Wednesday, February 06, 2013

Rab Wilson - poet

Continuing our occasional working-class/socialist themed poetry posts


The bricht rays o the Winter Solstice daws,
Streakin oot owre the Mauchline Basin Plain,
Lichtin oan a slumberin colossus,
The lanely relic o a bygone age.
The horrals o the Barony proudly staun,
Implacable; a great, grey ghaist o steel.
The ‘A’ Frame, lik some occult wicker-man,
Grim emissary o some auncient god,
Wha, like a god, demandit sweit an tears,
An the bluid o thaim wha wir sacrificed
Oan the altar o Mammon an progress.
They're mindit oan a memorial stane,
The men wha dee'd here, an the men wha leeved.
Twa thoosan pair o eident carefu hauns,
The miners an jiners an engineers,
Wha nevvir aince thocht, as they lauched an joked,
That Fate micht hae a sense o humour tae.
The knowledge they hud sae painfully won,
Wid disappear in that terrible year,
Swept awa bi the haun o history.

Nou the bus drives by wi young Jim an Tam,
Past chain-link fences, roostit 'Keep-Oot' signs,
Oan their wey tae the Technical College.
They ken they're lucky tae hae goat a trade,
It sets thaim apairt frae the ither boys.
The mantle o the village artisan
Is still a badge fir thaim tae wear wi pride;
Council jiners, plumbers or bricklayers,
Electricians, painters an plaisterers.
Aneath thon giant bestridin the yird,
Aneath the lengthnin sheddas o the past,
They'll stoop an gaither up the worn-oot tools,
An forge thaim wi a newer, keener edge,
O Comradeship an Unity an Strength.

Rab Wilson

Yvonne Hodge.

Ah wis juist nine at the time o the Strike
Ah thocht it wis great cause we goat free meals
But money wis ticht, fowk suffert fir real
Ah wis juist a wean though, nevvir knew, like.
Ah couldnae unnerstaun, we'd nae new claes
When ither yins wir getting new trainers
Ah caa'd fowk "Scab", but ye ken whit weans are
Like, ah regret some things ah used tae say.
Ah mind ma dad in the kitchen greetin
Ah asked "Whit's wrang?", an he said they wir beat
Noo things are worse, an they nevvir wir great
It's aa chainged roond here since they goat beaten.
Ah'm nineteen noo wi a wean o ma ain
Ah've seen enough anger, seen enough pain.

Rab Wilson

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