Eggplant.place

138d

#OTD in 1667, John Milton sells the copyright to Paradise Lost for only 10 pounds.

https://lithub.com/lit-hub-daily-april-27-2026/

Works of John Milton at PG:

https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/17

#books #literature #poetry

"Hall portrait" of John Milton. The work is attributed to either Mary Beale or Peter Lely. He wearing a dark doublet with a prominent white lace collar. His hair is long and wavy.

ALT

1 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

160d

Done is a battell on the dragon blak,
Our campioun Chryst confoundit hes his force;
The ȝettis of hell ar brokin with a crak,
The signe triumphall rasit is of the croce…

—William Dunbar, c.1460–1520. The poem was most likely written when Dunbar was at James IV’s court

1/2

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #medieval #medievalliterature #Easter #Scots #Scotslanguage

Done is a battell on the dragon blak
William Dunbar (c. 1460–1520)

Done is a battell on the dragon blak,
Our campioun Chryst confoundit hes his force;
The ȝettis of hell ar brokin with a crak,
The signe triumphall rasit is of the croce;
The diuillis trymmillis with hiddous voce,
The saulis ar borrowit and to the blis can go,
Chryst with his blud our ransonis dois indoce:
Surrexit dominus de sepulchro.

Dungin is the deidly dragon Lucifer,
The crewall serpent with the mortall stang;
The auld kene tegir, with his teith on char
Quhilk in a wait hes lyne for us so lang,
Thinking to grip us in his clowis strang;
The mercifull lord wald nocht that it wer so.
He maid him for to felȝe of that fang:
Surrexit dominus de sepulchro.

He for our saik that sufferit to be slane
And lyk a lamb in sacrifice wes dicht,
Is lyk a lyone rissin vp agane
And as a gyane raxit him on hicht;
Sprungin is Aurora radius and bricht,
On loft is gone the glorius Appollo,
The blisfull day departit fro the nycht:
Surrexit dominus de sepulchro.

ALT

The grit victour agane is rissin on hicht,
That for our querrell to the deth wes woundit:
The sone that wox all paill now schynis bricht,
And, dirknes clerit, our fayth is now refoundit;
The knell of mercy fra the hevin is soundit,
The Cristin ar deliverit of thair wo,
The Iowis and thair errour ar confoundit:
Surrexit dominus de sepulchro.

The fo is chasit, the battell is done ceis,
The presone brokin, the jevellouris fleit and flemit;
The weir is gon, confermit is the peis,
The fetteris lowsit and the dungeoun temit;
The ransoun maid, the presoneris redemit,
The feild is win, ourcumin is the fo,
Dispulit of the tresur that he ȝemit:
Surrexit dominus de sepulchro.

ALT

1 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

160d

“This poem was written when my father was very ill, dying of cancer, & I was coming home from the hospital. Suddenly this line ‘I am the resurrection & the life’ came into my head & then the poem began to emerge from the line.”

—Edwin Morgan on “Message Clear”

1/3

#Scottish #literature #Easter #poem #poetry #concretepoetry

“Message Clear”, by Edwin Morgan. A concrete poem where the lines are created by taking the phrase “i am the resurrection and the life” and, by selectively deleting letters from each line, building up the following text:

am i
if
i am he
hero
hurt
there and
here and
here and
there
i am rife
in sion and
i die
a mere sect
a mere section
of
the life
of
men
sure
the die
is set and
i am the surd
at rest
o life
i am here
i act
i run
i meet
i tie
i stand
i am thoth
i am ra
i am the sun
i am the son
i am the erect one if
i am rent
i am safe
i am sent
i heed
i test
i read
a thread
a stone
a tread
a throne
i resurrect
a life
i am in life
i am resurrection
i am the resurrection and
i am
i am the resurrection and the life

ALT

2 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

137d

“A rat race is for rats. We’re not rats. We’re human beings.”

Shipyard union leader James Reid was elected Rector of the University of Glasgow in 1971. He gave his rectorial address #OTD, 28 April, 1972. The New York Times reprinted it, & called it the greatest political speech since the Gettysburg Address. Read it online at

https://www.gla.ac.uk/media/Media_167194_smxx.pdf

#Scottish #literature #politics #alienation #politicalspeech #Glasgow #GlasgowUniversity #TradesUnions #workingclass #WorkingClassHistory

The cover of ALIENATION, James Reid's Rectorial Address at the University of Glasgow in 1972. The cover shows two black-and-white photos quartered together by a saltire cross. The left and right sections show a view of a quadrangle at the University; the top and bottom quadrants show a view of cranes and a line of shipyard workers respectively.

ALT

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

160d

There’s a boulder by the forest path,
left by the ice ten thousand years ago,
it waits, patterned with lichen…

—Antonia Kearton, “A Benediction”
published in Break in Case of Silence: New Writing Scotland 39 (ASL, 2021)

https://asls.org.uk/publications/books/newwriting/nws39/

#Scottish #literature #Easter #poem #poetry

Antonia Kearton
A Benediction

There’s a boulder by the forest path,
left by the ice ten thousand years ago,
it waits, patterned with lichen

the quietest blue, yellow soft as cream,
knee-high, flat-topped, so wide
I cannot wrap my arms around it –

small hands of moss patter up its side.
It’s nothing like my grandmother’s table
at Easter, but that’s what comes to mind,

dark brown and shining under the white cloth,
bearing the feast, eggs dyed with onion skins
and at the centre, sweet pashka

a resurrection of butter, eggs, and cream,
radiant with bright sugared fruits –
moss green, rowan red, the sun’s strong yellow.

ALT

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

136d

Here in Condorrat the nursery is shut
so adults with rosettes pinned to their hearts
can persuade us where to pin our hopes…

—Ross Wilson, “The Cost of Living”
published in VITAL SIGNS (Red Squirrel Press, 2023)

https://www.redsquirrelpress.com/product-page/vital-signs-ross-wilson

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #politics #elections

Ross Wilson
THE COST OF LIVING

Here in Condorrat the nursery is shut
so adults with rosettes pinned to their hearts
can persuade us where to pin our hopes.

How to explain voting to you, aged four?
‘What party would you vote for?’
‘A birthday party; with balloons.’
‘I think the balloon already has a party.’

Still, it’s our duty to vote. I spell
D.U.T.Y and she becomes a character
in a story we take turns to tell.

Later, you yell FASTER on a swing
as ‘Heat or eat’ headlines bemoan
the cost of living on a mobile phone
I bury in a pocket so I can push you on.

ALT

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

138d

I am waiting
for the foot to slide,
for the heart to seize,
for the leaping sinews to go slack,
for the fight to the death to be fought to the death…

—Edwin Morgan, “Hyena”
published in CENTENARY SELECTED POEMS (Carcanet, 2020)

As well as being Edwin Morgan’s birthday, today is also Hyena Day. Happy International Hyena Day to those who celebrate

1/4

https://www.carcanet.co.uk/9781784109967/centenary-selected-poems/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #hyena #InternationalHyenaDay

Hyena
Edwin Morgan

I am waiting for you.
I have been travelling all morning through the bush
and not eaten.
I am lying at the edge of the bush
on a dusty path that leads from the burnt-out kraal.
I am panting, it is midday, I found no water-hole.
I am very fierce without food and although my eyes
are screwed to slits against the sun
you must believe I am prepared to spring.

What do you think of me?
I have a rough coat like Africa.
I am crafty with dark spots
like the bush-tufted plains of Africa.
I sprawl as a shaggy bundle of gathered energy
like Africa sprawling in its waters.
I trot, I lope, I slaver, I am a ranger.
I hunch my shoulders. I eat the dead.

Do you like my song?
When the moon pours hard and cold on the veldt
I sing, and I am the slave of darkness.
Over the stone walls and the mud walls and the ruined places
and the owls, the moonlight falls.
I sniff a broken drum. I bristle. My pelt is silver.
I howl my song to the moon – up it goes.
Would you meet me there in the waste places?

It is said I am a good match
for a dead lion. I put my muzzle
at his golden flanks, and tear. He
is my golden supper, but my tastes are easy.
I have a crowd of fangs, and I use them.
Oh and my tongue – do you like me
when it comes lolling out over my jaw
very long, and I am laughing?
I am not laughing.
But I am not snarling either, only
panting in the sun, showing you
what I grip
carrion with.

ALT

I am waiting
for the foot to slide,
for the heart to seize,
for the leaping sinews to go slack,
for the fight to the death to be fought to the death,
for a glazing eye and the rumour of blood.
I am crouching in my dry shadows
till you are ready for me.
My place is to pick you clean
and leave your bones to the wind.

ALT

1 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

124d

Where love rules, there is no will to power;
And where power predominates, love is lacking.
The one is the shadow of the other.
Carl Jung

#quotes #CarlJung #power #love #psyche #psychology #politics #quote #books #literature #book #bookstodon @bookstodon #author #reading #readingcommunity #booksky #readers #booklover #booklovers #bookstagram #writers #booktok #bookwyrm #booktwt

ALT

1 0 1 View Post & Replies See Original

86d

Rain is the focus of the National Library of Scotland’s forthcoming major exhibition, opening 19 June. Rain is deeply embedded in many facets of Scottish society – from agriculture & whisky to fashion & culture & identity – & the exhibition will showcase a sample of the Library’s wide holdings

https://media.nls.uk/news/major-summer-exhibition-focuses-on-rain

#Scottish #literature #culture #rain #Scotland #Edinburgh

1 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

159d

The Loneliness of A Room of One’s Own

Virginia Woolf put forward an enduring vision of women with the space and financial stability to write. But it’s also a sad vision—of isolated writers, cut off from peers or mentors.

by Joanna Scutts

https://newrepublic.com/article/206731/loneliness-room-one-virginia-woolf-hold-up

Virginia Wooldf at PG:
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/89

#books #literature #literarycriticism

First edition cover of A Room of One's Own by Vanessa Bell..

The central image shows a clock on a stepped mantelpiece or plinth, framed within a dark arched alcove, bordered by a dotted semicircle and a decorative repeating pattern of small arches along the base.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:ARoomOfOnesOwn.jpg

ALT

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

159d

B-Sides: Thomas De Quincey’s “The English Mail-Coach”

https://www.publicbooks.org/b-sides-thomas-de-quinceys-the-english-mail-coach/

The essay at PG:

https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/search/?query=The+English+Mail-Coach

#books #literature #essays

An engraving of Thomas De Quincey. He is looking towards his left.

ALT

1 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

138d

Sradagan san Iarmailt: Peter Mackay & Anna Frater
21 May, Hillhead Library, Glasgow – free

Crowned Bard Anna Frater & Scotland’s Makar Peter Mackay will discuss Sradagan san Iarmailt/Sparks in the Firmament, the new anthology of contemporary Gaelic poetry

https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/sradagan-san-iarmailt-peter-mackay-anna-frater-tickets-1988316724848

#Scottish #literature #Gaidhlig #Gaelic #poetry

1 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

159d

Your carolan’s blythe, bricht bird i the blackthorn bou,
this braw Voar morn, wi trill eftir spirlan trill,
tho you only ken the warld as it liggs the nou,
an nocht but a glisk concerns your chatteran bill…

—Maurice Lindsay, “On Hearin a Merle Singan (Arbroath Day, April 6th, 1946)”
published in A KIST O SKINKLAN THINGS (ASL 2016)

https://asls.org.uk/publications/books/volumes/a-kist-o-skinlan-things/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Scots #Scotslanguage

Maurice Lindsay
On Hearin a Merle Singan
(Arbroath Day, April 6th, 1946)

Your carolan’s blythe, bricht bird i the blackthorn bou,
this braw Voar morn, wi trill eftir spirlan trill,
tho you only ken the warld as it liggs the nou,
an nocht but a glisk concerns your chatteran bill.

You feel the warm sun kissan your sparklan breist,
sea-green it glints as you dirl your feathered thrapple,
naithin mindit o things afore or neist
wi whilk, on this day o days, I try tae grapple.

Tae you, the Simmer’s come, sin the blue-gers glitters,
an spinnan-Maggies stoiter aboot the lawn.
It micht be sae, sin for days there’s no been a spitter
o rain tae sloke the drouth o the yird’s dry pawn.

Yet, fegs, the sun’s made you luik gey gilliegawky!
Gin ye only kennt, there’s snaw i the heich hills yet.
Ye’re no faur-seean, bird, lik the leathern baukie
wha although he’s blin’s nae perturbed by the cauld or the het.

As I hear you singan, merle, aa the thwartit flames
o my luve for Scotland loup i my waefu hert,
an six-hunnert-years-auld bluid reenges roun my veins
till my stangit heid’s agley wi an orra smert . . .

But maist folk in Scotland noo hae the baukie’s een,
caran for nocht that isnae smoorit in derk:
an tho they wad praise your sang for its happy shein,
at the thocht o the snaw i the hills their sauls aye lerk!

ALT

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

159d

“It is in truth not for glory, nor riches, nor honours, that we are fighting, but for freedom – for that alone, which no honest man gives up but with life itself”

The Declaration of Arbroath – a letter from the Community of the Realm of Scotland to Pope John XXII, asserting Scotland’s independence & supporting Robert I as the rightful king – was signed #OTD, 6 April, 1320

https://unesco.org.uk/our-sites/memory-of-the-world/the-declaration-of-arbroath

#Scottish #literature #history #medievalhistory #14thcentury

1 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

159d

Today, 6 April, is Tartan Day – a principally North American day of celebration of Scottish heritage, although it’s also marked, unofficially, in Argentina. 6 April was chosen as it’s the date of the signing of the Declaration of Arbroath in 1320.

1/4

#Scottish #literature #culture #history #tartan #TartanDay

A square of red, green, blue, yellow and white tartan. Superimposed on the tartan are white letters, reading:

Once you can accept the universe as being something expanding into an infinite nothing which is something, wearing stripes with plaid is easy.
—Albert Einstein

ALT

1 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

137d

Today is Harper Lee’s 100th birthday.

Born in a small town in Alabama, where her father worked as a lawyer, Lee loved #books. One of her childhood friends was Truman Capote, who spent time in #Monroeville as a boy. Years later, she turned the world she knew into a novel about the difficult bravery of doing what is right when the world refuses to do so.

Do you like her novel To Kill a Mockingbird?

#writers #HarperLee #reading #literature #bookstodon #booksky
@bookstodon

ALT

3 0 2 View Post & Replies See Original

158d

#OTD in 1770 English poet William Wordsworth was born.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Wordsworth

Books by Wordsworth at PG:

https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/2879

#books #literature #poetry

Portrait of William Wordsworth by William Shuter. He has brown hair and his left hand is tucked into his coat. His right hand is over a chair.

ALT

Edited 158d ago

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

158d

Apollonius of Rhodes: The Man Who Changed Ancient Greek Literature for Ever

Few figures in Ancient Greek literature have been as consequential and enigmatic as Apollonius of Rhodes.

By Nick Kampouris

https://greekreporter.com/2026/04/05/apollonius-rhodes-man-change-greek-literature/

Rhodius Apollonius at PG:
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/433

#books #literature #philosophy

This is a fanciful portrait of one "Apollonius" - a name shared by several illustrious ancient Greek men. Among those, most prominent are (1) the epic poet, Apollonius of Rhodes (3rd century BCE); (2) the mathematician, Apollonius of Perga (2nd century BCE); (3) the philosopher, Apollonius of Tyana (1st century CE).

While every effort has been taken (by going through digital editions of the original work which are available on the Internet), I haven't succeeded in ascertaining the identity of this Apollonius. However, the most likely candidate seems to be no. (1) - notice the laurel crown, surely more fitting to his role as an epic poet - a second possibility could be no. (3), while I'd surely rule out no. (2).

https://el.wikipedia.org/wiki/%CE%91%CF%80%CE%BF%CE%BB%CE%BB%CF%8E%CE%BD%CE%B9%CE%BF%CF%82_%CE%BF_%CE%A1%CF%8C%CE%B4%CE%B9%CE%BF%CF%82#/media/%CE%91%CF%81%CF%87%CE%B5%CE%AF%CE%BF:Apollonius.png

ALT

Edited 158d ago

1 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

136d

Classic sci-fi imagined machines taking care of the boring and dangerous work, so humans could spend more time creating, reading, and connecting.

And somehow, we ended up with the opposite.

#reading #scifi #sciencefiction #books #bookstodon #robots #AI #booksky #bookstagram #BookTok #literature #future @bookstodon

ALT

0 0 1 View Post & Replies See Original

158d

As by barren trackway
on a mountain crest
with view of scree and corrie,
ridge and col,
a traveller might pause…

—“A cairn”, by Gael Turnbull (1928–2004) – born #OTD, 7 April
from WHILE BREATH PERSIST (The Porcupine’s Quill, 1992)

1/3

https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poem/cairn/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry

A Cairn
by Gael Turnbull

As by barren trackway
on a mountain crest
with view of scree and corrie,
ridge and col,
a traveller might pause,
take bearings, cast
in tribute to record:
“A man came here, went on,
left common token, shared
with those who went before
and shall come after.”

ALT

1 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

158d

It’s hard to think that the earth is one –
This poor sad bearer of wars and disasters
Rolls-Roycing round the sun with its load of gangsters,
Attended only by the loveless moon.

—Norman MacCaig, “Stars and Planets”
published in The Poems of Norman MacCaig (Birlinn, 2009)

https://birlinn.co.uk/product/the-poems-of-norman-maccaig/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #20thcentury

Stars and Planets
by Norman MacCaig

Trees are cages for them: water holds its breath
To balance them without smudging on its delicate meniscus.
Children watch them playing in their heavenly playground;
Men use them to lug ships across oceans, through firths.

They seem so twinkle-still, but they never cease
Inventing new spaces and huge explosions
And migrating in mathematical tribes over
The steppes of space at their outrageous ease.

It’s hard to think that the earth is one –
This poor sad bearer of wars and disasters
Rolls-Roycing round the sun with its load of gangsters,
Attended only by the loveless moon.

ALT

Edited 158d ago

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

158d

Nothing But the Poem – Robin Robertson

Winner of all three Forward Prizes for poetry, Robin Robertson also holds the distinction of writing the only poem ever nominated for the Booker Prize: his epic 2018 work The Long Take.

In this new episode of the Scottish Poetry Library podcast, Samuel Tongue explores two vintage Robin Robertson poems: ‘Cat, Failing’ & ‘Swimming in the Woods’.

https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/podcast/nothing-but-the-poem-robin-robertson/

#Scottish #literature #poetry #podcast

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

158d

Chì mi rè geàrd na h-oidhche
dreòs air chrith ’na fhroidhneas thall air fàire,
a’ clapail le a sgiathaibh,
a’ sgapadh ’s a’ ciaradh rionnagan na h-àird’ ud…

—Deòrsa Mac Iain Deòrsa (George Campbell Hay), “Bisearta”. Hay witnessed the Allied bombing of Bizerte in 1943

#Scottish #literature #Gaidhlig #Gaelic #poem #poetry #warpoetry #ww2

Deorsa Mac lain Deòrsa (George Campbell Hay)
Bisearta

Chì mi rè geard na h-oidhche
dreòs air chrith ’na fhroidhneas thall air fàire,
a’ clapail le a sgiathaibh,
a’sgapadh ’s a’ ciaradh rionnagan na h-àird’ ud.

Shaoileadh tu gun cluinnte,
ge cian, o ’bhuillsgein ochanaich no caoineadh,
ràn corraich no gàir fuatha,
comhart chon cuthaich uaith no ulfhairt fhaolchon,
gun ruigeadh drannd an fhòirneirt
on fhùirneis òmair iomall fhèin an t-saoghail.
Ach siud a’ dol an leud e
ri oir an speur an tostachd olc is aognaidh.

C’ainm nochd a th’ orra,
na sràidean bochda anns an sgeith gach uinneag
a lasraichean ’s a deatach,
a sradagan is sgreadail a luchd thuinidh,
is taigh air thaigh ga reubadh
am broinn a chèile am brùchdadh toit’ a’ tuiteam?
Is cò a-nochd tha ’g atach
am Bàs a theachd gu grad ’nan cainntibh uile,
no a’ spàirn measg chlach is shailthean
air bhàinidh a’ gairm air cobhair, is nach cluinnear?
Cò a-nochd a phàigheas
seann chìs àbhaisteach na fala cumant?

Uair dearg mar lod na h-àraich,
uair bàn mar ghile thràighte an eagail èitigh,
a’ dìreadh ’a uair a’ teàrnadh,
a’ sìneadh le sitheadh àrd ’s a’ call a mheudachd,
a’ fannachadh car aitil
’s ag at mar anail dhiabhail air dhèinead,
an t-Olc ’na chridhe ’s ’na chuisle,
chì mi ’na bhuillean a’ sìoladh ’s a’ leum e.
Tha ’n dreòs ’na oillt air fàire,
’na fhàinne ròis is òir am bun nan speuran,
a’ breugnachadh ’s ag àicheadh
le ’shoillse sèimhe àrsaidh àrd nan reultan.

ALT

Bizerta
translated by George Campbell Hay

I see during the night guard
a blaze flickering, fringing the skyline over yonder,
beating with its wings
and scattering and dimming the stars of that airt.

You would think that there would be heard
from its midst, though far away, wailing and lamentation,
the roar of rage and the yell of hate,
the barking of frenzied dogs from it or the howling of wolves,
that the snarl of violence would reach
from yon amber furnace the very edge of the world;
but yonder it spreads
along the rim of the sky in evil ghastly silence.

What is their name tonight,
the poor streets where every window spews
its flame and smoke,
its sparks and the screaming of its inmates,
while house upon house is rent
and collapses in a gust of smoke?
And who tonight are beseeching
Death to come quickly in all their tongues,
or are struggling among stones and beams,
crying in frenzy for help, and are not heard?
Who tonight is paying
the old accustomed tax of common blood?

Now red like a battlefield puddle,
now pale like the drained whiteness of foul fear,
climbing and sinking,
reaching and darting up and shrinking in size,
growing faint for a moment
and swelling like the breath of a devil in intensity,
I see Evil as a pulse and a heart
declining and leaping in throbs.
The blaze, a horror on the skyline,
a ring of rose and gold at the foot of the sky,
belies and denies
with its light the ancient high tranquillity of the stars.

ALT

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

86d

The Battle of Waterloo was fought #OTD, 18 June, 1815. Walter Scott visited the battlefield shortly after; his 1816 book PAUL’S LETTERS TO HIS KINSFOLK contains one of the earliest accounts of the aftermath, & is an important early example of war journalism

1/3

https://theconversation.com/walter-scott-war-journalism-from-the-waterloo-battlefield-43304

#Scottish #literature #Waterloo #history #19thcentury #journalism #WalterScott