WHIT happens whan ye owerset a sang, a tale or ony ither screid frae ae leid intil anither? Faur mair nor jist chyngin the words. Ye tak a blad frae the letter-huird o anither kintra an anither culture, an mak it your ain: in the ack o owersettin thare a gust o reivin. But for the reiverie thare an assythement: a skeilie owersettin is a tribute tae the screiver o the oreiginal bardrie, an gies a heisin tae his namelieheid forbye the owersetter’s ain.

Mairatowre, a skeilie owersettin can rax braider the merches o the owersetter’s leid. Tae expreme the thochts an imaginins o a maister screiver in a leid ither nor the ane he uisit, the new leid maun hae aa the fouth an soupleness o the auld: or gin it hesna, the owersetter’s darg is tae cantle it up.

An by halin intil the letter-huird o his ain kintra an outwale o gowdies frae ither leids an ither lanns, an owersetter can lat wit tae the warld at he bides in a cosmopolitan nation: at his fowk hes the mense an the ingyne tae lairn frae the fowk o fremmit airts, an tae gie thaim in return an inleitin tae the routh o his ain.

The truith o aa thae things hes kyth’t in the times whan the Scots leid an the dargs o its makars hes been at thair forciest an fouthiest. Aabody hes hard o Gavin Douglas, Bishop o Dunkeld in the time o James the Fowert, an hou his owersettin o Virgil’s Aeneid pit the seal tae the upgrowthe o the mither tung tae ane o the gret leids o Europe. But it’s aiblins no sae weel kent whit a bauld an furritsome ettle the guid Bishop’s ploy wes in its day. Ilka leid spoken in his time was hauden a “bad harsk speche and lewit barbour tung” by’s Laitin. Gin ye thocht he meint Scots by’s Sudron ye cuidna be mair wrang: he wad hae sayed the samen thing gin he hed been screivin in Sudron, or in French or Italian. Tae tak a Laitin poem, an the skyriest o aa Laitin bardries forbye, an mak it ower intae a fowk-speak o his ain time wes a venture mair heich-bendit nor onybody in Scotland hed thocht o afore.

Douglas gied tae the Scots tung the mense o a classical leid, an tae the Scots fowk an owersettin worthie o the oreiginal epic at thay cuid read for thairsels. He cuidna hae kent at in Ireland, nearhaun fower hunner year aforehins, the Aeneid hed been owerset intae Gaelic: no mony fowk kens o’t eenou. But the Irish owersettin wesna hard o outwi the Gaeltacht: Douglas’ Eneados wes read, as he foresaw, “throu Albion island braid”; an in England forbye Scotland it wes the waal-heid o a haill bourach o owersettins frae the moniments o Laitin an Greek letters: jist ane amang thaim wes North’s Plutarch, at Shakespeare rookit an rypit for his Roman plays.

An no muckle efterhins, the courtlie bards o James the Saxt, an the Keing his sel, upbiggit a haill cultuir o owersettin the sangs an sonnets o the French an Italian makars o thair ain time: James’ court wes the maik o ony in Europe for nifferin poetic ploys wi ither leids, an pittin thaim furth in the Scots tung: an whiles makin thaim Scots in ither gaits forbye, the Keing beginnin a sonnet wi “The Cheviot hills dois with my stait agre...”, tae owerset a French bard wha hedna the Cheviots in myn!

For Douglas an for the bards o James’ court Scots wes the leid o a heich-heidit independent kingrik. In the twintiet an twinty-first yearhunners it’s mair necessar nor in thon days tae haud in myn an kythe tae the warld at we still are a nation wi a cosmopolitan veision an a leid fouthie eneuch tae set it furth. Our modren makars hes made braw an skeilie uiss o owersettins tae rax the merches o our leid an lear; an the fremmit makars thay hae walit tae owerset whiles pits chuckies o new an unco colours tae the cairn o our letter-huird. Francois Villon, thon ying French rinagate makar o the fifteent yearhunner, hes aften been even’t wi Dunbar, for his gleg an snackie satireisin o the kirk an commontie o his day; sae whan Tom Scott gars him sing furth in Lallans or William Tait in Shetlandic it’s eith tae walcome him as a naituraleisit Scot. But Giacomo Leopardi, a bard o mangin, murnin an romantic angoscia, ye wadna hae thocht o as muckle in greement wi the Scottish pin: or no until ye tak tent o Alasdair Mackie’s hertgaun owersettins. We aa read The Rubaiyat o Omar Khayyam in our scuildays, but whitna ane gies ye the mair forcie jundie: Fitzgerald’s gracie Sudron, or Rab Wilson’s ramstam demotic: “Sae afore ye’re mugged bi auld Faither Time, mak shair ye get yer last cairry-oot!” For the weans an aa thare bricht an bonnie Scots owersettins o bairnies’ tales in ither leids: Iain Forde hes gien us Taid o That Ilk , we hae jist hard o Susan Rennie’s The Wee Prince, an did ye ken at thare nine – aye, NINE – owersettins o Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland intae different deialecs o Scots, forbye ane intae Gaelic? (Wad ye ever hae thocht o Carroll’s douce wee lassie sayin “Och, awa an raffle yer doughnut”? Tak a scance at Thomas Clark’s Glesca Alice!) An as a hinmaist thocht: the cleuch atweesh the Heilands an the Lawlands hes been ane o the dowiest facks o Scotland’s history. Douglas Young stertit the wordie ploy o biggin a brig ower the cleuch wi his Scots owersettins o Sorley Maclean an George Campbell Hay, an ithers hae gien a forderin tae his darg; an frae the ither side, a leirit minister frae Uist, Roddy MacDonald, hes pitten the haill bardrie o Rabbie Burns intae Gaelic.

Our Scots leid is the leid o a fowk at hes aye been a steirin an lifey pairt o the warld an its gallimaufry o leids an cultuirs. An gin the donnart gomerals o Westminster manages tae haik us out o Europe for a while, our leid an letters wull hain this place for us or we win back as an independent kintra.