New Poetry from James

The 'Ulster-Scot' is delighted to publish exclusively for the first time two new poems from James Fenton, leading Ulster-Scots writer.

  Both were written following a number of filming sessions in the 'hame country' for a television programme that James is working on with fellow Ulster-Scot columnist Liam Logan and BBC producer Chris Spurr.

  James invariably writes about current and childhood experiences in his beloved Co. Antrim.

  The first poem entitled 'On Tullalchans' has been spelt to reflect the local pronunciation of Tullaghans, which comes from the Irish tulachan for hillock, which lies on the long hillside about Dunloy.

  The second poem 'The Set' is James' wry account of his filming experiences.

  For those who wish to glean the meaning of the poems, we can recommend buying a copy of the poet's own work 'The Hamely Tongue', from Ullans Press, which is an authorative collection of Ulster-Scots words used today in Co. Antrim.

On Tullalchans

In the hamely worl doon there, sae near,
Sae far, a runkled quult
O boag an fiel an hill an hoose,
The shedda worls the movin, cowl-eed camera
Cannae catch, nor this still ee
See clear.

The rodden's stoory stur lang smoored;
The sweet-wat bink years loast
In clooded sallies;
The boag's far, fearfa wunther
Tae an iver-wuntherin wain,
A wantherin, dreamin weetchil's owler hame.

Beyont al boags the solaid grun,
The misured, age-wrocht, pattrened grun
O Belnaloob, hame tae, an Brochanor,
A lasting wutness
Tae the ither, shapin faith o generations,
An the last that's its alane.

A scad amang the fait-clipt fiels,
The biried lade, loast worl
O twa, new-grupped wae iver-risin thochts
O ither worls, bricht worls an dark,
Gart tak the lang, blin pad
Wud lead tae this, naw thon.

Gae quaitly, sae,
Wae the deein licht:
Al else is faitly pakkaged, pit awa;
An ower thonner, on Corkey's dark wa-heids,
The shrood-white shapes stan wavvin,
Wavvin.

James Fenton.

The Set

Sitch fang an flirry, ordhers gied:
Poo bak, gae fort, kaim taigled heid.
Unkit's naw the wie he's taen:
Rin ower it jaist yince mair. Weel daen!
Rin ower the hale scursed thing agane.

An mine thon cretther in atween,
Nae chance o jookin ether een.

Lang frae the owl sunk pad, but yit
Ower slunky words wae sure, licht fit
Gaes he; clods wordy thochts aroon.
A shacle, feart o fa'in doon?
Nae sitch a swuther tirls thon croon.

James Fenton.