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Poem: Old Tongue by Jackie Kay

Jackie Kay is a Scottish poet, playwright, and novelist, who in 2016 was made Scots Makar, or Scottish national poet. Many of Kay’s poems focus on identity and the struggle to establish who you are. In this poem, she looks at how important language can be for your feeling of belonging.

A butterfly with wings formed like the Scottish flag — Bilde: Shutterstock / Begrenset bruksrett

How does it feel to lose your language or your accent? Is language a part of your identity? In this poem, Jackie Kay considers the effect relocation has on language and accent. She also describes how she misses the evocative words and expressions of her youth.

The poem has a few Scottish words that are a bit difficult to understand. You will find a translation here:

Scottish words in "Old Tongue"

eedyit = idiot, naive or stupid person

dreich = miserable, dismal, cheerless

wabbit = exhausted, worn out

crabbit = grumpy, annoyed

stummer = stumble, stagger

teuchter = a Scottish Highlander

heidbanger = nutter, nutcase

shut yer geggie = shut your mouth

I’ll gie you the malkie! = I’ll give you a beating

pokey hats = ice cream cones

dour = someone who is relentlessly severe, stern, or gloomy in manner or appearance

soor = sour

to gie it laldie = to give it your best shot, to do something with lots of energy and vigour

To get the best understanding, go through the poem while listening to Jackie Kay reading "Old Tongue".
Link to Youtube Video of Jackie Kay reading "Old Tongue". The poem is from the collection: Darling: New & Selected Poems, from 2007.

Old Tongue

When I was eight, I was forced south.
Not long after, when I opened
my mouth, a strange thing happened.
I lost my Scottish accent.
Words fell off my tongue:
eedyit, dreich, wabbit, crabbit
stummer, teuchter, heidbanger,
so you are, so am ur, see you, see ma ma,
shut yer geggie or I’ll gie you the malkie!

My own vowels started to stretch like my bones
and I turned my back on Scotland.
Words disappeared in the dead of night,
new words marched in: ghastly, awful,
quite dreadful, scones said like stones.
Pokey hats into ice cream cones.
Oh where did all my words go –
my old words, my lost words?
Did you ever feel sad when you lost a word,
did you ever try and call it back
like calling in the sea?
If I could have found my words wandering,
I swear I would have taken them in,
swallowed them whole, knocked them back.

Out in the English soil, my old words
buried themselves. It made my mother’s blood boil.
I cried one day with the wrong sound in my mouth.
I wanted them back; I wanted my old accent back,
my old tongue. My dour soor Scottish tongue.
Sing-songy. I wanted to gie it laldie.

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