SCOTS Project - www.scottishcorpus.ac.uk Document : 771 Title : Isolde's Luve-Daith Author(s): Tom Hubbard Copyright holder(s): Tom Hubbard Text This is oor hinmaist chaumer. We hae come faur, Fae exile throu the warlt's ilka airt; This is thon warlt's end. We winna pairt Here at the endless tryst o watter an scaur. Oor luve wis swaw on swaw o the gloamin sea, As it lowps ti lowse pouer that gars it lowp again; Oor luve wis a wildrife walterin o the tide Forrit an back, fae its deeps richt up ti the lift, That the maws made oor maisic, mair unco nor even their ain. They hae waukened, if no the deid, then the hauf-deid, Wha canna thole fowk wi the ootmaist wey ti leeve; Sae I come greetin ower your braken corp An haud it gentlie gin this staunin-stane Auncient an roch as wis your Governal, Wha learned you fae a bairn. He ligs haurd by, Foundert there bi the swurd that foundert you; Tristan, it claims a thurd: we'll can win throu. You brocht me ower the sea fir ti mairry Mark But ower the sea, we cam ti luve ilk ither. We dreidit sicht o the kinrik whase puir king Hochled his lane ti walcome us ashore, Nae side ti him ava: this selsame Mark, Sair guidit bi a cushle-mushle o scowks, A sleekit core o foongers an come-ups; Mark, aince the frien o Tristan an mysel, His uncle, my guidman; Yit they made a wickitness o this oor weird, Whan oor mutual luve cuid aiblins aa made hale; -O that oor luve fir him had skailt oor peetie. Tristan, We twa cuid never blume in a bien bield Owerhung wi caunopies an taupestries; In neuk an haa smoorit wi fineries; We cuidna thole sic douce an dentie ludgins. We twa cuid ken nae saucht whaur a sauntlik king Warkt guid ti ilka body baur himsel; Whaur aa collogued fir cheatrie baur himsel; -We preed the midden neth the banketin-buird. Tristan, your clarsach tint its glaumourie: Nae tuin but it wad come oot fushionless There, in thon coort: you wintit the wulderness Ti rax your sang an gar it bleeze the bluid! And I, yince skeelie as mediciner, Had naither baulm nor hairb fir this disays; Oor lang-won lear had faan ti dwyne an daise; Whit yuise wis there fir Tristan an Isolde? The nicht gaed doun, an lichtit up oor deeps. The nicht gaed doun, the nicht wis aye oor fere. I kent a door ti the cellar, thence anither Ti he shank o a mine, dishauntit mony year. As mony year it seemed as we follaed thon fankle O pit-mirk pads whaur I wis feart ti hyter Ower the skelets o men an aiblins o weemen an weans: Whit yuise wis there fir Tristan an Isolde? Suid we no sterve, an eik mair banes ti banes? At lang an last, we heard the fash o the firth An won ti the mou o the caif: oor dwallin, Tristan, That we had heired fae craturs unlik us An yit sae sib, fae the airliest o oor kin; Coorse chiels wha skartit ferlies on the waas, Lik the sudden kinks o the lichtnin an the serpens; The caup wi a ring inby; the riven sceptre; An the ship that sails fir aye, that kens nae herbour, That canna wrack ... O my beluvit Tristan, We twa tuik oor blytheheid in that clintie bield, Or whaur we clammered abune ti reenge fir meat: Thon bour i the forest, that you biggit wi brainches, That mysel flaired wi the leafs. Oor wine wis the spring-heid, Oor farin, the ruits we howked. On oor luves an sleeps The nicht gaed doun, an lichtit up oor deeps. We twa hae spaed aa whummlins o the yird, Tho nou the face bydes caum: we hae spaed the faa O the mongers, tho their grup wis never mair siccar. We twa hae ventered fae oor saicret heiven, An socht an apen heiven fir the fowk- Throu touns whaur wark's ower lang, or else there's nane, Throu vennels whaur the bairns ken nocht o schule, Throu spitals ricklie as the thrang inby, We set ti the darg wi the anerlie gear we brocht, Wi Tristan's ballants an Isolde's balsam; You sang ti heeze the dauntit fae defeat, I ettled fir ti mak the lipper hale. We were betraisit, taen, an riven apairt. Throu the lang years I tholed your bannisment, An my luve grew aa the mair; Throu the lang years they telt me nocht o you, Leevin or deid. I had nae veesitor there Wha spak o ither nor Mark, that he'd gane gyte, An cuidna lest. I wis left my lane, ontil Ae nicht, a tread on the stair, An the door unsneckt: it wis your Governal, Wha aa thon time had speired me oot fir his maister; The fly auld chiel had pawkied in wi my jylers, Bantered an bevvied thaim fou. He brocht me faur, An jyned his Tristan an Isolde baith Here at the endless tryst o watter an scaur In this oor hinmaist chaumer o luve an daith. Tristan, I mynd you singin: "Wha wadna dee fir sic a lass as this?" I laucht as Governal said that it wis sae, Tho, gin a body deed, his bed grew cauld; Nae lass cuid ever het it up again. Yit there's a luve that siccarlie growes caulder Gin it canna rax ayont its guairdit garth; We twa, we three, we cried ti be muckle mair. Anerlie throu oor daith, cuid we win throu? Oor faes wad thole nae consummation here: They kent that throu oor daith, they'd haud their pouer; We ken that throu oor daith, in time they'll loss it. Oor faes held ti the hunt, an they hae felled us, O Tristan, an nae mair sall we stravaig The pad that tweests alang the tap o the craig, Ti the tozie scent o the whin, Ti the blaebell's swey i the sooch, ti the delicat veins O the white sea-campion, ti the bluid an yowk O the three-foil lotus; nae mair sall we anter ower The follie waa that a laird biggit lang syne Ti baur oot tinks; or the pletforms an pillars o stane That never laird had biggit langer syne, That the fires thrist fae ablow ... Tristan, O Tristan, Wha wadna dee fir sic a laund as this? Wha wadna dee, an mair, ti save its fowk? An nou oor wark is dune, tho yit ti dae Bi aa that hear oor tale: Nae yuise remains fir Tristan an Isolde. Nou, my luve, The lappin swaw comes lythe ti us upby, As the nicht gangs doun ti hushie us fir aye. Anerlie throu this daith, is oor luve eternal, An fowk sall mynd o us; Anerlie throu this daith, are we reborn. This work is protected by copyright. All rights reserved. The SCOTS Project and the University of Glasgow do not necessarily endorse, support or recommend the views expressed in this document. Information about document and author: Text Text audience General public: Audience size: 21-100 Text details Method of composition: Handwritten Year of composition: 1987 Word count: 1149 General description: A narrative poem in blank and occasionally rhymed iambics, re-telling the Tristan and Isolde story in Scots. Text medium Book: Magazine (e-zine): Other: Broadsheet magazine; also musical performance Text performance/broadcast details Where performed/broadcast: Greyfriar's Kirk, Edinburgh When performed/broadcast: 2003-03-03 Performed/broadcast by: As set in Ronald Stevenson's "Tristan and Isolde Triptych" Text publication details Published: Publisher: Akros Publication year: 1998 Place of publication: Kirkcaldy ISBN/ISSN: 0 86142 095 0 Edition: 1st Part of larger text: Contained in: Isolde's Luve-Daith: Poems in English and Scots Editor: Author: Tom Hubbard Page numbers: 3-7 Text setting Leisure/entertainment: Text type Poem/song/ballad: Author Author details Author id: 232 Forenames: Tom Surname: Hubbard Gender: Male Decade of birth: 1950 Educational attainment: University Age left school: 18 Upbringing/religious beliefs: N/A Occupation: Academic, librarian and writer Place of birth: Kirkcaldy Region of birth: Fife Birthplace CSD dialect area: Fif Country of birth: Scotland Place of residence: Kirkcaldy Region of residence: Fife Residence CSD dialect area: Fif Country of residence: Scotland Father's occupation: Caterer Father's place of birth: Dysart Father's region of birth: Fife Father's birthplace CSD dialect area: Fif Father's country of birth: Scotland Mother's occupation: Caterer Mother's place of birth: Dysart Mother's region of birth: Fife Mother's birthplace CSD dialect area: Fif Mother's country of birth: Scotland Languages: Language: English Speak: Yes Read: Yes Write: Yes Understand: Yes Circumstances: Everyday Language: Italian Speak: Yes Read: Yes Write: Yes Understand: Yes Circumstances: Work, holiday, fluency fluctuating Language: Polish Speak: No Read: No Write: No Understand: No Circumstances: Smattering. Work, holiday Language: Scots Speak: Yes Read: Yes Write: Yes Understand: Yes Circumstances: Everyday. Scots spoken in relaxed circumstances