Eggplant.place

152d

A Child’s World: Sloane Crosley on the Short Fiction of Katherine Mansfield

“Even in Mansfield stories where children are not centered or present, this is their world. Her adults never quite grow up, only older.”

https://lithub.com/a-childs-world-sloane-crosley-on-the-short-fiction-of-katherine-mansfield/?utm_source=Klaviyo&utm_medium=campaign&utm_id=01KTKT42JDHAGHE6SSKQW895RX&_kx=3MZUehzXM-41qlWAMPUiuNZadX2p0SByuNf_t0eMLB0.U5D8ER

Mansfield at PG:

https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/631

#books #literature

A photograph of Katherine Mansfield from 1912 which shows her from the waist up. She is looking directly into the camera. She has dark, chin-length hair styled in a bob with short bangs across her forehead. She is wearing a dark jacket or vest over a light-colored blouse with a large, pointed collar. A small, crumpled white cloth or handkerchief peeks out of her breast pocket. A thin, simple chain necklace is around her neck.

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152d

James Hutton (1726–1797), father of modern geology, was born #OTD, 14 June (NS; 3 June OS). One of the first European proponents of “deep time”, the conclusion of his 1788 paper “Theory of the Earth” has been called one of the most lyrical sentences in all of science:

The result, therefore, of our present enquiry is, that we find no vestige of a beginning,—no prospect of an end.

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https://www.nationalgalleries.org/art-and-artists/2808

#Scottish #literature #Enlightenment #18thcentury #DeepTime #science #geology

A portrait of James Hutton, painted by Sir Henry Raeburn. Oil on canvas, c. 1776. Hutton – a slim, middle-aged man, clean-shaven and with a receding hairline – sits in a plain wooden chair. His left leg is crossed over his right knee, and his hands are interlaced on his lap. He wears a brown eighteenth-century suit, with knee breeches. To his left is a table covered by a green cloth; on the table are piles of papers and a collection of rocks and fossils

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132d

#OTD in 1804, Nathaniel Hawthorne was born. He was an American novelist and short story writer. His works often focus on history, morality, and religion.

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

Hawthorne at PG:

https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/28

#books #literature

Oil painting of Nathaniel Hawthorne, painted by artist Charles Osgood. Hawthorne is young with dark curly hair. He is wearing a dark, heavy, velvety black coat or cloak wrapped over his shoulders. Around his neck is a large, meticulously tied satin black bow tie and a thick matching black cravat. A crisp white high-collared shirt peaks out from beneath the dark layers, creating a stark contrast against his black suit.

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132d

This morning I watched from here
a helicopter skirting like a damaged insect
the Empire State Building, that
jumbo size dentist’s drill, and landing
on the roof of the PanAm skyscraper.
But now midnight has come in
from foreign places…

—Norman MacCaig, “Hotel Room, 12th Floor”
published in THE POEMS OF NORMAN MacCAIG (Birlinn, 2009)

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

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #FourthofJuly #july4th #IndependenceDay #NewYork #USA

Hotel Room, 12th Floor
Norman MacCaig

This morning I watched from here
a helicopter skirting like a damaged insect
the Empire State Building, that
jumbo size dentist’s drill, and landing
on the roof of the PanAm skyscraper.
But now midnight has come in
from foreign places. Its uncivilised darkness
is shot at by a million lit windows, all
ups and acrosses
But midnight is not
so easily defeated. I lie in bed, between
a radio and a television set, and hear
the wildest of warwhoops continually ululating through
the glittering canyons and gulches –
police cars and ambulances racing
to the broken bones, the harsh screaming
from coldwater flats, the blood
glazed on sidewalks.

The frontier is never
somewhere else. And no stockades
can keep the midnight out.

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132d

Mister drags off his box of fireworks to the shore.
Missiz drains her drink and hits the floor
with someone half her age…

—Liz Lochhead, “Fourth of July Fireworks”
published in THREE SCOTTISH POETS: MacCaig • Morgan • Lochhead, @canongatebooks 1992

🇺🇸 🎆

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #FourthofJuly #America250 #IndependenceDay

Fourth of July Fireworks
by Liz Lochhead

The guests are gathered.
Boston-Irish Nancy, half in huff says,
Better help yourselves,
you all know Mister's timing well enough.'
Aside at me she mutters.
'Millionaires can afford to let things wait.
Honest-to-God Mister would be late
for his own funeral.' Cigarstore Indian,
I hide behind my apron, wait and drink in all I can.

(We don't exist. They pick our trays,
Tom Collinses, Martinis and canapés.)

Oh horror, new England night,
when I fetched the ice down and that snake
looped my feet in the kitchen garden! I still shake.
'Harmless,' says Nancy.
I hear her hiss, 'Some host!
That beggar'll only get here when he's sure he's last.'

Fourth of July. Cape Cod. Dead on cue,
last-man Mister comes running to his barbecue.
Arms flailing like a cricketer's across the lawn
from his 'so English' house with a flame red shirt on.

It's the cocktail hour. The air is still.
Mister gets busy on the charcoal grill.
Social-kissing women, backslapping men
has failed to break the ice. But then
Missiz appears like magic from the dusk.
Cool, ten years his junior, she smells of musk

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and 'Madame Rochas'. Two small spots of anger
high on her cheekbones linger.

When Mister says it's done enough
the guests spread ketchup on the fatted calf.
The night hots up. Liquor flows. Listless
couples come alive. A bit apart, restless,
Missiz sways gently on her own
to Glen Miller on the gramophone.
All eyes are on the soignee cling
of this year's leisure favourite, velvety stretch towelling
for patio-party wear. Those purples and electric pinks
'Just far too hectic altogether,' Nancy thinks.

(Ten years with Missiz, Nancy's face
is quite professional, impervious.)

Ice melts in the Martini tray. Midges
drown. The whole night edges
to a thunderstorm. Maybugs big as golfballs thud
as screendoors bounce them. But, after our blood,
divebombing mosquitoes dodge the mesh and slide
in down their own thin whine.
They bite despite insecticide.

All at sea,
white and dayglo orange fins spinnaker the bay.
Music blares
from the jazzed-up clubhouse round the Cape, Cotuit way.
The whole damn town is two thirds empty after Labour Day.
These summer people
migrate to Florida, lock, stock and barrel.
Tonight their parked cars sprawl the drive and trail

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behind those his-and-hers coupled custom Cadillacs
like a comet tail.

(Oh I can see it all quite clearly, feeling small
and stone-cold sober. But I do not count at all.)

Out on the lawn the sprinklers, oddly luminous,
sputter like Roman Candles, ominous
as the sudden snap of queer clear light
from one weird streak unzips the dark.
The German Shepherd guard dogs bark.
A wind gets up. These beach-house boards
are flimsier than playing cards.

(Over the bay, like flares
odd rockets go up with a shock of stars.)

Mister drags off his box of fireworks to the shore.
Missiz drains her drink and hits the floor
with someone half her age. His snake-arms slur
around her waist. Eyes glaze. Sentence endings blur.
Missiz ('mutton dressed as lamb')
comes in slowly as the false-calm
lead-slow sea that slicks the beach. Sinatra sings.
The tide ravels up slowly, shelving things.

Raindrops big as bullets dent the roof we all stand under,
watching Canute's fireworks out-rage the storm,
try to steal its thunder.

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132d

Burns & the Scottish Enlightenment in America
4 Aug, Robert Burns Ellisland Farm
Tickets by donation

Ian Houston will examine how the ideas that shaped Burns's world – liberty, equality, democracy, & human dignity – also influenced the emerging American republic

https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/burns-and-the-scottish-enlightenment-in-america-tickets-1990854549550

#Scottish #literature #RobertBurns #poetry #Enlightenment #ScottishEnlightenment #18thcentury #America250

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151d

Woodrow Wilson’s Legacy Is Loaded With Good and Bad, but His Work to Even the Economic Playing Field Is Often Overlooked

He won the Nobel Peace Prize for his efforts in ending WWI and strove to improve the plight of American workers. Today, his blind spots shroud most of his accomplishments

by Richard Norton Smith

https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/woodrow-wilson-legacy-loaded-good-bad-work-even-economic-playing-field-often-overlooked-180988853/?utm_source=smithsoniandaily&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=editorial&lctg=93133550&user_id=19f2988141aeef1ce3da2871b25613801e24297faaf654001575521d8c39910f

Books by Woodrow Wilson at PG:
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/1689

#books #Literature

Wilson as New Jersey governor in 1911.

A formal portrait as Governor of New Jersey, seated at his desk holding papers, before a wall of law books.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Woodrow_Wilson#/media/File:Woodrow_Wilson,_New_Jersey_Governor_-_1911.jpg

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151d

“A Jacobite By Name?”: Jacobitism in the Life & Work of Robert Burns
5 July, Ellisland – £4

Patrick Jamieson explores how ideas of identity, naming & political memory shaped Burns’s engagement with Jacobitism throughout his life & writing

https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/a-jacobite-by-name-jacobitism-in-the-life-and-work-of-robert-burns-tickets-1990504417295

#Scottish #literature #RobertBurns #18thcentury #Jacobites #romanticism #poetry

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96d

Publishing Scotland Presents: Graeme Macrae Burnet
21 Aug, Waterstones, Oban. £3/£5/£12 with book

Hosted by Breege Smyth, Graeme Macrae Burnet will be reading from his new novella BENBECULA, & discussing it in the context of his other work. Followed by a Q&A

https://www.waterstones.com/events/publishing-scotland-presents-graeme-macrae-burnet/oban

#Scottish #literature #crimefiction #truecrime #Hebrides #Oban

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96d

Science, religion, and political omens: the meaning of eclipses in ancient Rome

by Javier Andreu Pintado

Romans could predict eclipses, but still interpreted them as signs from the gods.

https://theconversation.com/science-religion-and-political-omens-the-meaning-of-eclipses-in-ancient-rome-288125?utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=The%20EUs%20migration%20debate%20%20Europes%20sunset%20eclipse%20is%20coming%20-%203896539712&utm_content=The%20EUs%20migration%20debate%20%20Europes%20sunset%20eclipse%20is%20coming%20-%203896539712+CID_952c1740fd71fa6eba3b277d08276330&utm_source=campaign_monitor_europe

Books about eclipses (next eclipse will take place on August 12) at PG:
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/subjects/search/?query=eclipses

#books #literature #astronomy #history

Two philosophers watching an eclipse, etching by Pierre Brébiette.

It is showing two robed, bearded figures gesturing dramatically toward the sky where a solar eclipse is depicted, with an armillary sphere at their feet and classical architecture in the background. The Latin inscription reads "Aut Deus naturae patitur, aut mundi machina dissoluetur" ("Either God suffers in nature, or the machine of the world will be dissolved").

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151d

“The Muirs gave Kafka a distinctive voice in English for half a century: fluent, formal, enigmatic and mesmeric” – but a new, award-winning study of Kafka’s translators has almost completely erased their work from literary history, writes Boyd Tonkin

https://engelsbergideas.com/reviews/the-forgotten-scots-who-gave-kafka-his-voice/

#Scottish #literature #20thcentury #translation #translators #Kafka

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151d

Currently on BBC Sounds: Douglas Stuart speaks to Take Four Books about his latest novel, JOHN OF JOHN, and, together with presenter James Crawford, they explore its connections to three other works of fiction.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/m002xnt0

#Scottish #literature #novel #DouglasStuart

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131d

The best books on United States
recommended by Don Watson

As the United States celebrates the 250th anniversary of its Declaration of Independence, we asked historian Don Watson, author of the excellent The Shortest History of the United States, to suggest books to read to learn more about the country.

https://fivebooks.com/best-books/united-states-don-watson/

At PG:

https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/76

https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/69730

https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2815

#books #literature

The original 1885 cloth book cover of the first American edition of Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain. The background is dark sage green or teal textile-textured surface bordered by a thin black framing line. A vertical rectangular window on the left side shows an original line drawing by E. W. Kemble. The drawing is a full-body portrait of a young Huckleberry Finn standing with his hands in his pockets, wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat, a buttoned jacket, trousers, and boots against a wooden fence backdrop. In the title the letter "H" in Huckleberry and "F" in Finn are drawn to look like rustic wooden fence posts tied with rope or wire.

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131d

Nine ways of looking at rain

Beyond the clichés, rain has inspired a rich thread of Scottish culture. From myth and science to film, fashion, and fiction, Sarah Mackay, Curator at the National Library of Scotland, explores how drizzle has soaked into the nation’s imagination in nine objects. The NLS exhibition ‘Rain’ runs until April 2027 and is free to visit.

https://www.nls.uk/collections/stories/life-in-the-library/nine-ways-of-looking-at-rain/

#Scottish #literature #culture #exhibition #rain

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122d

The Odyssey is about sons questing for their fathers.

by Henry Oliver (from the archives)

Ahead of the new movie, I am reposting this essay about the Odyssey as a son’s quest for his father, which I wrote when the recent Mendelsohn translation was released last year.

https://www.commonreader.co.uk/p/the-odyssey-is-about-sons-questing

The Odyssey by Homer at PG:
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1727

#books #literature

15th-century manuscript of Book I written by scribe John Rhosos (British Museum)

A manuscript page opening Homer's "Odyssey" in Greek, featuring an illuminated initial "A" (for "Ἄνδρα," the poem's first word) decorated with gold leaf, blue and red flowers, green leaves, and a small human face motif. The Greek text is written in a cursive hand, with red annotations (scholia) in the margins.

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133d

#WritingPrompt: #Vox ✍️

"He's waking."
"I wonder if he can hear us..."

•••

I remember the day I started hearing the voices of those I call 'Watchers'—like sports commentators—in my head.

First, I thought it was a prank. Hahaha...it's not funny.

They could describe everything I was seeing, doing and thinking.

"They can read my thoughts!"

"Ahhhhhhhhhh!"

"What am I gonna do?"

•|••

👇 Your turn. Complete the story...

#literature #WritersWorkshop #writing #WritingPromptFriday

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136d

Mollie Hunter (1922–2012) was born #OTD, 30 June. Although she produced work for all ages she is best remembered as a writer of fantasy & historical fiction for children & YAs. She received numerous awards including the New York Times Outstanding Books of the Year Award, the Boston Globe Horn Book Award & the Carnegie Medal.

@bookstodon

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https://discoverkelpies.co.uk/kelpies-author/mollie-hunter/

#Scottish #literature #ChildrensLiterature #kidlit #YA #fantasy #historicalfiction #folklore

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122d

Heard ye o’ the tree o’ France,
I watna what’s the name o’t;
Around it a’ the patriots dance,
Weel Europe kens the fame o’t…

—“The Tree of Liberty”, attributed to Robert Burns (disputed). First printed in Chambers’ THE POETICAL WORKS OF ROBERT BURNS (1838)

A poem for 🇫🇷 Bastille Day!

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#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #RobertBurns #BastilleDay #quatorzejuillet #18thcentury #19thcentury

The Tree of Liberty
attributed to Robert Burns

Heard ye o’ the tree o’ France,
I watna what’s the name o’t;
Around it a’ the patriots dance,
Weel Europe kens the fame o’t.
It stands where ance the Bastile stood,
A prison built by kings, man,
When Superstition’s hellish brood
Kept France in leading-strings, man.

Upo’ this tree there grows sic fruit,
Its virtues a’ can tell, man;
It raises man aboon the brute,
It mak’s him ken himsel, man.
Gif ance the peasant taste a bit,
He ’s greater than a lord, man,
An’ wi’ the beggar shares a mite
O’ a’ he can afford, man.

This fruit is worth a’ Afric’s wealth:
To comfort us ’twas sent, man:
To gie the sweetest blush o’ health,
An’ mak us a’ content, man.
It clears the een, it cheers the heart,
Maks high and low gude friends, man;
And he wha acts the traitor’s part,
It to perdition sends, man.

My blessings aye attend the chiel
Wha pitied Gallia’s slaves, man,
And staw a branch, spite o’ the deil,
Frae yont the western waves, man.
Fair Virtue water’d it wi’ care,
And now she sees wi’ pride, man,
How weel it buds and blossoms there,
Its branches spreading wide, man.

But vicious folk aye hate to see
The works o’ Virtue thrive, man;
The courtly vermin’s bann’d the tree,
And grat to see it thrive, man;
King Loui’ thought to cut it down,
When it was unco sma’, man;
For this the watchman crack’d his crown,
Cut aff his head and a’, man.

A wicked crew syne, on a time,
Did tak a solemn aith, man,
It ne’er should flourish to its prime,
I wat they pledged their faith, man.
Awa’ they gaed wi’ mock parade,
Like beagles hunting game, man,
But soon grew weary o’ the trade
And wished they’d been at hame, man.

For Freedom, standing by the tree,
Her sons did loudly ca’, man.
She sang a sang o’ liberty,
Which pleased them ane and a’, man.

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By her inspired, the new-born race
Soon drew the avenging steel, man;
The hirelings ran—her foes gied chase,
And banged the despot weel, man.

Let Britain boast her hardy oak,
Her poplar and her pine, man,
Auld Britain ance could crack her joke,
And o’er her neighbours shine, man.
But seek the forest round and round,
And soon ’twill be agreed, man,
That sic a tree can not be found,
’Twixt London and the Tweed, man.

Without this tree, alake this life
Is but a vale o’ woe, man;
A scene o’ sorrow mixed wi’ strife,
Nae real joys we know, man.
We labour soon, we labour late,
To feed the titled knave, man;
And a’ the comfort we ’re to get,
Is that ayont the grave, man.

Wi’ plenty o’ sic trees, I trow,
The warld would live in peace, man;
The sword would help to mak a plough,
The din o’ war wad cease, man.
Like brethren in a common cause,
We’d on each other smile, man;
And equal rights and equal laws
Wad gladden every isle, man.

Wae worth the loon wha wadna eat
Sic halesome dainty cheer, man;
I’d gie the shoon frae aff my feet,
To taste sic fruit, I swear, man.
Syne let us pray, auld England may
Sure plant this far-famed tree, man;
And blythe we’ll sing, and hail the day
That gives us liberty, man.

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122d

“Scots poets might have a few lessons to teach the French”

In “Towards a Post-Colonial Alliance?”, Paul Malgrati offers some perspectives on Franco-Scots poetry translation, exploring questions of voice, place, & power

🇫🇷🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

https://www.thebottleimp.org.uk/2019/12/towards-a-post-colonial-alliance-some-perspectives-on-franco-scots-poetry-translation/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Scots #Scotslanguage #language #translation #French #BastilleDay #quatorzejuillet

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122d

Cinquevalli in sepia
looks at me from an old postcard: bundle of enigmas.
Half faun, half military man…

—Edwin Morgan, “Cinquevalli”
published in COLLECTED POEMS (Carcanet, 1990)

Paul Cinquevalli (1859–1918) died #OTD, 14 July

https://www.carcanet.co.uk/9781857541885/collected-poems/

#Scottish #literature #EdwinMorgan #poem #poetry #19thcentury #Victorian #Edwardian #circus #juggling #Cinquevalli

Paul Cinquevalli, by London Stereoscopic & Photographic Company, published by Rotary Photographic Co Ltd. Bromide postcard print, circa 1912. National Portrait Gallery.

A sepia photograph of Paul Cinquevalli (1859–1918). He has short, curly hair and a thick moustache, and is wearing an elaborate acrobat's leotard covered in tassels, braid, and frogging. He has a thick neck and stands half-facing us, his head turned to look directly at the camera. His left arm is cocked on his hip; his left elbow rests against a cannonball which sits on top of a stone plinth beside him.

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Cinquevalli
Edwin Morgan

Cinquevalli is falling, falling.
The shining trapeze kicks and flirts free,
solo performer at last.
The sawdust puffs up with a thump,
settles on a tangle of broken limbs.
St Petersburg screams and leans.
His pulse flickers with the gas-jets. He lives.

Cinquevalli has a therapy.
In his hospital bed, in his hospital chair
he holds a ball, lightly, lets it roll round his hand,
or grips it tight, gauging its weight and resistance,
begins to balance it, to feel its life attached to his
by will and knowledge, invisible strings
that only he can see. He throws it
from hand to hand, always different,
always the same, always
different, always the
same.
His muscles learn to think, his arms grow very strong.

Cinquevalli in sepia
looks at me from an old postcard: bundle of enigmas.
Half faun, half military man; almond eyes, curly hair,
conventional moustache; tights, and a tunic loaded
with embroideries, tassels, chains, fringes; hand on hip
with a large signet-ring winking at the camera
but a bull neck and shoulders and a cannon-ball
at his elbow as he stands by the posing pedestal;
half reluctant, half truculent,
half handsome, half absurd,
but let me see you forget him: not to be done.

Cinquevalli is a juggler.
In a thousand theatres, in every continent,
he is the best, the greatest. After eight years perfecting
he can balance one billiard ball on another billiard ball
on top of a cue on top of a third billiard ball
in a wine glass held in his mouth. To those
who say the balls are waxed, or flattened,
he patiently explains the trick will only work
because the spheres are absolutely true.
There is no deception in him. He is true.

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Cinquevalli is juggling with a bowler,
a walking-stick, a cigar, a coin.
Who foresees? How to please.
The last time round, the bowler
flies to his head, the stick sticks in his hand,
the cigar jumps into his mouth, the coin
lands on his foot—ah, but
is kicked into his eye
and held there as the miraculous monocle
without which the portrait would be incomplete.

Cinquevalli is practising.
He sits in his dressing-room talking to some friends,
at the same time writing a letter with one hand
and with the other juggling four balls.
His friends think of demons, but
‘You could do all this,’ he says,
sealing the letter with a billiard ball.

Cinquevalli is on the high wire in Odessa.
The roof cracks, he is falling, falling
into the audience, a woman breaks his fall,
he cracks her like a flea, but lives.

Cinquevalli broods in his armchair in Brixton Road.
He reads in the paper about the shells whining
at Passchendaele, imagines the mud and the dead.
He goes to the window and wonders through that dark evening
what is happening in Poland where he was born.
His neighbours call him a German spy.
‘Kestner, Paul Kestner, that’s his name!’
‘Keep Kestner out of the British music-hall!’
He frowns; it is cold; his fingers seem stiff and old.

Cinquevalli tosses a plate of soup
and twirls it on his forefinger; not a drop spills.
He laughs, and well may he laugh
who can do that. The astonished table
breathe again, laugh too, think the world
a spinning thing that spills, for a moment, no drop.

Cinquevalli’s coffin sways through Brixton
only a few months before the Armistice.
Like some trick they cannot get off the ground
it seems to burden the shuffling bearers, all their arms
cross-juggle that displaced person, that man
of balance, of strength, of delights and marvels,
in his unsteady box at last into the earth.

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130d

Ivy Compton-Burnett’s forgotten genius

by Nigel Andrew

The unique novels of Ivy Compton-Burnett have slipped out of the canon, but this true one-off deserves a place alongside contemporaries such as Evelyn Waugh.

https://engelsbergideas.com/notebook/ivy-compton-burnetts-forgotten-genius/

About Ivy Compton-Burnett:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ivy_Compton-Burnett

#books #literature #literaryCriticism

Ivy Compton-Burnett.

A black-and-white portrait photograph of a young woman with short, straight hair cut in a blunt fringe, wearing drop earrings and a dark top.

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130d

#OTD in 1893 Guy de Maupassant died. He "was a 19th-century French author, celebrated as a master of the short story and associated with the naturalist literary school of thought, depicting human lives, destinies, and social forces in disillusioned and often pessimistic terms."

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

Books by de Maupassant at PG:

https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/306

#books #literature

The image shows Guy de Maupassant from the chest up. He has fair skin, short wavy brown hair, a large mustache, and a small soul patch below his lower lip. He looks to the right side of the frame and wears a dark patterned suit jacket, a white-collared shirt, and a wide dotted tie.

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85d

Rǫgnvaldr Kali Kolsson (c. 1100–1158), Earl of Orkney, died #OTD, 20 August.

Rǫgnvaldr was a skilled poet (& after his death – slightly surprisingly – canonised as St Ronald of Orkney – f.d. 20 August). Ian Crockatt has translated many of his poems; this one is from CRIMSONING THE EAGLE’S CLAW: The Viking Poems of Rǫgnvaldr Kali Kolsson (Arc Publications, 2014)

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https://www.arcpublications.co.uk/books/rognvaldr-kali-kolsson-crimsoning-the-eagles-claw-the-viking-poems-of-rgnvaldr-kali-kolsson-earl-of-orkney-518

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Orkney #medieval #Viking #Norse