DORIC CORNER

Shane Strachan was awarded Scots Champion at the 2023 Scots Language Awards following his year as the National Library of Scotland’s Scots Scriever. A writer and lecturer, his first poetry collection, DWAMS, will be published in the spring.

I’m affa excited (and a bittie nervous-kind!) as the publication o ma new buik o poyems, DWAMS, comes tee.

Published bi Tapsalteerie on April 2, it’s dedicated “tae the folk o Aiberdeen, city o unheard vyces” an I’m prood that it includes wirk, maistly in Doric, aboot the north-east – a region thit’s still sair underwritten in Scotland.

Aheid o the buik laanch on Friday March 29 at Spin (tickets on Eventbrite!), here’s a sneak keek o a pucklie o poyems. The first is inspiret by a Willie Watson etchin o the lang-gone Aiberdeen pub, the Snug Bar, as weel as ma ain memories as a bairn helpin oot at ma grandma and granda’s pub in Peterheid.

The neist poyem is a series o haikus aboot Aiberdeen’s contermacious seasons and a reminder tae be hopefu in coorse times. They were screivit for a project far textile artist Freida Strachan stitcht each haiku ontil a different wyvin thit we hung up aroon the city afore aactionin them aff tae raise funds fir Rape Crisis Grampian.

I’m fair tricket the poyems will noo be seen bi mair folk and hope ye aa enjoy!

SNUG BAR

Linger on that cobbled corner far James and Virginia Street meet, ye micht hear the clink o glass, a smoker’s rasp, the soft scuff o ashtrays dichted clean, the whine o the foamy glass-washin machine as its coorse bristles furl bricht green.

Listen for pound coins rattlin doon the bandit as barmaids shout through the cellar hatch – the till pings, stappit-fu! Hear the repeated whack o darts puncturin holes aa ower the waa, the urinal’s waterfaa, the mannies mummlin at the bar… spluttrin

Och, noo there’s revvin cars and a scurrie’s caa–caa abeen this carpark far the Snug Bar eence stood – this void atween funcy flats far folk hide inside, deef tae the last orders bell chime and the “Drink up! It’s hame time!”

only lonely impty

DWAMS

Bide a wee mintie. Lug in tae my reveries – wheesht this city.

A breeze flichters roon Aul Aiberdeen’s cobbled streets.

Pink petal rain.

Simmer is here wi a fite sheet o haar tae blunket us.

Caul wave o watter. The bus wheechs on past us drookit rats.

Reeshle o leaves in the gowden gairden. The scurries skite.

Folk squint their een on the caul winter street. Low yalla sun.

Thawin watterfaa. In Johnston Gairdens we cross the brig thegither.

The curroos o doos echo through the tunnel. Nae alone noo.

Ye rush past aa fasht an pechin hard, nae seein this too shall pass.

Mica will glister in the darkest o granite if ye jist let it.