Aug 302013
 

By Bob Smith. Wi apologies tae the unknown composer o Bonnie Lass O Fyvie
balmediedunes2

There eence wis a group
o Trumpie’s baboons
Cam mairchin doon throwe Menie O
A heid yin’s name wis Dod
Shoutin oot Trump he’s a god
Lang live the Great Dunes O Scatland O
.
Noo ither Menie fowk
thocht Trump he wis a gowk
Fer connachin the bonnie dunes o Menie O
He’s buggered an SSSI
Iss wis the rallyin cry
He’s deen fer the shiftin sands o Menie O
.
Donald says ye’ve nivver seen
the likes in Aiberdeen
Ma course is the best in iss warld O
Bit if yer nae weel aff
We’ll class ye as a nyaff
Ye’ll pey throwe the nose tae hit a ba O
Oh bugger damn an blast
a villain I am cast
Fer screwin some lives ower in Menie O
Weel aats jist their bad luck
An a dinna gie a f—k
Am “King” Donald, Thane o aathing O
.
Aat mannie caed Wee Eck
shud git it in the neck
Fer darin tae spike aa ma guns O
Iss winfairm a declare
A jist fin hard tae bear
An a’ll nae feenish fit a’v stairted O
.
O Trumpie gyaang tae hell
mony fowk div yell
Yer jist a pain in the ersie O
Yer cunnels nae sae bricht
An yer hair’s a bliddy sicht
Lang mey the faimilies bide in Menie O

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2013

Aug 302013
 

With somewhat uninspiring opening lines such as ‘O Thou! Who rollest in yon azure field’, ’When energising objects men pursue’ and ‘We do not curse thee, Waterloo!’ it’s a wonder that anyone reads Byron nowadays, unless forced by academic requirements, or perhaps an over-enthusiastic zeal for the great days of the celebrated Romantic Poets. Duncan Harley looks at the truth and myths surrounding this enigma.

 Gight Castle. Image Credit: Duncan Harley

Gight Castle. Former home of Byron’s mother. Image Credit: Duncan Harley

Byron remains popular and his following is undiminished. He wrote of course, amongst other works, Don Juan.
In the classic version, Don Juan is portrayed as a wealthy Lothario and libertine who devotes his life and soul to the seduction of women. His life is also punctuated with bouts of extreme violence, instances of murder and, almost inevitably, lots of gambling.

The tale’s ending depends on which version of the legend one reads.

Tirso’s original play has been interpreted as a religious parable warning against Don Juan’s sinful ways and ends with him dying, having been denied salvation by God. Other authors and playwrights have interpreted the ending in their own fashion. Espronceda’s Don Felix walks into hell and to his death of his own volition, Zorrilla’s Don Juan asks for a divine pardon. The figure of Don Juan has inspired many interpretations.

Byron’s version, however, reverses the classic womanising image of legend, portraying the protagonist not as a womaniser, but as a man easily seduced by women. Written over 16000 lines of verse, Byron himself called it an ‘epic satire’ which indeed it is.

There is much more to the poet though. Born in 1788 in London, and still regarded as one of the greats of British poetry, in Greece he is still revered for having fought for Greek independence from Ottoman Empire rule. In some ways, his life, if you discount the numerous love affairs, aristocratic excesses and that slightly scandalous sexual affair with his half sister, mirrors that of Eric Blair, the author George Orwell.

Blair’s experiences in the Spanish Civil War might not be too different from those of Byron in the Greek Civil War of Independence. Between 1821 and 1832, Russia, the United Kingdom, France, and several other European powers fought the Ottoman Empire. Byron was for the Greeks and against the Turks and went so far as to die for the cause in April 1824, aged just 36.

he could have reversed the state of anarchy amongst the Greeks

In truth, he died of fever and not of heroic battle wounds, but given his romantic disposition, had he been able to tell of his own demise he would no doubt have immortalised his death in heroic romanticised stanzas.

The good folk of Greece, and in particular the folk of Missolonghi where Byron died, still commemorate his arrival in January 1824, during a lull in the war with Turkey. There are those who to this day feel that he could have reversed the state of anarchy amongst the Greeks and brought the conflict to a swifter end.

Who was this man?

A poet obviously and a great one. A romantic, of course, who lived life to the full.

An Aberdonian? Well almost.

Byron’s mother was one Catherine Gordon of Gight. There are, of course, a whole lot of Gordons, from Moray to Aberdeenshire who ruled and feuded for centuries. A Gordon fell at Flodden, another in Flanders and they murdered each other without mercy over the years, waging war amongst themselves with predictable results. There are many Gordon Castles in NE Scotland and most are in either ruins or new ownership.

Catherine Gordon of Gight however topped the lot in some ways.

Gight Castle is a ruin nowadays. Set in a place of some beauty and difficult to get to, it was described by Cuthbert Graham in his Grampian: the Castle Country as being associated ‘from first to last’ with a race whose story was ‘crowded with murder and sudden death’.

Gight Castle Sign. Image Credit: Duncan Harley George Gordon built Gight Castle in 1560. In line with the defensive thinking of the time, it resembled Delgatie Castle in design, measuring around 70ft by 50ft and built on an L-plan and may have been commissioned from the same architect. Unlike Delgatie, it has not survived the ravages of the last half millennium.

Catherine Gordon had the misfortune to marry a man known as Mad Jack Byron, a conspicuous gambler and Coldstream Guards Officer.

After Mad Jack had squandered most of her fortune and deserted her, Mrs Byron took her infant son to Aberdeen, where they lived in lodgings on a meagre income.

Meanwhile, Mad ‘Foulweather’ Jack died in 1791 aged 35 at Valenciennes in Spain. Lord Byron would tell friends that his father had cut his own throat, but that may be an exaggeration.

Byron junior attended school in Aberdeen and lived for a while in Queen Street. Whilst his impoverished mother drank, he attended Aberdeen Grammar School before launching himself into what some consider to be a romantic repeat of his father’s attempts to gain happiness and fulfilment in a life misspent.

The lands and castle of Gight were sold to pay off Mad Jack’s gambling debts and the rest is history. The ruin remains and nowadays sheep graze on what might have been Lord Byron’s legacy. Perhaps I prefer the poetry though.

There is, I am told a pub in Aberdeen’s Northfield named after the man. Now, that is an accolade indeed.

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Aug 272013
 

By Bob Smith.
Pacu

Awa ower in Swedish watters
Ye micht hear some affa screams
As a wee fishie in the sea
Connachs a fyow chiels’ dreams
.
Iss  hungry fishie it wid seem
His a likin fer mannies’ bas
They creep up fin yer sweemin
An grab them wi their jas
.
Fin yer awa ower in Sweden
Skinny dippin micht nae be gweed
Thae fishies fae roon aboot
Wid queue up fer a feed
A fyow billies wull be wary
If sweemin  the Oeresund Strait
The local lads faa fish there
Micht use fowks’ bas as bait
.
Noo we’re telt it’s aa a myth
The Pacu fishie winna bite
A mannie wis haein a joke
An the story wis jist shite
.
© Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2013
Image Credit: I, Omnitarian. Licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license
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Aug 152013
 

By Bob Smith.

Sunshine floodin throwe the windas
Fillin rooms wi its golden glow
Memories o the fairmhoose kitchen
Ma mither workin tae and fro’
Birdsong burstin fae the hedges
Cocks crowin at the open doors
Yet peace an quairt  wis aa aroon
As wi wint aboot oor chores
Faint ripplin fae the dam weir
As its watters spill’t intae the burn
The Ord  jined wi the Leuchar
Alang  its banks I kent each turn
A still can smell the new mown hey
An surroonded bi the clover
A lay and listen’t tae the laverock
As heich abeen me it did hover
Stirks’ breath in November frosts
Content in the coort they stey
Jist slowly stirrin fae their rest
Fin aetin their neeps and hey
Collies barkin at the merest soond
Their alert sinses at the ready
Thae sentinels faa kept ye safe
Faa’s devotion wis ayewis steady

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2013
Image:  Hay Stacks© Taseret | Dreamstime Stock Photos
http://www.dreamstime.com/hay-stacks-free-stock-image-imagefree206796

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Aug 092013
 

By Bob Smith.

Cry ma beloved Scotland
Greet at wir foolish wyes
Ye tak aboard wir excuses
An listen ti aa wir lies
.
Ye hiv an embracin beauty
An we listen tae yer wails
Yet we sacrifice yer landscapes
Tae satisfy business holy grails
.
In yer mountain an yer moorland
There is a majesty unsurpassed
Yet winfairms an great motorwyes
Are creepin ower ye fast
In yer hills an glens we marvel
At nature’s fecht ti survive
Ower muckle fowk on yer pathways
Ower hillside tracks they can drive
.
Cry again my beloved Scotland
Greet eence mair at wir foolish wyes
Ye try tae mend the destruction
As ye let oot some mournfu cries
.
There’s fowk as wid help ye
An stop the folly aat’s aroon
We need aa ti be richt brave
As some wid ding us doon

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2013

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Aug 012013
 

By Bob Smith. 

Colin Murray fae the BBC
Meenshun’t Jessica Ennis’s bum
He’s accused o bein sexist
Iss is nae a bittie rum

Noo Jessica’s erse IS perfect
So why nae state iss fact
Seems puir Colin shud hae used
Jist a little bittie mair tact

Fit’s the warld noo cumin tae?
Ye’ve tae watch yer “p’s an q’s”
Ye mak a wee daft remark
On yer heid is heaped abuse

PC his geen ower the score?
Maybe bum’s noo classed as lewd
So ma remark aboot her erse
Micht weel be thocht as crude

A dinna think we shud be
Rude aboot fowk’s lukes
Bit fer praisin Jessica’s backside
Seems puir Colin Murray sooks

Awa aa ye fun destroyers
Ye crabbit bunch o tubes
A gweed job he didna meenshun
Onything aboot Jessica’s boobs

A hear the howls o protest
Classed anither sexist chap
Nivver myn a’m auld aneuch
Tae fend aff ony bum rap

Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2013
Image: Wikimedia Commons

Jul 262013
 

By Bob Smith.

Martin Ford wis teen ower the coals
Fer spikkin tae yon Panorama
Seems the chiel’s opinion fae
Cooncil offices canna be on camera

The stushie fae the ‘shire cooncil
Tae North Koreawis mair suited
Wull aa future cooncil policy
Tae Kim Jong-Un be re-routed

A thocht we bade in a democracy
An war alood tae say yer bit
Cooncillor Ford gied his opinion
An some cooncillors hid a fit

His Trumpie got sic a grip?
Are cooncillors jist Trumpie goons?
Feart tae challenge The Donald
On onything tae dee wi dunes

A nivver thocht a’d see the day
Growen fowk aa rinnin scared
Fae a mannie full o bluster
Like the Menie Yankee laird

Lit’s curse aa coordly vratches
Lit them hang their heids in shame
They’ve selt fowk doon the river
As they play “King” Donald’s game

© Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2013

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Jul 182013
 

By Bob Smith.

Eck Salmond he is maist upset
Wi the fowk at Muirfield links
He’s nae gyaan tae The Open
Membership policy he feels stinks  

Fer ‘ears an ‘ears iss golf club
An aboot iss they’re nae kiddin
Throwe the portals o the clubhoose 
The fair sex they are forbidden 

Is wee Eck noo a feminist
Or is’t jist a publicity stunt
Tae get aa the weemin’s votes
As independence he dis punt

Noo masel I hiv iss view
Golf clubs policy it shud be
Fer baith sexes tae jine up
An nae jist on the tee 

Bit Muirfield is a private club
So his a richt its ain rules tae mak
If it wints jist mannies only
We’ll jist hae tae cut some slack 

Maybe they’ve the richt idea
Fin aboot their game they’re braggin
Enjoyin the odd gin or twa
Free fae bliddy wifie’s naggin 

Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2013
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Jul 122013
 

By Bob Smith.

The Donald wis on Panorama
Spikkin tae BBC’s John Sweeney
Aboot aa the gyaans  on
At his placie ower at Menie
.
The Sweeney hints tae Mr Trump
6000 jobs hinna cum tae fruition
The Trumpie lot war fair pit oot
An treated aa iss wi derision
.
Donald roared – Git rid o aat hoose
Tae the “P&J” editor’s wife
Says she it micht cause a stir
An reap ye lots o strife
.
Faa cares the mannie gabbit
A sure can dee fit a wint
It’s on ma lan quoth Donald
Tae the puir dementit bint
.
The hoose belangs tae David Milne
A chiel Trump disna much like
Bit David stuck twa fingers up
An said Trumpie tak a hike
A billie fae the Royal Toon Plannin
Thocht Trumpie’s case it wis unique
In aa his ‘ears in the plannin game
He’d seen nithing tae cause sic pique
.
Oor First Minister an The Donald
War eence on spikkin terms
They’ve hid a bit o a faa oot
Ower the plans aboot winfairms
.
Trump wis qizzed aboot his dealins
Wi a mannie fae the Mafia mob
Syne he up’s an leaves the interview
Hintin The Sweeney didna ken his job
.
Noo in the pages o “P&J” we read
Business pallies tae his rescue hiv rode
Eence mair tryin tae kid us aa
In the Nor’east the mannie is loed.
.
Birds o a feather flock tigither
A mynd aboot iss  auld sayin
Bit maist o us chiels ken they’re aa feels
Faa dunce tae the tune Trumpie’s playin

Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2013
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Jul 052013
 

By Bob Smith.


Bring IKEA tae Aiberdeen Campaign
Is aneuch tae mak me splutter
Anither bliddy multi national
Causin local shops tae stutter
.
Ye cwidna ca me a racist
A’ve nae problem wi the Swedes
Bit wi’ve plunty local shoppies
Tae cater fer furnishin needs
.
There’s Anderson’s o Inverurie
Sainsbury & Sons doon Holburn wye
An Celebrations oot in Turra toon
Berrys o Oldmeldrum weel worth a try
Noo the profit made bi IKEA
Eichty per cint wull disappear
Oot o the local economy
Awa back tae Sweden a fear
.
Bring IKEA tae Aiberdeen campaign
We can dee withoot iss fine
IKEA tak aa yer flatpacks
Stick em “faar the sun disna shine”
.
Lit’s hear it fer local shoppies
Lang may their like we see
They support the local economy
So fae IKEA lit’s aye bi free.

Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2013
Image credit:  Gadjo Cardenas Sevilla

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