Gan Tae Bellamena
Author: Rev. Martin McNeely
Date: 2010
Source: Ullans: The Magazine for Ulster-Scots, Nummer 11 Ware 2010
Grey, dreich, hate
the original town called malice?
They’re so small minded
bitter hearts
a “volk” condemned as hopeless.
“Am deein’ quare n’ weel” saes tha fairmer,
Stannin, scratchin’ his heid.
“Yer deein’ quare n’ wha?” I scour;
“Quare n’ weel” he said.
“I hae a reet guid tannin’,
Am werkin wae the coos,
at six I’ll get ma pretas,
Wash the yaird, clean ma boots,
an heid on wae a wee glass.”
A drive tae Belfawst, concrete, iron tall.
Orra yins tak wile quare in th’ big reek.
I fly tae Glesga, cross th’ pon.
They dinnae tak Scots at a’!
For,
in,
Bellamena …
it’s hae not have
gie not give
hae te when you have to,
forbye, fernenst,
wae me not with
An yin n’yin make twa not two.
A Burns nicht in th’ country
the groon athoot white wae sna.
That’s nicht as in ich,
not night as in sight,
peat fire, the bard, a party.
Rat a tat tat, rat a tat tat goes the Lambeg drum
In Ballymarlough they ‘gie it a hauvie blatter’.
They split the skin on the 11th night
Meinfawk in tears thereafter.
Braidman on his knees,
abain th’ Loard in Gloarie
“Reviv us wae Yer Grace dear Faither,
Bring forth Yer Wurd,
In Christ, Yin a’ us, hae mercy.”
Clim up Slemish, catch yer braithe
An correct yer senses wae ye
Yins be fawk deil volk
For the vista shows
The lan that takkin cum fae.
