Eggplant.place

16d

A Kick Up the Arts podcastNicola Meighan visits the Alasdair Gray Archive & talks to Scottish writers Rory Watson & Alan Bissett about the wonder of words, the magic of old photographs, & the power of listening to women’s voices<a href="https://www.akickupthearts.org/blog-3-1/rory-watson-amp-alan-bissett" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.akickupthearts.org/blog-3-1/rory-watson-amp-alan-bissett">https://www.akickupthearts.org/blog-3-1/rory-watson-amp-alan-bissett</a><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/fiction/" rel="tag">#fiction</a> <a href="/tags/drama/" rel="tag">#drama</a> <a href="/tags/podcast/" rel="tag">#podcast</a>

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16d

“On a wet and wintry afternoon in January, with the Braan in spate, licking the edges of the lower walkways, the work brings a kind of mammalian warmth to the dark and damp”—Greg Thomas on walking Scotland’s Corbenic Poetry Path <a href="https://artuk.org/discover/stories/the-rhythm-of-feet-walking-scotlands-corbenic-poetry-path" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="artuk.org/discover/stories/the-rhythm-of-feet-walking-scotlands-corbenic-poetry-path">https://artuk.org/discover/stories/the-rhythm-of-feet-walking-scotlands-corbenic-poetry-path</a><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/walking/" rel="tag">#walking</a>

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15d

“The general assumption in the past has tended to be that an overview of Scottish drama would not take very long. Between Sir David Lyndsay & James Bridie, what was there of any lasting importance?”Edwin Morgan, “Scottish Drama: an overview” (1999)Today, 27 March, is World Theatre Day1/7<a href="https://asls.org.uk/scottish-drama-an-overview/" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="asls.org.uk/scottish-drama-an-overview/">https://asls.org.uk/scottish-drama-an-overview/</a><a href="/tags/scottish/" rel="tag">#Scottish</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/drama/" rel="tag">#drama</a> <a href="/tags/theatre/" rel="tag">#theatre</a> <a href="/tags/theater/" rel="tag">#theater</a> <a href="/tags/plays/" rel="tag">#plays</a> <a href="/tags/worldtheatreday/" rel="tag">#WorldTheatreDay</a> <a href="/tags/theatrehistory/" rel="tag">#theatrehistory</a>

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15d

“The life & career of the gifted Glaswegian writer Catherine Carswell was marked by such alarming & recurrent notoriety that her present obscurity is baffling”—Emma Garman in the Paris Review on the life & work of Catherine Carswell (1879–1946)—born <a href="/tags/otd/" rel="tag">#OTD</a>, 27 March1/4<a href="https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2019/06/10/feminize-your-canon-catherine-carswell/" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.theparisreview.org/blog/2019/06/10/feminize-your-canon-catherine-carswell/">https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2019/06/10/feminize-your-canon-catherine-carswell/</a><a href="/tags/scottish/" rel="tag">#Scottish</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/modernism/" rel="tag">#modernism</a> <a href="/tags/20thcentury/" rel="tag">#20thcentury</a> <a href="/tags/womenwriters/" rel="tag">#womenwriters</a>

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15d

I wad ha’e gi’en him my lips tae kiss, Had I been his, had I been his…—“Mary’s Song”, by Marion Angus (1865–1946) – born <a href="/tags/otd/" rel="tag">#OTD</a>, 27 March published in THE TINKER’S ROAD and Other Verses (1924)“She has an authentic voice straight out of the ballad tradition, an eerie shimmer to her best poems” —Kathleen Jamie<a href="https://digital.nls.uk/works-by-selected-scottish-authors/archive/129188342#?c=0&m=0&s=0&cv=12&xywh=-880%2C-256%2C3153%2C2337" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="digital.nls.uk/works-by-selected-scottish-authors/archive/129188342#?c=0&m=0&s=0&cv=12&xywh=-880%2C-256%2C3153%2C2337">https://digital.nls.uk/works-by-selected-scottish-authors/archive/129188342#?c=0&m=0&s=0&cv=12&xywh=-880%2C-256%2C3153%2C2337</a><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/20thcentury/" rel="tag">#20thcentury</a> <a href="/tags/womenwriters/" rel="tag">#womenwriters</a> <a href="/tags/scots/" rel="tag">#Scots</a> <a href="/tags/scotslanguage/" rel="tag">#Scotslanguage</a>

Mary’s Song
Marion Angus

I wad ha’e gi’en him my lips tae kiss,
Had I been his, had I been his;
Barley breid and elder wine,
Had I been his as he is mine.

The wanderin’ bee it seeks the rose;
Tae the lochan’s bosom the burnie goes;
The grey bird cries at evenin’s fa’,
“My luve, my fair one, come awa’.”

My beloved sall ha’e this he’rt tae break,
Reid, reid wine and the barley cake,
A he’rt tae break, and a mou’ tae kiss,
Tho’ he be nae mine, as I am his.

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14d

“There’s no conflict in Death Comes for the Archbishop, except for the grinding of tectonic plates, the breaking of treaties, the murder of nations.”by Patricia Lockwood<a href="https://www.lrb.co.uk/the-paper/v48/n06/patricia-lockwood/supersensual-ear?utm_source=Klaviyo&utm_medium=campaign&utm_id=01KMQRP0Q8ZXZ5KZJ37PEDJH14&_kx=3MZUehzXM-41qlWAMPUiuNZadX2p0SByuNf_t0eMLB0.U5D8ER" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.lrb.co.uk/the-paper/v48/n06/patricia-lockwood/supersensual-ear?utm_source=Klaviyo&utm_medium=campaign&utm_id=01KMQRP0Q8ZXZ5KZJ37PEDJH14&_kx=3MZUehzXM-41qlWAMPUiuNZadX2p0SByuNf_t0eMLB0.U5D8ER">https://www.lrb.co.uk/the-paper/v48/n06/patricia-lockwood/supersensual-ear?utm_source=Klaviyo&utm_medium=campaign&utm_id=01KMQRP0Q8ZXZ5KZJ37PEDJH14&_kx=3MZUehzXM-41qlWAMPUiuNZadX2p0SByuNf_t0eMLB0.U5D8ER</a>Death Comes for the Archbishop at PG: <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/69730" rel="nofollow">https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/69730</a><a href="/tags/books/" rel="tag">#books</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/literarycriticism/" rel="tag">#literarycriticism</a>

1st edition cover of Death Comes for the Archbishop by Willa Cather.

The central illustration shows a black silhouette of a robed rider on a rearing horse.

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

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Edited 14d ago

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14d

There are some stones that open in the night like flowers Down in the red graveyard where Bessie haunts her lovers…—Jackie Kay, “The Red Graveyard” published in OTHER LOVERS (Bloodaxe, 1993)Today, 28 March, is International Women in Music Day<a href="https://www.bloodaxebooks.com/ecs/category/jackie-kay" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.bloodaxebooks.com/ecs/category/jackie-kay">https://www.bloodaxebooks.com/ecs/category/jackie-kay</a><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/music/" rel="tag">#music</a> <a href="/tags/song/" rel="tag">#song</a> <a href="/tags/singing/" rel="tag">#singing</a> <a href="/tags/bessiesmith/" rel="tag">#BessieSmith</a> <a href="/tags/internationalwomeninmusicday/" rel="tag">#InternationalWomenInMusicDay</a>

The Red Graveyard
Jackie Kay

There are some stones that open in the night like flowers
Down in the red graveyard where Bessie haunts her lovers.
There are stones that shake and weep in the heart of night
Down in the red graveyard where Bessie haunts her lovers.

Why do I remember the blues?
I am five or six or seven in the back garden;
the window is wide open;
her voice is slow motion through the heavy summer air.
Jelly roll. Kitchen man. Sausage roll. Frying pan.

Inside the house where I used to be myself,
her voice claims the rooms. In the best room even,
something has changed the shape of my silence.
Why do I remember her voice and not my own mother’s?
Why do I remember the blues?

My mother’s voice. What was it like?
A flat stone for skitting. An old rock.
Long long grass. Asphalt. Wind. Hail.
Cotton. Linen. Salt. Treacle.
I think it was a peach.
I heard it down to the ribbed stone.

ALT

I am coming down the stairs in my father’s house.
I am five or six or seven. There is fat thick wallpaper
I always caress, bumping flower into flower.
She is singing. (Did they play anyone else ever?)
My father’s feet tap a shiny beat on the floor.

Christ, my father says, that’s some voice she’s got.
I pick up the record cover. And now. This is slow motion.
My hand swoops, glides, swoops again.
I pick up the cover and my fingers are all over her face.
Her black face. Her magnificent black face.
That’s some voice. His shoes dancing on the floor.

There are some stones that open in the night like flowers
Down in the red graveyard where Bessie haunts her lovers.
There are stones that shake and weep in the heart of night
Down in the red graveyard where Bessie haunts her lovers.

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14d

“Certain individuals live delusionally, thinking they’re perfect, and so The Delusions was me asking, ‘What if everyone had to face who they really are?’, even if it doesn’t happen in this life but in the next. The only real value you have is your soul.”—SNACK Magazine interviews Jenni Fagan about her new novel, THE DELUSIONS@bookstodon <a href="https://snackmag.co.uk/jenni-fagan-the-delusions-souls-complicity-and-instinct-interview" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="snackmag.co.uk/jenni-fagan-the-delusions-souls-complicity-and-instinct-interview">https://snackmag.co.uk/jenni-fagan-the-delusions-souls-complicity-and-instinct-interview</a><a href="/tags/scottish/" rel="tag">#Scottish</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/afterlife/" rel="tag">#afterlife</a> <a href="/tags/novel/" rel="tag">#novel</a> <a href="/tags/womenwriters/" rel="tag">#womenwriters</a>

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14d

Smoky sky. In autumn wind I stroll by the quays in the last light…—Edwin Morgan, “Je ne regrette rien: in memory of Edith Piaf” published in COLLECTED POEMS (Carcanet, 2012)28 March is International Women in Music Day<a href="https://www.carcanet.co.uk/cgi-bin/indexer?product=9781857541885" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.carcanet.co.uk/cgi-bin/indexer?product=9781857541885">https://www.carcanet.co.uk/cgi-bin/indexer?product=9781857541885</a><a href="/tags/scottish/" rel="tag">#Scottish</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/internationalwomeninmusicday/" rel="tag">#InternationalWomenInMusicDay</a> <a href="/tags/poem/" rel="tag">#poem</a> <a href="/tags/poetry/" rel="tag">#poetry</a> <a href="/tags/edithpiaf/" rel="tag">#EdithPiaf</a> <a href="/tags/music/" rel="tag">#music</a> <a href="/tags/singer/" rel="tag">#singer</a>

Edwin Morgan
Je ne regrette rien
in memory of Edith Piaf

Smoky sky.
In autumn wind
I stroll by the quays
in the last light,
my coat flaps, flaps,
wet chestnut leaves
spatter the Seine.
I glance in a window
and touch my hair, yes
I am tiny as they say,
tiny as a sparrow.
Now the lights come on.
I stand under the lamp,
turn up my collar
in a circle of rain
and wait for you.

It’s all beginning again.
Dead leaves or spring
it comes back, it begins.
How could I struggle?
When you held me, your shoulders
were a wall, I sheltered
in your shadow, it began.
They say I couldn’t count my men –
in thirty years I couldn’t count them!
But who counts years?
Count the years I was blind?
Dandled in a brothel? Taught by whores?
Count the prayers that gave me my sight at Lisieux?
Or the heartbeats of my daughter, in thousands,
when I bore her at fourteen
till she starved and died?
Count the crusts I’ve had, or those I’ve given?
The gutters I’ve sung in, or the great halls?
Count the glasses I’ve drunk? Count the beds
I’ve lain in, the lips I’ve kissed?
I can’t count the surgeons who’ve opened me –
do you think my lovers are in a book?
Do you want me to start counting tears?
Count what? The cost? What cost? I won!

No! let the men that had me go their ways.
I regret nothing, nothing. Some were kind.
But I don’t care if they were kind!
I don’t remember if it was bad.
I don’t keep the past in my pocket.

ALT

I’ve paid for it all, I’ve forgotten it all.
I’ve paid for it all, I’ve forgotten it all.
I strike a match to my memories,
they light a fire and disappear.

I warm my arms tonight
the fire begins
the stars come out
yes it begins
I am forty-five
it begins again
I hear his step
yes it begins
his broad shoulders
glisten through the rain
I can see
the dead cigarette
in his firm mouth
he throws it aside
it begins and
I regret nothing

We sway in the rain,
he crushes my mouth.
What could I regret
if a hundred times
of parting struck me
like lightning if this
lightning of love
can strike and
strike
again!

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13d

Chalk Scribblers meet the author: Ken MacLeod 1 April, free onlineKen MacLeod’s first novel, The Star Fraction, was published in 1995 and earned him a place among the cohort of British science fiction authors who were gaining prominence at the time. He’s been nominated for every genre award worth being nominated for & he’s won more than a few of them.Recurring themes in his work include socialist theory & marine zoology.<a href="https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/chalk-scribblers-meet-the-author-ken-macleod-tickets-1984677623197?aff=oddtdtcreator" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/chalk-scribblers-meet-the-author-ken-macleod-tickets-1984677623197?aff=oddtdtcreator">https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/chalk-scribblers-meet-the-author-ken-macleod-tickets-1984677623197?aff=oddtdtcreator</a><a href="/tags/scottish/" rel="tag">#Scottish</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/scifi/" rel="tag">#scifi</a> <a href="/tags/sciencefiction/" rel="tag">#Sciencefiction</a>

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3d

‘The Queen of the Ghetto’ Gave New York’s Immigrant Community a Voice. A Century Later, It’s Re-emergingAnzia Yezierska wrote from experience then worked hard to make sure her work found an audience. Then a new audience found herby Fred Nadis<a href="https://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/queen-ghetto-gave-new-york-immigrant-community-voice-century-later-reemerging-180988409/?utm_source=smithsoniandaily&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=editorial&lctg=93133550" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/queen-ghetto-gave-new-york-immigrant-community-voice-century-later-reemerging-180988409/?utm_source=smithsoniandaily&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=editorial&lctg=93133550">https://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/queen-ghetto-gave-new-york-immigrant-community-voice-century-later-reemerging-180988409/?utm_source=smithsoniandaily&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=editorial&lctg=93133550</a>Women immigrants at PG: <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/subject/2680" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/subject/2680">https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/subject/2680</a><a href="/tags/books/" rel="tag">#books</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a>

Sketch of the author Anzia Yezierska accompanying an article in the Cedar Rapids Evening Gazette, March 5th, 1921.

The central illustration is a large pen-and-ink portrait drawing of Yezierska — captioned "Anzia Yezierska: Filmdom's Newest Author" — showing a young woman with abundant curly hair, alongside a smaller vignette of a figure writing at a desk.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anzia_Yezierska#/media/File:Yezierska_CedarRapids_5Mar1921.jpg

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2d

It steppit like a stallion, Wha’s heid hauds up a horn, And weel the men o’ Scotland kent It was the unicorn…—William Soutar (1898–1943), “Birthday”Another poem for National Unicorn Day 🦄 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿<a href="https://asls.org.uk/publications/books/volumes/a-kist-o-skinlan-things/" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="asls.org.uk/publications/books/volumes/a-kist-o-skinlan-things/">https://asls.org.uk/publications/books/volumes/a-kist-o-skinlan-things/</a> <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/20thcentury/" rel="tag">#20thcentury</a> <a href="/tags/scots/" rel="tag">#Scots</a> <a href="/tags/scotslanguage/" rel="tag">#Scotslanguage</a> <a href="/tags/nationalunicornday/" rel="tag">#NationalUnicornDay</a> <a href="/tags/unicorn/" rel="tag">#unicorn</a>

Birthday
William Soutar

There were three men o’ Scotland
Wha rade intill the nicht
Wi’ nae mune lifted owre their crouns
Nor onie stern for licht:

Nane but the herryin’ houlet,
The broun mouse, and the taed,
Kent whan their horses clapper’d by
And whatna road they rade.

Nae man spak to his brither,
Nor ruggit at the rein;
But drave straucht on owre burn and brae
Or half the nicht was gaen.

Nae man spak to his brither,
Nor lat his hand draw in;
But drave straucht on owre ford and fell
Or nicht was nearly düne.

There cam a flaucht o’ levin
That brocht nae thunner ca’
But left ahint a lanely lowe
That wudna gang awa.

And richt afore the horsemen,
Whaur grumly nicht had been,
Stude a’ the Grampian Mountains
Wi’ the dark howes atween.

Up craigie cleuch and corrie
They rade wi’ stany soun’,
And saftly thru the lichted mirk
The switherin’ snaw cam doun.

They gaed by birk and rowan,
They gaed by pine and fir;
Aye on they gaed or nocht but snaw
And the roch whin was there.

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Nae man brac’d back the bridle
Yet ilka fit stude still
As thru the flichterin’ floichan-drift
A beast cam doun the hill.

It steppit like a stallion,
Wha’s heid hauds up a horn,
And weel the men o’ Scotland kent
It was the unicorn.

It steppit like a stallion,
Snaw-white and siller-bricht,
And on its back there was a bairn
Wha low’d in his ain licht.

And baith gaed by richt glegly
As day was at the daw;
And glisterin’ owre hicht and howe
They saftly smool’d awa.

Nae man but socht his brither
And look’t him in the e’en,
And sware that he wud gang a’ gates
To cry what he had seen.

There were three men o’ Scotland
A’ frazit and forforn;
But on the Grampian Mountains
They saw the unicorn.

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12d

George Buchanan’s Afterlives: Borrowings of Buchanan’s Works in Scottish Libraries, c.1750–1840 14 May, Stirling – free (suggested donation £5)Prof Katie Halsey traces how George Buchanan’s works were borrowed & read in Scotland across the 18th & early 19th centuries, & what this suggest about literate culture more broadly<a href="https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/evening-talk-inside-the-eighteenthcentury-reading-room-tickets-1982190395833" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/evening-talk-inside-the-eighteenthcentury-reading-room-tickets-1982190395833">https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/evening-talk-inside-the-eighteenthcentury-reading-room-tickets-1982190395833</a><a href="/tags/scottish/" rel="tag">#Scottish</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/libraries/" rel="tag">#libraries</a> <a href="/tags/18thcentury/" rel="tag">#18thcentury</a> <a href="/tags/19thcentury/" rel="tag">#19thcentury</a> <a href="/tags/culturalstudies/" rel="tag">#culturalstudies</a>

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2d

Robert Frost at MidlifeIn his poems for The Yale Review, the poet reckoned with mortality, imperfection, and the limits of formby Kamran Javadizadeh<a href="https://yalereview.org/article/kamran-javadizadeh-robert-frost?utm_source=Klaviyo&utm_medium=campaign&utm_id=01KNPFNHND5AN53W9YE3E0G0Z2&_kx=3MZUehzXM-41qlWAMPUiuNZadX2p0SByuNf_t0eMLB0.U5D8ER" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="yalereview.org/article/kamran-javadizadeh-robert-frost?utm_source=Klaviyo&utm_medium=campaign&utm_id=01KNPFNHND5AN53W9YE3E0G0Z2&_kx=3MZUehzXM-41qlWAMPUiuNZadX2p0SByuNf_t0eMLB0.U5D8ER">https://yalereview.org/article/kamran-javadizadeh-robert-frost?utm_source=Klaviyo&utm_medium=campaign&utm_id=01KNPFNHND5AN53W9YE3E0G0Z2&_kx=3MZUehzXM-41qlWAMPUiuNZadX2p0SByuNf_t0eMLB0.U5D8ER</a>Robert Frost at PG: <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/1091" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/1091">https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/1091</a><a href="/tags/books/" rel="tag">#books</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/poetry/" rel="tag">#poetry</a>

"The Road Not Taken", as featured in Mountain Interval (1916).

The title page and opening poem of Mountain Interval by Robert Frost, published by Henry Holt and Company, New York, copyright and first published November 1916.

The left page shows the title page with a small decorative woodcut device — an owl motif in a square border — and identifies Frost as "Author of 'North of Boston'", his celebrated 1914 collection.

The right page presents "The Road Not Taken" in full — the poem that opens the collection and became one of the most quoted and widely misread poems in the English language.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Frost#/media/File:The_Road_Not_Taken_-_Robert_Frost.png

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3d

The latest Scots Whay Hae! podcast talks to Donald S. Murray about his new novel The Loch of the Bees. Donald discusses his inspirations & the importance of place, as well as Highland history, Gaelic culture & language (& the attempts to suppress both), & the author’s personal connections to this novel.<a href="https://www.scotswhayhae.com/post/the-sting-is-in-the-tale-the-scots-whay-hae-podcast-talks-to-donald-s-murray" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.scotswhayhae.com/post/the-sting-is-in-the-tale-the-scots-whay-hae-podcast-talks-to-donald-s-murray">https://www.scotswhayhae.com/post/the-sting-is-in-the-tale-the-scots-whay-hae-podcast-talks-to-donald-s-murray</a><a href="/tags/scottish/" rel="tag">#Scottish</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/novel/" rel="tag">#novel</a> <a href="/tags/podcast/" rel="tag">#podcast</a> <a href="/tags/gaidhlig/" rel="tag">#Gaidhlig</a> <a href="/tags/gaelic/" rel="tag">#Gaelic</a>

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3d

Today is (the very first) National Black Bookstore day!Celebrate with a treat from a Black-owned indie bookstore.Brittany Allen<a href="https://lithub.com/today-is-the-very-first-national-black-bookstore-day/" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="lithub.com/today-is-the-very-first-national-black-bookstore-day/">https://lithub.com/today-is-the-very-first-national-black-bookstore-day/</a><a href="/tags/books/" rel="tag">#books</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/blacklivesmatter/" rel="tag">#blacklivesmatter</a> <a href="/tags/nationalblackbookstoreday/" rel="tag">#NationalBlackBookstoreDay</a>

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12d

Call for papers Politics, Place & Print Culture: The 14th International Walter Scott Conference 28–30 June 2027, University of EdinburghThe conference invites papers on any & all aspects of Walter Scott’s relationship to questions of politics, place & print cultureDeadline for proposals: 1 Oct 2026@litstudies <a href="https://www.bars.ac.uk/blog/?p=6395" rel="nofollow">https://www.bars.ac.uk/blog/?p=6395</a><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/sirwalterscott/" rel="tag">#SirWalterScott</a> <a href="/tags/walterscott/" rel="tag">#WalterScott</a> <a href="/tags/callforpapers/" rel="tag">#callforpapers</a> <a href="/tags/printculture/" rel="tag">#printculture</a>

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11d

Today is the birthday of John Fowles, and it feels like a good moment to return to a writer who made novels feel intimate, troubling, and alive.His books do not leave the reader untouched. They linger. They raise questions about love, freedom, illusion, loneliness, and the stories people tell themselves just to keep going.If you have read him, which book stays with you most?<a href="/tags/books/" rel="tag">#books</a> <a href="/tags/reading/" rel="tag">#reading</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/writers/" rel="tag">#writers</a> <a href="/tags/bookstodon/" rel="tag">#bookstodon</a> <a href="https://fedigroups.social/@bookstodon" class="u-url mention" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">@bookstodon</a>

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11d

Andrew Lang (1844–1912) was born <a href="/tags/otd/" rel="tag">#OTD</a>, 31 March. An extraordinarily prolific anthropologist, writer & literary critic, he is best remembered today for collecting & editing fairy stories from around the worldA 🎂 🧵1/6<a href="https://universityofglasgowlibrary.wordpress.com/2016/05/20/the-man-of-letters-in-fairyland-andrew-lang/" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="universityofglasgowlibrary.wordpress.com/2016/05/20/the-man-of-letters-in-fairyland-andrew-lang/">https://universityofglasgowlibrary.wordpress.com/2016/05/20/the-man-of-letters-in-fairyland-andrew-lang/</a><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/victorian/" rel="tag">#Victorian</a> <a href="/tags/kidlit/" rel="tag">#kidlit</a> <a href="/tags/childrensliterature/" rel="tag">#childrensliterature</a> <a href="/tags/fairytale/" rel="tag">#fairytale</a> <a href="/tags/andrewlang/" rel="tag">#AndrewLang</a>

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10d

Boswell Book Festival 2026 8–10 May, Dumfries HouseTickets are on sale for the 2026 Boswell Book Festival, the world’s only festival of biography & memoir. The festival is a programme of stories taken from the lives of people past & present.<a href="https://www.boswellbookfestival.co.uk" rel="nofollow">https://www.boswellbookfestival.co.uk</a><a href="/tags/scottish/" rel="tag">#Scottish</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a> <a href="/tags/bookfestival/" rel="tag">#bookfestival</a> <a href="/tags/biography/" rel="tag">#biography</a> <a href="/tags/memoir/" rel="tag">#memoir</a>

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10d

Larks they were in lift-off, swallows in soaring. Soaring metal is flight and nest together…—Edwin Morgan, “A Home in Space” published in CENTENARY SELECTED POEMS, @carcanet.bsky.social 2020<a href="https://www.carcanet.co.uk/9781784109967/centenary-selected-poems/" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.carcanet.co.uk/9781784109967/centenary-selected-poems/">https://www.carcanet.co.uk/9781784109967/centenary-selected-poems/</a><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/artemis/" rel="tag">#Artemis</a> <a href="/tags/space/" rel="tag">#space</a> <a href="/tags/nasa/" rel="tag">#NASA</a>

A Home in Space
Edwin Morgan

Laid-back in orbit, they found their minds.
They found their minds were very clean and clear.
Clear crystals in swarms outside were their fireflies and larks.
Larks they were in lift-off, swallows in soaring.
Soaring metal is flight and nest together.
Together they must hatch.
Hatches let the welders out.
Out went the whitesuit riggers with frames as light as air.
Air was millions under lock and key.
Key-ins had computers wild on Saturday nights.
Nights, days, months, years they lived in space.
Space shone black in their eyes.
Eyes, hands, food-tubes, screens, lenses, keys were one.
One night – or day – or month – or year – they all –
all gathered at the panel and agreed –
agreed to cut communication with –
with the earth base – and it must be said they were –
were cool and clear as they dismantled the station and –
and gave their capsule such power that –
that they launched themselves outwards –
outwards in an impeccable trajectory, that band –
that band of tranquil defiers, not to plant any –
any home with roots but to keep a –
a voyaging generation voyaging, and as far –
as far as there would ever be a home in space –
space that needs time and time that needs life.

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10d

Ayont the linn; ayont the linn, Whaur gowdan wags the gorse, A gowk gaed cryin’: “Come ye in: I’ve fairins in my purse…”—William Soutar, “The Gowk” published in Collected Published Poetry (Tippermuir, 2024)April Fool’s Day is Huntigowk Day in Scotland<a href="https://tippermuirbooks.co.uk/product/william-soutar-collected-works-vols-1-2/" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="tippermuirbooks.co.uk/product/william-soutar-collected-works-vols-1-2/">https://tippermuirbooks.co.uk/product/william-soutar-collected-works-vols-1-2/</a><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/scots/" rel="tag">#Scots</a> <a href="/tags/scotslanguage/" rel="tag">#Scotslanguage</a> <a href="/tags/april1st/" rel="tag">#April1st</a>

The Gowk
William Soutar

Ayont the linn; ayont the linn,
Whaur gowdan wags the gorse,
A gowk gaed cryin’: “Come ye in:
I’ve fairins in my purse.

My bield is o’ the diamond stane
Wi’ emerant atween:
My bonnie een are yours alane,
An’ rubies are my een.”

My faither brak a sauchy stick;
My mither wal’d a stane:
An’ weel l set it for the trick
Tae mak the gowk my ain.

The stane was set; the shot was shot;
The flichterin’ burd was fund:
But nocht aboot that lanely spot
O’ gowd or diamond.

It had nae siller for a croun;
Nae rubies for its een:
But a the crammasy ran doun
Whaur aince its breist had been.

I look’t; an’ there was nane tae see
The fairin I had taen:
I hung it on a roden-tree
An’ left it a’ alane.

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10d

Charles Dickens Searched the Streets of London and Found Inspiration for His Evocative FictionA three-part BBC series will examine how real events shaped the 19th-century British author’s writing. The show is part of the National Year of Reading in the U.K.by Ryley Graham<a href="https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/charles-dickens-searched-the-streets-of-london-and-found-inspiration-for-his-evocative-fiction-180988451/" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/charles-dickens-searched-the-streets-of-london-and-found-inspiration-for-his-evocative-fiction-180988451/">https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/charles-dickens-searched-the-streets-of-london-and-found-inspiration-for-his-evocative-fiction-180988451/</a>Dickens at PG: <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/37" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/37">https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/37</a><a href="/tags/books/" rel="tag">#books</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a>

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12d

It is big sky and its changes, the sea all round and the waters within. It is the way sea and sky work off each other constantly, like people meeting in Alfred Street, each face coming away with a hint of the other’s face pressed in it…—Andrew Greig, “Orkney/This Life” published in INTO YOU (Bloodaxe, 2001)<a href="https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poem/orkney-life/" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poem/orkney-life/">https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poem/orkney-life/</a><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/orkney/" rel="tag">#Orkney</a>

Orkney / This Life
Andrew Greig

For Catherine and Jamie

It is big sky and its changes,
the sea all round and the waters within.
It is the way sea and sky
work off each other constantly,
like people meeting in Alfred Street,
each face coming away with a hint
of the other’s face pressed in it.
It is the way a week-long gale
ends and folk emerge to hear
a single bird cry way high up.

It is the way you lean to me
and the way I lean to you, as if
we are each other’s prevailing;
how we connect along our shores,
the way we are tidal islands
joined for hours then inaccessible,
I’ll go for that, and smile when I
pick sand off myself in the shower.
The way I am an inland loch to you
when a clatter of white whoops and rises . . .

It is the way Scotland looks to the South,
the way we enter friends’ houses
to leave what we came with, or flick
the kettle’s switch and wait.
This is where I want to live,
close to where the heart gives out,
ruined, perfected, an empty arch against the sky
where birds fly through instead of prayers
while in Hoy Sound the ferry’s engines thrum
this life this life this life.

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10d

Did Geoffrey Chaucer invent April Fool’s Day?Today, and every year on April the first, we curse Geoffrey Chaucer. Why? Because he is (supposedly) personally responsible for the two worst holidays (“holidays”) known to humankind/the internet. These, of course, are Valentine’s Day and today, April Fools’ Day.<a href="https://lithub.com/tag/chaucer/?utm_source=Klaviyo&utm_medium=campaign&utm_id=01KMVKDFT18P2CKKD0MVH2TF5N&_kx=3MZUehzXM-41qlWAMPUiuNZadX2p0SByuNf_t0eMLB0.U5D8ER" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="lithub.com/tag/chaucer/?utm_source=Klaviyo&utm_medium=campaign&utm_id=01KMVKDFT18P2CKKD0MVH2TF5N&_kx=3MZUehzXM-41qlWAMPUiuNZadX2p0SByuNf_t0eMLB0.U5D8ER">https://lithub.com/tag/chaucer/?utm_source=Klaviyo&utm_medium=campaign&utm_id=01KMVKDFT18P2CKKD0MVH2TF5N&_kx=3MZUehzXM-41qlWAMPUiuNZadX2p0SByuNf_t0eMLB0.U5D8ER</a>Chaucer at PG: <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/144" rel="nofollow" class="ellipsis" title="www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/144">https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/144</a><a href="/tags/books/" rel="tag">#books</a> <a href="/tags/literature/" rel="tag">#literature</a>

Portrait of Chaucer by William Blake.

Manchester City Gallery - Tempera on canvas c. 1800.

The bust-length portrait of Chaucer emerges from a wreath of laurel rendered in soft blue-greens against a pale aqueous background. The face is gentle and bearded, wearing a hood, and has a mild, benign expression.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Geoffrey_Chaucer#/media/File:William_Blake_-_Geoffrey_Chaucer_-_Manchester_City_Gallery_-_Tempera_on_canvas_c_1800.jpg

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