The Photo: A Poem by James Barron

The man who stans wae spade in han hez hanaled it afore,
An ither shafts an rines for tasks an toils that are no more;
He’s at the pad between the floowers, kept tidy ower the year,
His likeness daesnae gie a hint o skills that wud appear.

He worked at fermin from a youth until his time was due,
And tried as weel as able this vocation tae pursue,
He had pulled lint an ploughed yin time,
He’d brearded, wired, scaled dung, spread lime,
He always carried binder twine and braced aul yows at spring tim.

He’d calved and lambed an sut wae soos,
Wore welton boots instead o shoes,
Dungarees wae shirt an tie aye ready for tae work, an try
Tae cope wae things as they’d arise; chappin kennelin, keppin kai,
Han shearin sheep tae get the fleece an rowlin them for sellin.

He’d dipped and nipped and cut wee pigs, he had put pritas in tae rigs,
Salted pork to keep all fed, alang wae turnips he would sned tae kep the house in meat;
Cud put-n-edge, on reaper blade or scythe
Wae sherpenen stane fur tae deprive
The fiels an back o ***** alike, alive wae ony weeds.

He managed all this through his life tae run alang wae wanes an wife,
Calt multi taskin noo-a-days, but survivin then. an rugh in ways.
Before his yins could learn and sort
All that he had an could report
Yin May morning death it came and took the knowledge wae it.

The image of the man wae spade in photograph or memory made
Reminds me of his life, that laid, a path that I could follow.
For in my blood and genes A see a pert that langs and tends tae be
Close to the grun and those that thrive amang it.

For as his only son A can remember some of what is gone;
So grasp the moment while it’s there, tae listen learn and then tae share
The stories o your kith an kin, tae carry on tradition.