit A’m led een apo, quhar A’m Gien till, quhit ler A’m hed Quha A’m kum apo, quhit A’m Livt trow, quhit I wat Quhit I kan, quhit I ken, quhit I Dø, quhit I sæ, quhit I miesel tink Quhit hookers doon ati’me, quhit’s ati’ Mie makk-up, dat’at byds wie me Quhit A’m yoakkit me ta, quhit A’m Gottin t’miesel, quhit d’ir døn t’me Dat’at I dø wie, quhit ta me Hæs wirt, dat’at I makk wie Fir quhit A’m upstaandin Fir quhit I krug me owir Bit quhit iens I wis, I im næ mær, quhit I Im, A’ll no byd, quhit I wiss I wis A’m no yit bien – Ach Quhit dan ken I?	Where I come from, what my name is, who I Look like, who I take after What they promised me, what Grabbed me, what swept me along What I’ve seen, what I’ve been, what I’ve learned Who I’ve met, what I’ve Been through, what I know What I can do, what I know well, What I do, what I say, what I think to myself What’s deep within me, what Makes me different, what’s on my mind What I’ve brought upon myself, what I’ve saddled myself with, what they did to me How I begin something, what is My business, what matters to me What I accept responsibility for What I pinch and scrape for But what I was I am no more, what I Am I won’t remain, what I’d like to be I’m not yet. Och – What do I know?

Helmut Haberkamm From: Frankn lichd nedd am Meer, ars vivendi verlag, Cadolzburg, 1992	Shetlandic by Robert Alan Jamieson	English by Donal McLaughlin

Ach Goddla gell mei Guuderla	Loard Abøn, Feth, mie Pierie ting	Oh lordy-me, rightey-oh, my babykins
hobberla sodderla siggsdersla etzerdla hammer des aa widder gell mei Guuderla sabberlodder bloß a Momendla nu hobberla siggsdersla braungmers scho morng nämmer machn no fraali gell mei Heichderla ach Godderla iech soogs ja bloß a wengala bloß a Momendla nu siggsdersla mei Muscherla bloß a Hämpferla a Habbla a Hardla a Hafdla bloß a Schieberla a Straiberla a Fardla a Steigla mei Schlaggersla gell nacherdla haddmer hald gschwind a Drimmla un a bisserla sei Ruh aa widder gell mei Waggersla mei Bobberla mei Engerla mei Zeiserla gell des säggsd du aa mei Scheißerla siggsdersl	O waatch noo, dat’s de noo, sies du dis, noo jun’s wis nierlie don noo, feth mie pierie ting mersie me, choost a pierie start, O waatch, sies du dis we winna hæ dis t’dø da moarn, trootæl, feth. mie pierie swiet O Loard abøn, A’m sayin, choost a pierie græn a’dis Choost a pierie start mær, sies du dis mie pierie spoot choost æ haandfu, æ kælhert, æ gadderie, æ koos choost æ løffu, æ bowlfu, æ kyshiefu, æ kjist mie pierie tingaboadie feth we’ll hæ wis wir pukkil in a mienit an dan spell wis a pieriemintie start, willin we mie pierie jooil mie poppit, mie pierie aenchil, mie lintie feth døs du no sæ da sam mie pierie skittrie-ers na sies du, don	Oopsadaisy, there we goesy-woesy, that’s-a-better now, rightey-oh my babykins bless my soul, just a wee minute, oopsadaisy, there we goesy-woesy, now we won’t need to do it tomorrow, will we now my sweetykins oh lordy-me, only just a little-bitty more now just a wee minute, there we goesy-woesy my honeykins just a teensy-weensy handful, a spriglet, an itsy-bitsy clump, a titchy-witchy heap, just a bunchy-wunchy, a posy-wosy, a sacky-wacky, a boxy-woxy my cheekykins rightey-oh, we’ll have a piley in just a jiffy-wiffy and then we’ll be able to relaxykins, won’t we now my cutykins my poppet, my angelkins, my little chickadee you think so too, don’t you, my shittiekins here we goesy-woesy

Helmut Haberkamm From: Des sichd eich gleich, ars vivendi verlag, Cadolzburg, 2001	Shetlandic by Robert Alan Jamieson	English by Kay McBurney

Neia Reifn drauf nooch Bertolt Brecht	Njoo Quhiels On eftir Bertholt Brecht	New Tyres On after Bertolt Brecht
Iech hogg auf der Staffl am Oostraafer doddn. Mei Vadder dudd di Winderreifn nooschraum. Wui herkumm, moochi nedd grood noo. Wui hie will, moochi aa nedd grood noo. Is Gscheidsde wär, iech langerd mied noo Un dääd helf derzu bein Schraum. Obber So hoggi bloß doo un hald mei Goschn Un schau un waaß nedd, wossi meecherd. Sixd, etz sinn di Reifn aa scho droo. Mei Vadder wingd, iech fohr dervoo.	A’m hookirt’po da briggstenns, bie da bøt-daddir. Mie fædir snøds da wintir-quhiel bolts doon. Quhar A’m kum fæ, I hæna will t’gjing dær. Quhar A’m set fir, neddir hae I will t’gjing daer. Da thing wid be fir me t’rekk a haand dær An gie a pierie spell apo da bolts. Bit Dær I hookir me, haddin mie chaas an gaan, no kennin quhit A’m eftir. Sies du, fu shøn da quhiels ir gød t’læv. Mie fædir wævs, as oot a’dær I dræv.	I’m on the front step beside the shoe-scraper. My father’s putting on the winter tyres. I don’t want to go to where I’m from right now. I don’t want to go where I want to go to, either. The best thing would be to lend a hand and help put the tyres on. I remain sitting there just, though, and keep my mouth shut. And watch, not knowing what I want. Look – that’s the tyres on already. My father waves, I drive off.

Helmut Haberkamm From: Frankn lichd nedd am Meer, ars vivendi verlag, Cadolzburg, 1992	Shetlandic by Robert Alan Jamieson	English by Donal McLaughlin

	New Tyres Oan
	ahm on the front step aside the shoescraper. ma faither’s pittin the winter tyres oan. where ah come frae, ah dont wantae go right now. where ah want tae get tae, ah dont wantae go either. The best thing wid be tae get a grip an’ help pit the tyres oan. ah keep sittin there just but an’ keep ma gob shut. An’ watch, no knowin whit ah want. Look – that’s the tyres oan awready. Ma faither waves, ah drive off. Scots by

	Donal McLaughlin

	New Tyres Fittit
	A’m oot front on the step aside the buit-scratter. Ma faither’s pittin on the winter tyres. Far a’m fae, a dinna wint t’ ging richt noo. Far a micht seek t’ging, a dinna wint t’ ging aither. Giein him a haun t’ fit the tyres wid be The thing t’ dee. Hoowivver, I jist bide Humphin here an zip ma moo. An watchin: nae kennin fit a wint. Aye, look, at’s the tyres on aready: Ma faither gies us a wave, an I heid aff.

	Scots by Alexander Hutchison

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liebe xii
es meer
iich möchäd ämall …
4 Haikus

Idendidäd
Ach Goddla fell …
Neia Reifn drauf