literature

285d

<p>At the Canongate Wall</p><p>“Stone suits the poetry. Or perhaps it’s the other way round. I think poetry suits stone, more than it suits paper, certainly more than it suits a screen. The poetry releases something latent in the stone.”</p><p>Kathleen Jamie visits the Canongate Wall in Edinburgh.</p><p><a href="https://www.lrb.co.uk/blog/2025/june/at-the-canongate-wall" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.lrb.co.uk/blog/2025/june/at-the-canongate-wall"><span class="invisible">https://</span><span class="ellipsis">www.lrb.co.uk/blog/2025/june/a</span><span class="invisible">t-the-canongate-wall</span></a></p><p><a href="/tags/scottish/" rel="tag">#Scottish</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/poem/" rel="tag">#poem</a> <a href="/tags/poetry/" rel="tag">#poetry</a> <a href="/tags/scottishparliament/" rel="tag">#scottishparliament</a> <a href="/tags/publicart/" rel="tag">#publicart</a></p>

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262d

<p>How Is Nature Portrayed in Shakespeare’s Macbeth?</p><p>In Shakespeare’s play Macbeth, we see the imagery of nature used both to set a tone and as symbols of its character’s struggles and dispositions.</p><p> by Ivy Bowler</p><p><a href="https://www.thecollector.com/how-is-nature-portrayed-in-shakespeare-macbeth/" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.thecollector.com/how-is-nature-portrayed-in-shakespeare-macbeth/"><span class="invisible">https://</span><span class="ellipsis">www.thecollector.com/how-is-na</span><span class="invisible">ture-portrayed-in-shakespeare-macbeth/</span></a></p><p>Macbeth at PG:<br><a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/subject/5016" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/subject/5016"><span class="invisible">https://</span><span class="ellipsis">www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/subje</span><span class="invisible">ct/5016</span></a></p><p><a href="/tags/books/" rel="tag">#Books</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#Literature</a> <a href="/tags/painting/" rel="tag">#Painting</a></p>

Macbeth and Banquo Meeting the Witches on the Heath by Théodore Chassériau.

By Théodore Chassériau. Musée D' Orsay

Set in a dark, windswept landscape, the composition is thick with supernatural tension. Macbeth and Banquo stand at the left, their postures alert and cautious. Banquo appears skeptical, while Macbeth is captivated—already seduced by the witches’ prophecy. The three witches emerge ghostlike from the misty heath, cloaked and enigmatic, evoking dread and mysticism.

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:MacbethAndBanquo-Witches.jpg

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262d

<p>“When the lights come out at sundown along the shores of Scotland, I am proud to think they burn more brightly for the genius of my father.”<br>—from MEMOIRS OF HIMSELF, Robert Louis Stevenson’s uncompleted (indeed, barely begun) autobiography</p><p>Thomas Stevenson (1818–1887), lighthouse engineer & father of Robert Louis Stevenson, was born <a href="/tags/otd/" rel="tag">#OTD</a>, 22 July </p><p>1/2</p><p><a href="/tags/scottish/" rel="tag">#Scottish</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/victorian/" rel="tag">#Victorian</a> <a href="/tags/19thcentury/" rel="tag">#19thcentury</a> <a href="/tags/lighthouse/" rel="tag">#lighthouse</a> <a href="/tags/engineer/" rel="tag">#engineer</a> <a href="/tags/engineering/" rel="tag">#engineering</a> <a href="/tags/robertlouisstevenson/" rel="tag">#RobertLouisStevenson</a></p>

Sepia photograph of Thomas Stevenson – a pensive-looking head-and-shoulders portrait of a Victorian gentleman, balding, clean-shaven with side-whiskers, his left hand raised to touch his face. A ring is visible on the pinkie of his left hand.

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285d

<p>This photo’s saying nothing, is black and white, opaque.<br>A frozen moment, not a memory.<br>The boyfriend with the Pentax took it for the sake<br>Of taking it…</p><p>—Liz Lochhead, “Photograph, Art Student, Female, Working Class, 1966”<br>published in FUGITIVE COLOURS (Birlinn, 2016)</p><p>29 June is <a href="/tags/nationalcameraday/" rel="tag">#NationalCameraDay</a> </p><p><a href="https://birlinn.co.uk/product/fugitive-colours/" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="birlinn.co.uk/product/fugitive-colours/"><span class="invisible">https://</span><span class="ellipsis">birlinn.co.uk/product/fugitive</span><span class="invisible">-colours/</span></a></p><p><a href="/tags/scottish/" rel="tag">#Scottish</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/poem/" rel="tag">#poem</a> <a href="/tags/poetry/" rel="tag">#poetry</a> <a href="/tags/1960s/" rel="tag">#1960s</a> <a href="/tags/photograph/" rel="tag">#photograph</a> <a href="/tags/photography/" rel="tag">#photography</a> <a href="/tags/womenwriters/" rel="tag">#womenwriters</a></p>

Photograph, Art Student, Female, Working Class
Liz Lochhead

Her hair is cut into that perfect slant –
An innovation circa ‘64 by Vidal Sassoon.
She’s wearing C&A’s best effort at Quant
Ending just below the knicker-line, daisy-strewn.
Keeping herself in tights could blow her grant
Entirely, so each precious pair is soon
Spattered with nail varnish dots that stop each run.
She’s a girl, eighteen – just wants to have fun.

She’s not ‘a chick’. Not yet. Besides, by then
She’ll find the term ‘offensive’. ‘Dollybird’ to quote
Her favourite mags, is what she aspires to when
Her head’s still full of Honey and Petticoat.
It’s almost the last year that, quite this blithely, men
Up ladders or on building sites wolf-whistle to note
The approval they’re sure she will appreciate.
Why not? She did it for their benefit, looks great.

Nor does she object. Wouldn’t think she has the right.
Though when that lech of a lecturer comments on her tits
To a male classmate, openly, she might
Feel – quick as a run in nylon – that it’s
Not what ought to happen, is not polite,
She’ll burn, but smile, have no word that fits
The insult, can’t subject it to language’s prism.
In sixty-six there’s plenty sex, but not ‘sexism’.

Soon: The Female Eunuch and enough
Will be enough. Thanks to newfound feminism and Greer,
Women’ll have the words for all this stuff,
What already rankles, but confuses her, will seem clear
And she’ll (consciously) be no one’s ‘bit of fluff’
Or ‘skirt’ or ‘crumpet’. She’ll know the rule is ‘gay’ not ‘queer’,
‘Ms’ not ‘Miss’ or ‘Mrs’ – she’ll happily obey it
And, sure as the Pill in her pocket, that’s how she’ll say it.

This photo’s saying nothing, is black and white, opaque.
A frozen moment, not a memory.
The boyfriend with the Pentax took it for the sake
Of taking it, a shot among many others, randomly,
To see how it would develop. Didn’t imagine it’d make
An image so typical it’d capture time so perfectly.
How does she feel? Hey, girl, did it feel strange
To be waiting for the a-changing times to change?

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252d

<p>It was upon a Lammas night,<br>When corn rigs are bonie,<br>Beneath the moon’s unclouded light,<br>I held awa to Annie…</p><p>—Robert Burns, “Corn Rigs”<br>pages from Robert Burns: Selected Poems & Songs (OUP, 2013)</p><p>Today, 1 August, is Lammas Day </p><p><a href="https://global.oup.com/academic/product/selected-poems-and-songs-9780199682324?cc=gb&lang=en&" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="global.oup.com/academic/product/selected-poems-and-songs-9780199682324?cc=gb&lang=en&"><span class="invisible">https://</span><span class="ellipsis">global.oup.com/academic/produc</span><span class="invisible">t/selected-poems-and-songs-9780199682324?cc=gb&lang=en&</span></a></p><p><a href="/tags/scottish/" rel="tag">#Scottish</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/poem/" rel="tag">#poem</a> <a href="/tags/poetry/" rel="tag">#poetry</a> <a href="/tags/song/" rel="tag">#song</a> <a href="/tags/18thcentury/" rel="tag">#18thcentury</a> <a href="/tags/folksong/" rel="tag">#folksong</a> <a href="/tags/robertburns/" rel="tag">#RobertBurns</a> <a href="/tags/lammas/" rel="tag">#Lammas</a> <a href="/tags/lammasday/" rel="tag">#LammasDay</a> <a href="/tags/romanticism/" rel="tag">#romanticism</a> <a href="/tags/scots/" rel="tag">#Scots</a> <a href="/tags/scotslanguage/" rel="tag">#Scotslanguage</a></p>

SONG
Tune-Corn Rigs are bonie

It was upon a Lammas night,
When corn rigs are bonie,
Beneath the moon's unclouded light,
I held awa to Annie:®
The time flew by, wi' tentless heed,
Till 'tween the late and early;
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed,
To see me thro' the barley.

The sky was blue, the wind was still,
The moon was shining clearly;
I set her down, wi' right good will,
Amang the rigs o' barley:
I ken't her heart was a' my ain;
I lov'd her most sincerely;
I kiss'd her ore and owre again,
Amang the rigs o' barley.

I lock'd her in my fond embrace;
Her heart was beating rarely:
My blessings on that happy place,
Amang the rigs o' barley!
But by the moon and stars so bright,
That shone that hour so clearly!
She ay shall bless that happy night,
Amang the rigs o' barley.

I hae been blythe wi' Comrades dear;
I hae been merry drinking;
I hae been joyfu gath'rin gear;
I hae been happy thinking:
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw,
Tho' three times doubl'd fairly,
That happy night was worth them a',
Amang the rigs o' barley.

CHORUS
Corn rigs, an' barley rigs,
An' corn rigs are bonie:
I'll ne'er forget that happy night,
Amang the rigs wi' Annie.

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252d

<p>WRITERS!</p><p>Submissions are invited to NEW WRITING SCOTLAND 44! We want poetry & prose in English, Gaelic, & Scots from writers who are Scottish by residence, birth, or inclination. All successful contributors are paid – deadline 31 Oct!</p><p>@writingcommunity </p><p>Submit free via Submittable 👇</p><p><a href="https://nws.submittable.com/submit" rel="nofollow"><span class="invisible">https://</span>nws.submittable.com/submit</a></p><p><a href="/tags/scottish/" rel="tag">#Scottish</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/writing/" rel="tag">#writing</a> <a href="/tags/writingcommunity/" rel="tag">#WritingCommunity</a> <a href="/tags/iamwriting/" rel="tag">#IAmWriting</a> <a href="/tags/poetry/" rel="tag">#poetry</a> <a href="/tags/shortfiction/" rel="tag">#shortfiction</a> <a href="/tags/shortstories/" rel="tag">#shortstories</a> <a href="/tags/scots/" rel="tag">#Scots</a> <a href="/tags/scotslanguage/" rel="tag">#Scotslanguage</a> <a href="/tags/gaelic/" rel="tag">#Gaelic</a> <a href="/tags/gaidhlig/" rel="tag">#Gaidhlig</a></p>

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50d

<p>A Celebration of Scottish Football, Scots Poetry & Heritage<br>5 March, Bridge of Allan Library. Free, booking essential.</p><p>With author & poet Hamish MacDonald, & Aoife McKenna, curator at The Smith Art Gallery & Museum</p><p><a href="https://www.stirling.gov.uk/community-life-and-leisure/libraries-and-archives/libraries/what-on-in-the-libraries/#a-celebration-of-scottish-football-scots-poet-2" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.stirling.gov.uk/community-life-and-leisure/libraries-and-archives/libraries/what-on-in-the-libraries/#a-celebration-of-scottish-football-scots-poet-2"><span class="invisible">https://</span><span class="ellipsis">www.stirling.gov.uk/community-</span><span class="invisible">life-and-leisure/libraries-and-archives/libraries/what-on-in-the-libraries/#a-celebration-of-scottish-football-scots-poet-2</span></a></p><p><a href="/tags/scottish/" rel="tag">#Scottish</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/history/" rel="tag">#history</a> <a href="/tags/poetry/" rel="tag">#poetry</a> <a href="/tags/scots/" rel="tag">#Scots</a> <a href="/tags/scotslanguage/" rel="tag">#Scotslanguage</a> <a href="/tags/football/" rel="tag">#football</a> <a href="/tags/scottishfootball/" rel="tag">#ScottishFootball</a> <a href="/tags/sportshistory/" rel="tag">#SportsHistory</a></p>

A Celebration of Scottish Football, Scots Poetry, and Heritage

An evening exploring the rich history of football in Scotland. With Scots author and poet Hamish MacDonald and The Smith Museum and Art Gallery curator Aoife McKenna

Images: Book cover, SQUARE BAW, by Hamish MacDonald
“Poignant, funny, on target and true, this is a cracking collection of poems” — James Robertson

An image of the world’s oldest surviving football – a leather ball from the 16th century, held in the Smith Museum and Art Gallery, Stirling.

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284d

<p>The Secret Commonwealth<br>30 June, online – ticketed</p><p>Dr Dòmhnall Uilleam Stiùbhart looks at The Secret Commonwealth of Elves, Fauns & Fairies, compiled in the 17th century by minister, Gaelic scholar & folklorist Robert Kirk (1644–1692 – unless he’s still alive…)</p><p><a href="https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/secret-commonwealth-of-elves-fairies-domhnall-stiubhart-zoom-tickets-694148796737" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/secret-commonwealth-of-elves-fairies-domhnall-stiubhart-zoom-tickets-694148796737"><span class="invisible">https://</span><span class="ellipsis">www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/secret-</span><span class="invisible">commonwealth-of-elves-fairies-domhnall-stiubhart-zoom-tickets-694148796737</span></a></p><p><a href="/tags/scottish/" rel="tag">#Scottish</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/folklore/" rel="tag">#folklore</a> <a href="/tags/gaelic/" rel="tag">#Gaelic</a> <a href="/tags/gaidhlig/" rel="tag">#Gaidhlig</a></p>

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284d

<p>so we’re doing the 1960s and leah who’s eleven<br>nearly twelve says what’s vietnam sir and scott<br>who has already turned twelve but looks about eight<br>says it’s in korea isn’t it sir…</p><p>—Mark Russell, “Drama”<br>published in With Their Best Clothes On: New Writing Scotland 36 (ASL, 2018)</p><p><a href="https://asls.org.uk/publications/books/newwriting/nws36/" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="asls.org.uk/publications/books/newwriting/nws36/"><span class="invisible">https://</span><span class="ellipsis">asls.org.uk/publications/books</span><span class="invisible">/newwriting/nws36/</span></a></p><p><a href="/tags/scottish/" rel="tag">#Scottish</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/poem/" rel="tag">#poem</a> <a href="/tags/poetry/" rel="tag">#poetry</a> <a href="/tags/drama/" rel="tag">#drama</a> <a href="/tags/teaching/" rel="tag">#teaching</a> <a href="/tags/teachers/" rel="tag">#teachers</a></p>

Mark Russell
Drama

so we’re doing the 1960s and leah who’s eleven
nearly twelve says what’s vietnam sir and scott
who has already turned twelve but looks about eight
says it’s in korea isn’t it sir and stephanie laughs
well sort of snorts and looks like she might pee herself
and i say no but it is in the far east like korea
and we look on the map i bought and tacked to the wall
and see why north vietnam was supported by china
but not quite why south vietnam was supported by the usa
and then rab whose name is robbie but he prefers rab
spots korea and says look there’s a north and a south
just like that vietnam hingy and thomas says
wasn’t there a war there too and aiden says shut up
twatface and I have to send him out to mrs lennon
and thomas says it again and we see that north korea
was supported by china and that the americans found
another way of fighting another war a long way from home
and then katie who is very quiet most of the time
says no that wasn’t in the past because it’s happening
today it’s happening now she saw it on her phone
and that we’re all going to die tomorrow or the day after
and both rebeccas stand up waving their hands shouting
we’re not are we sir we’re not are we we’re not going to die
tomorrow are we sir and I say no but what would we do if
we thought we were going to die tomorrow how would we feel
maybe we can make a play about it let’s get into groups

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261d

<p>Escape from the Land of the Dead: On Leonora Carrington’s The Stone Door</p><p>"Magic and ideology are both practices of belief."</p><p>By Celia Bell</p><p><a href="https://lithub.com/escape-from-the-land-of-the-dead-on-leonora-carringtons-the-stone-door/" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="lithub.com/escape-from-the-land-of-the-dead-on-leonora-carringtons-the-stone-door/"><span class="invisible">https://</span><span class="ellipsis">lithub.com/escape-from-the-lan</span><span class="invisible">d-of-the-dead-on-leonora-carringtons-the-stone-door/</span></a></p><p><a href="/tags/books/" rel="tag">#Books</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#Literature</a> <a href="/tags/literarycriticism/" rel="tag">#literarycriticism</a> <a href="/tags/womeninart/" rel="tag">#WomeninArt</a></p>

Leonora Carrington

This evocative photograph captures Leonora Carrington, the British-born Surrealist artist and writer. Carrington appears poised and enigmatic, her expression calm but intense, often with piercing eyes that suggest her deep inner world.

She has semi-long curly hair and wears a lacy midi-length blouse with a skirt (or black pants), her arms wrapped around one of her knees.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leonora_Carrington#/media/File:Leonora_Carrington.jpg

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261d

<p>How Gustave Moreau’s Mystical Paintings Defined the Symbolist Movement</p><p>Gustave Moreau was the defiant visionary whose mystical paintings shaped a groundbreaking new movement in France and beyond.</p><p> by Kelsey Spicuzza</p><p><a href="https://www.thecollector.com/gustave-moreau-symbolist-movement/" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.thecollector.com/gustave-moreau-symbolist-movement/"><span class="invisible">https://</span><span class="ellipsis">www.thecollector.com/gustave-m</span><span class="invisible">oreau-symbolist-movement/</span></a></p><p>Symbolism in literature at PG:<br><a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/subject/7864" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/subject/7864"><span class="invisible">https://</span><span class="ellipsis">www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/subje</span><span class="invisible">ct/7864</span></a></p><p><a href="/tags/books/" rel="tag">#Books</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#Literature</a> <a href="/tags/symbolism/" rel="tag">#Symbolism</a> <a href="/tags/art_criticism/" rel="tag">#Art_criticism</a></p>

L'Apparition (1876), watercolor, 105 x 72 cm., Musée d'Orsay

by Gustave Moreau

Gustave Moreau’s L'Apparition is a haunting and richly symbolic watercolor painting that vividly captures a moment from the biblical story of Salome. In this striking scene, Salome stands transfixed before the vision of the severed head of John the Baptist, which hovers, radiant and bleeding, in the air before her.

Salome is adorned in elaborate, orientalized robes and jewelry that shimmer with color, light, and texture—an opulent reflection of her allure and the decadent atmosphere of Herod’s court. Her expression is one of awe and dread as she gazes upon the miraculous apparition.

The head of John the Baptist floats above a luminous nimbus, glowing with supernatural intensity, contrasting with the dark, richly patterned architectural setting behind.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gustave_Moreau#/media/File:The_Apparition,_Gustave_Moreau_1876.jpg

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261d

<p>Afro-Scottish Poetry Event 2025<br>25 July, Glasgow. Tickets £0–£10</p><p>A multicultural evening of poetry, music, & storytelling that celebrates African & Scottish identities through powerful performances. Created & curated by Chisom Okoronkwo with U Belong Glasgow</p><p><a href="https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/afro-scottish-poetry-event-2025-tickets-1396145632169" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/afro-scottish-poetry-event-2025-tickets-1396145632169"><span class="invisible">https://</span><span class="ellipsis">www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/afro-sc</span><span class="invisible">ottish-poetry-event-2025-tickets-1396145632169</span></a></p><p><a href="/tags/scottish/" rel="tag">#Scottish</a> <a href="/tags/african/" rel="tag">#African</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/poetry/" rel="tag">#poetry</a> <a href="/tags/storytelling/" rel="tag">#storytelling</a> <a href="/tags/performance/" rel="tag">#performance</a> <a href="/tags/identity/" rel="tag">#identity</a> <a href="/tags/glasgow/" rel="tag">#Glasgow</a> <a href="/tags/afroscottish/" rel="tag">#AfroScottish</a></p>

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50d

<p>Every mid-February<br>those first days arrive<br>when the sun rises<br>higher than the Black<br>Hill at last…</p><p>—Kathleen Jamie, “The Dash”<br>published in THE OVERHAUL (Picador, 2012)</p><p><a href="https://www.panmacmillan.com/authors/kathleen-jamie/the-overhaul/9781447202042" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.panmacmillan.com/authors/kathleen-jamie/the-overhaul/9781447202042"><span class="invisible">https://</span><span class="ellipsis">www.panmacmillan.com/authors/k</span><span class="invisible">athleen-jamie/the-overhaul/9781447202042</span></a></p><p><a href="/tags/scottish/" rel="tag">#Scottish</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/poem/" rel="tag">#poem</a> <a href="/tags/poetry/" rel="tag">#poetry</a> <a href="/tags/february/" rel="tag">#February</a></p>

The Dash
Kathleen Jamie

Every mid-February
those first days arrive
when the sun rises
higher than the Black
Hill at last. Brightness
and a crazy breeze
course from the same airt –
turned clods gleam, the trees’
topmost branches bend
shivering downwind.
They chase, this lithe pair
out of the far south
west, and though scalding
to our wintered eyes
look, we cry, it’s here

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283d

<p>From the lone shieling of the misty island<br>Mountains divide us, and the waste of seas—<br>Yet still the blood is strong, the heart is Highland,<br>And we in dreams behold the Hebrides…</p><p>—“Canadian Boat-Song” (Anon.)<br>published in the Noctes Ambrosianæ, Blackwood’s Magazine Sept 1829</p><p>1/7</p><p><a href="/tags/scottish/" rel="tag">#Scottish</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/19thcentury/" rel="tag">#19thcentury</a> <a href="/tags/canadaday/" rel="tag">#CanadaDay</a> 🇨🇦🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿</p>

Canadian Boat-Song (from the Gaelic)

Listen to me, as when ye heard our father
Sing long ago, the song of other shores—
Listen to me, and then in chorus gather
All your deep voices, as ye pull your oars:
Fair these broad meads—these hoary woods are grand;
But we are exiles from our fathers’ land.

From the lone shieling of the misty island
Mountains divide us, and the waste of seas—
Yet still the blood is strong, the heart is Highland,
And we in dreams behold the Hebrides:
Fair these broad meads—these hoary woods are grand;
But we are exiles from our fathers’ land.

We ne’er shall tread the fancy-haunted valley,
Where ’tween the dark hills creeps the small clear stream,
In arms around the patriarch banner rally,
Nor see the moon on royal tombstones gleam:
Fair these broad meads—these hoary woods are grand;
But we are exiles from our fathers’ land.

When the bold kindred, in the time long-vanish’d,
Conquer’d the soil and fortified the keep—
No seer foretold the children would be banish’d,
That a degenerate Lord might boast his sheep:
Fair these broad meads—these hoary woods are grand;
But we are exiles from our fathers’ land.

Come foreign rage—let Discord burst in slaughter!
O then for clansman true, and stern claymore—
The hearts that would have given their blood like water,
Beat heavily beyond the Atlantic roar:
Fair these broad meads—these hoary woods are grand;
But we are exiles from our fathers’ land.

Edited 283d ago

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50d

<p>“Let us try then to recapture some actual experience, which seems to have a connection with the experience of reading these old books; to spring from poetry; to be interfused with the same emotion...” </p><p>Reading at Random with Virginia Woolf</p><p>By Frances Lindemann</p><p><a href="https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2026/02/18/reading-at-random-with-virginia-woolf/" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.theparisreview.org/blog/2026/02/18/reading-at-random-with-virginia-woolf/"><span class="invisible">https://</span><span class="ellipsis">www.theparisreview.org/blog/20</span><span class="invisible">26/02/18/reading-at-random-with-virginia-woolf/</span></a></p><p>Virginia Woolf at PG:<br><a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/89" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/89"><span class="invisible">https://</span><span class="ellipsis">www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/autho</span><span class="invisible">r/89</span></a></p><p><a href="/tags/books/" rel="tag">#books</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/literarycriticism/" rel="tag">#literarycriticism</a></p>

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283d

<p>Summer 1945, just after VE Day: a group of young women brace for the future as the shattered world is put back into place. Neither they, nor Britain, will ever be the same again.</p><p>—currently on BBC Sounds: a new dramatisation of Muriel Spark’s THE GIRLS OF SLENDER MEANS</p><p><a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/m002f6p6" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/m002f6p6"><span class="invisible">https://</span><span class="ellipsis">www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/m002f</span><span class="invisible">6p6</span></a></p><p><a href="/tags/scottish/" rel="tag">#Scottish</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/murielspark/" rel="tag">#MurielSpark</a> <a href="/tags/drama/" rel="tag">#drama</a> <a href="/tags/radiodrama/" rel="tag">#radiodrama</a> <a href="/tags/audiodrama/" rel="tag">#audiodrama</a></p>

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261d

<p>“To anyone reading this who is just starting out or feeling unsure, I want to say: keep going. Poetry needs your voice”</p><p>Nazaret Ranea on her journey from being one of the Scottish Poetry Library’s Young Makars to publishing her first poetry collection with Drunk Muse Press</p><p><a href="https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/2025/07/my-journey-from-scotlands-next-generation-young-makar-to-published-poet/" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/2025/07/my-journey-from-scotlands-next-generation-young-makar-to-published-poet/"><span class="invisible">https://</span><span class="ellipsis">www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.</span><span class="invisible">uk/2025/07/my-journey-from-scotlands-next-generation-young-makar-to-published-poet/</span></a></p><p><a href="/tags/scottish/" rel="tag">#Scottish</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/poetry/" rel="tag">#poetry</a> <a href="/tags/writingcommunity/" rel="tag">#writingcommunity</a></p>

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261d

<p>John Buchan: the master storyteller<br>4 Sept, National Library of Scotland, Edinburgh – free</p><p>2025 marks the 150th anniversary of the birth of John Buchan. Ursula Buchan, John Buchan’s granddaughter & biographer, will talk about the range of his fiction & its subject matter</p><p><a href="https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/john-buchan-the-master-storyteller-tickets-1480628713339" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/john-buchan-the-master-storyteller-tickets-1480628713339"><span class="invisible">https://</span><span class="ellipsis">www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/john-bu</span><span class="invisible">chan-the-master-storyteller-tickets-1480628713339</span></a></p><p><a href="/tags/scottish/" rel="tag">#Scottish</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/20thcentury/" rel="tag">#20thcentury</a> <a href="/tags/johnbuchan/" rel="tag">#JohnBuchan</a></p>

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283d

<p>The First Battle of the Somme began <a href="/tags/otd/" rel="tag">#OTD</a>, 1 July, 1916. Violet Jacob’s only child, Harry, was killed in action in the battle. Jacob’s war poems are some of the most poignant & affecting works from the Home Front.</p><p>“To A.H.J.”, from MORE SONGS OF ANGUS & OTHERS (1918)</p><p><a href="/tags/scottish/" rel="tag">#Scottish</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/poem/" rel="tag">#poem</a> <a href="/tags/poetry/" rel="tag">#poetry</a> <a href="/tags/warpoem/" rel="tag">#warpoem</a> <a href="/tags/warpoetry/" rel="tag">#warpoetry</a> <a href="/tags/somme/" rel="tag">#Somme</a> <a href="/tags/ww1/" rel="tag">#WW1</a> <a href="/tags/firstworldwar/" rel="tag">#FirstWorldwar</a></p>

Violet Jacob
“To A.H.J.”

Past life, past tears, far past the grave,‍‍
‍‍‍‍The tryst is set for me,
Since, for our all, your all you gave‍‍
‍‍‍‍On the slopes of Picardy.

On Angus, in the autumn nights,‍‍
‍‍‍‍The ice-green light shall lie.
Beyond the trees the Northern Lights‍‍
‍‍‍‍Slant on the belts of sky.

But miles on miles from Scottish soil‍‍
‍‍‍‍You sleep, past war and scaith,
Your country’s freedman, loosed from toil.‍‍
‍‍‍‍In honour and in faith.

For Angus held you in her spell,
‍‍‍‍Her Grampians, faint and blue,
Her ways, the speech you knew so well,
‍‍‍‍Were half the world to you.

Yet rest, my son; our souls are those‍‍
‍‍‍‍Nor time nor death can part,
And lie you proudly, folded close‍‍
‍‍‍‍To France’s deathless heart.

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260d

<p>Terrifying vistas of reality</p><p>H P Lovecraft, the master of cosmic horror stories, was a philosopher who believed in the total insignificance of humanity</p><p>BY Sam Woodward</p><p><a href="https://aeon.co/essays/the-terror-of-reality-was-the-true-horror-for-h-p-lovecraft?utm_source=Aeon+Newsletter&utm_campaign=d2e8825be8-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2025_07_23&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_-4ef8a26106-72664972" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="aeon.co/essays/the-terror-of-reality-was-the-true-horror-for-h-p-lovecraft?utm_source=Aeon+Newsletter&utm_campaign=d2e8825be8-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2025_07_23&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_-4ef8a26106-72664972"><span class="invisible">https://</span><span class="ellipsis">aeon.co/essays/the-terror-of-r</span><span class="invisible">eality-was-the-true-horror-for-h-p-lovecraft?utm_source=Aeon+Newsletter&utm_campaign=d2e8825be8-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2025_07_23&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_-4ef8a26106-72664972</span></a></p><p>H.P. Lovecraft at PG:<br><a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/34724" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/34724"><span class="invisible">https://</span><span class="ellipsis">www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/autho</span><span class="invisible">r/34724</span></a></p><p><a href="/tags/books/" rel="tag">#Books</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a></p>

This is a photograph of Lovecraft that was taken in 1915.

Lovecraft is dressed in a dark suit and tie, with a high starched collar. His hair is neatly combed back, and his expression is serious, reflective, and perhaps a touch distant.

Unknown author - https://www.hplovecraft.com/life/gallery.aspx?PhotoID=7

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258d

<p>Agatha Christie’s Mysterious Disappearance</p><p>In December 1926, Christie went missing for more than a week. Where did she go, and what was she up to?</p><p>By: Emily Zarevich </p><p><a href="https://daily.jstor.org/agatha-christies-mysterious-disappearance/" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="daily.jstor.org/agatha-christies-mysterious-disappearance/"><span class="invisible">https://</span><span class="ellipsis">daily.jstor.org/agatha-christi</span><span class="invisible">es-mysterious-disappearance/</span></a></p><p>Agatha Christie at PG:<br><a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/451" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/451"><span class="invisible">https://</span><span class="ellipsis">www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/autho</span><span class="invisible">r/451</span></a></p><p><a href="/tags/books/" rel="tag">#Books</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#Literature</a></p>

Daily Herald, 15 December 1926, announcing that Christie had been found. Missing for 11 days, she was found at the Swan Hydropathic Hotel in Harrogate, Yorkshire.

Unknown author - Daily Herald (London) 15 December 1926, p. 1.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Agatha_Christie#/media/File:Christie_at_Hydro.jpgg

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282d

<p>A Blether and a Bevvy – Denise Mina<br>29 July, Aberdour. Tickets £8.83.</p><p>Aberdour Festival will feature Denise Mina in the week her latest novel THE GOOD LIAR is published. Mina will give a sneak preview of her new book, share where she finds her inspiration for her best-selling crime novels, & reveal how her Glasgow University Law degree helps with fiendishly complex plot lines.</p><p><a href="https://www.eventbrite.com/e/a-blether-and-a-bevvy-denise-mina-tickets-1390633495219" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.eventbrite.com/e/a-blether-and-a-bevvy-denise-mina-tickets-1390633495219"><span class="invisible">https://</span><span class="ellipsis">www.eventbrite.com/e/a-blether</span><span class="invisible">-and-a-bevvy-denise-mina-tickets-1390633495219</span></a></p><p><a href="/tags/scottish/" rel="tag">#Scottish</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/crimefiction/" rel="tag">#crimefiction</a></p>

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260d

<p>The Battle of Harlaw was fought <a href="/tags/otd/" rel="tag">#OTD</a>, 24 July, 1411. Before the battle the Clan Donald bard Lachlann Mòr MacMhuirich composed this brosnachadh or incitement to battle. Each line contains 2 describing words, & each successive pair of lines all begin with the same letter while retaining the 7-syllable format of each line. The poet works through the entire Gaelic alphabet in sequence.</p><p>1/2</p><p><a href="https://www.undiscoveredscotland.co.uk/inverurie/battleofharlaw/index.html" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.undiscoveredscotland.co.uk/inverurie/battleofharlaw/index.html"><span class="invisible">https://</span><span class="ellipsis">www.undiscoveredscotland.co.uk</span><span class="invisible">/inverurie/battleofharlaw/index.html</span></a></p><p><a href="/tags/scottish/" rel="tag">#Scottish</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/poetry/" rel="tag">#poetry</a> <a href="/tags/gaelic/" rel="tag">#Gaelic</a> <a href="/tags/gaidhlig/" rel="tag">#Gaidhlig</a> <a href="/tags/medieval/" rel="tag">#medieval</a> <a href="/tags/history/" rel="tag">#history</a> <a href="/tags/battle/" rel="tag">#battle</a></p>

Brostughadh-catha Chlann-Domhnaill, Là Chatha Gharbhaich
Lachlann Mòr MacMhuirich

A Chlanna Cuinn, cuimhnichibh
Cruas an am na h-iorghaile:
Gu h-àirneach, gu h-arranta,
Gu h-athlamh, gu h-allanta,
Gu beòdha, gu barramhail,
Gu brìoghmhor, gu buan-fheargach,
Gu calma, gu curanta,
Gu cròdha, gu cath-bhuadhach,
Gu dùr is gu dàsannach,
Gu dian is gu deagh-fhulang,
Gu h-èasgaidh, gu h-eaghnamhach,
Gu h-éidith’, gu h-eireachdail,
Gu fortail, gu furachail,
Gu frithir, gu forniata,
Gu gruamach, gu gràineamhail,
Gu gleusta, gu gaisgeamhail,
Gu h-ullamh, gu h-iorghaileach,
Gu h-olla-bhorb, gu h-àibheiseach,
Gu h-innill, gu h-inntinneach,
Gu h-iomdha, gu h-iomghonach,
Gu laomsgar, gu làn-athlamh,
Gu làidir, gu luath-bhuilleach,
Gu mearghanta, gu mór-chneadhach,
Gu meanmnach, gu mìleanta,
Gu neimhneach, gu naimhdeamhail,
Gu niatach, gu neimh-eaglach,
Gu h-obann, gu h-olla-ghnìomhach,
Gu h-oirdheirc, gu h-oirbheartach,
Gu prap is gu prìomh-ullamh,
Gu prosta, gu prionnsamhail,
Gu ruaimneach, gu ro-dhàna,

Gu ro-bhorb, gu rìoghamhail,
Gu sanntach, gu sèanamhail,
Gun socair, gu sàr-bhuailteach,
Gu teannta, gu togarrach,
Gu talcmhor, gu traigh-èasgaidh,
Gu h-urlamh, gu h-ùr-mhaiseach,
Do chosnadh na cath-làthrach
Re bronnaibh bhar biodhbhadha.
A Chlanna Cuinn Cèad-chathaich
A nois uair bhar n-aitheanta,
A chuileanan confadhach,
A leómhannan làn-ghasta,
A onchonaibh iorghaileach,
Chaoiribh chròdha, churanta
De Chlanna Cuinn Cèad-chathaich –
A Chlanna Cuinn, cuimhnichibh
Cruas an am na h-iorghaile.

The Harlaw Brosnachadh
Lachlann Mòr MacMhuirich
Translated by Meg Bateman

Children of Conn, recall now
courage in time of combat:
be attentive, audacious,
agile, ambitious,
be bold, beautiful,
brawny, belligerent,
contumacious, courageous,
clever, combative,
deliberate, destructive,
deadly, enduring,
be eager, expert,
well-equipped, elegant,
be forceful, fitful,
fervent, feisty,
be grim, gruesome,
gymnastic, glorious,
alert, awesome,
intractable, impetuous,
well-accoutred, ardent,
innumerable, incisive,
be lethal, lusty,
swiftly lopping, giving it laldy,
mirthful, mortally-wounding,
mettlesome, military,
be noxious, nasty,
never-daunted, never-fearing,
overwhelming, omnipotent,
outshining, outreaching,
precipitate, prepared,
powerful, princely,
be robust, reckless,
ruinous, regal,

be sharp, sainèd,
steady, sure-hitting,
tight, triumphant,
tenacious, tripping,
youthful and yearning
to beat in battle
the foe's forces.

O Children of Conn of a hundred conflicts,
now is the hour for honour,
O warring whelps,
O bulky bears,
O leading lions,
O obstinate otters,
live, courageous coals
of the Children of Conn of a hundred conflicts –
O Children of Conn, recall now
courage in time of combat.

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258d

<p>Let us now give thanks<br>for these salt-blown</p><p>wind-burned pastures<br>where oatgrass and timothy<br>shrink from the harrow of the sea…</p><p>—John Glenday, “A Westray Prayer”<br>in SELECTED POEMS (Picador 2020)</p><p>John Glenday reads this poem on the Poetry Archive:<br> <br><a href="https://poetryarchive.org/poem/westray-prayer/" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="poetryarchive.org/poem/westray-prayer/"><span class="invisible">https://</span><span class="ellipsis">poetryarchive.org/poem/westray</span><span class="invisible">-prayer/</span></a></p><p><a href="/tags/scottish/" rel="tag">#Scottish</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/poem/" rel="tag">#poem</a> <a href="/tags/poetry/" rel="tag">#poetry</a></p>

John Glenday
A Westray Prayer

in memoriam Mike and Barbara Heasman

Let us now give thanks
for these salt-blown

wind-burned pastures
where oatgrass and timothy
shrink from the harrow of the sea

where Scotland at long last
wearies of muttering its own name
where we may begin

to believe we have always known
what someone in his wisdom
must have meant

when he gave us everything
and told us nothing.

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282d

<p>It clamps itself to a rock, like a limpet,<br>And creeps up and down in a tide of people,<br>Hardly ever stranded in a tideless sabbath:<br>A pilgrimage place where all hymns are jubilant…</p><p>—Norman MacCaig, “A.K.’s Summer Hut”<br>published in THE POEMS OF NORMAN MACCAIG (Birlinn, 2009)</p><p><a href="https://birlinn.co.uk/product/the-poems-of-norman-maccaig/" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="birlinn.co.uk/product/the-poems-of-norman-maccaig/"><span class="invisible">https://</span><span class="ellipsis">birlinn.co.uk/product/the-poem</span><span class="invisible">s-of-norman-maccaig/</span></a></p><p><a href="/tags/scottish/" rel="tag">#Scottish</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/poem/" rel="tag">#poem</a> <a href="/tags/poetry/" rel="tag">#poetry</a> <a href="/tags/normanmaccaig/" rel="tag">#NormanMacCaig</a></p>

A.K.’s summer hut
Norman MacCaig

It clamps itself to a rock, like a limpet,
And creeps up and down in a tide of people,
Hardly ever stranded in a tideless sabbath:
A pilgrimage place where all hymns are jubilant.

The starry revolutions around it,
The deer circling in new foundations
Of old worlds, the immortal noise
Of the river ghosted with salmon - these

Are a bloodstream it’s a blood-drop in.
Such sharing. Such giving. See, at the window,
That silly chaffinch, practically talking Gaelic,
And the eiders domestic as farmyard ducks

And the lady gull yacking for her breakfast.
If I were a bethlehemish star I’d stand fixed
Over that roof, knowing there’d be born there
No wars, no tortures, no savage crucifixions.

But a rare, an extraordinary thing –
An exhilaration of peace, a sounding
Grace with trinities galore – if only
Those three collared doves in the rowan tree.

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