Eggplant.place

20d

efturryd geenuz iz speel
iboot whut wuz right
nwhut wuz rang
boot this nthat
nthi nix thing
a sayzti the bloke
nwhut izzit yi caw
yir joab jimmy…

—Tom Leonard, “liason coordinator”
from GHOSTIE MEN (Galloping Dog Press, 1980)

Tom Leonard (1944–2018) was born #OTD, 22 August

https://www.tomleonard.co.uk/online-poetry-and-prose/liasoncoordinator.html

#Scottish #literature #language #Glasgow #Glaswegian #poem #poetry #TomLeonard

efturryd geenuz iz speel
iboot whut wuz right
nwhut wuz rang
boot this nthat
nthi nix thing

a sayzti the bloke
nwhut izzit yi caw
yir joab jimmy

am a liason co-ordinator
hi sayz oh good ah sayz
a liason co-ordinator

jist whut this erria needs
whut way aw thi unimploymint
inaw thi bevvyin
nthi boayz runnin amock
nthi hoossyz fawnty bits
nthi wummin n tranquilisers
it last thiv sent uz
a liason co-ordinator

sumdy wia digree
in fuck knows whut
get peyd fur no known
whut thi fuck ti day way it

ALT

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17d

Dorothy Dunnett (1923–2001) was born #OTD, 25 August, in Dunfermline. She is best known as a writer of historical fiction – in particular the six-part LYMOND CHRONICLES that begin with those fateful words:

“Lymond is back.”

A 🎂 🧵

@bookstodon

1/7

https://booksfromscotland.com/2019/06/rediscovering-dorothy-dunnett/

#Scottish #literature #DorothyDunnett #LymondChronicles #HistoricalFiction #novel

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16d

Lines etched on a window at Wingate’s Inn, Stirling, 26 August 1787

Here Stewarts once in triumph reign’d,
And laws for Scotland’s weal ordain’ d;
But now unroof’d their Palace stands,
Their Sceptre’s fall’n to other hands…

#OTD, 26 August, 1787, Robert Burns wrote this poem with a diamond-tipped pen on a window in Stirling

https://burnsmuseum.wordpress.com/2018/08/24/graffiti-artist/

#Scottish #literature #18thcentury #Jacobites #Hanoverian #republicanism #monarchy #RobertBurns #graffiti

Lines etched on a window at Wingate’s Inn, Stirling, 26 August 1787
Robert Burns

Here Stewarts once in triumph reign’d,
And laws for Scotland’s weal ordain’d;
But now unroof’d their Palace stands,
Their Sceptre’s fall’n to other hands;
Fall’n indeed, and to the Earth
Whence grovelling reptiles take their birth.
The injur’d STEWART-line are gone,
A Race outlandish fills their throne:
An idiot race, to honour lost—
Who know them best despise them most.

ALT

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16d

“The life of John Buchan reads like one of his adventure stories… he roamed both continents & careers alike, leaping from one cliffhanger to the next”

John Buchan (1875–1940) – from son of the manse to Governor-General of Canada – was born #OTD, 26 August.

A 🎂 🧵

1/9

https://www.thebottleimp.org.uk/2025/12/the-reign-of-saturn/

#Scottish #literature #JohnBuchan #20thcentury

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12d

“…my habitual residence was on the blank and dreary northern shores of the Tay, near Dundee…”
—Mary Shelley, introduction to FRANKENSTEIN (1831 edn)

Mary Shelley (1797–1851) was born #OTD, 30 August. Prof Daniel Cook examines why Scotland mattered so much to Mary Shelley, & considers Shelley’s position in the Scottish Gothic tradition

@litstudies

https://www.nls.uk/papercut/mary-shelley-and-the-scottish-gothic-tradition/

#Scottish #literature #gothic #horror #Dundee #MaryShelley #Frankenstein #FrankensteinDay

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10d

A 🎂 🧵 for Violet Jacob (1863–1946) – poet, novelist, short story writer, & key figure in the 20th-century Scottish renaissance & Scots language revival – born #OTD, 1 September

1/8

https://www.scottishwomenwritersontheweb.net/writers-a-to-z/violet-jacob

#Scottish #literature #Scots #Scotslanguage #19thCentury #20thcentury #WomenWriters #VioletJacob

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6d

Daft gowk, in macaroni dress,
Are ye come here to shaw your face,
Bowden wi’ pride o’ simmer gloss,
To cast a dash at Reikie’s cross…

—“On Seeing a Butterfly in the Street”, by Robert Fergusson (1750–1774) – born #OTD, 5 Sept. In his short life he reinvigorated #poetry in Scots. A 🎂🧵

1/10

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #18thcentury #Edinburgh #RobertFergusson

On Seeing a Butterfly in the Street
Robert Fergusson

Daft gowk, in macaroni dress,
Are ye come here to shaw your face,
Bowden wi’ pride o’ simmer gloss,
To cast a dash at Reikie’s cross;
And glowr at mony a twa-legg’d creature,
Flees, braw by art, tho’ worms by nature?

Like country laird in city cleeding,
Ye’re come to town to lear’ good breeding;
To bring ilk darling toast and fashion
In vogue amang the flee creation,
That they, like buskit belles and beaux,
May crook their mou’ fu’ sour at those
Whase weird is still to creep, alas!
Unnotic’d ʼmang the humble grass;
While you, wi’ wings new buskit trim,
Can far frae yird and reptiles skim;
Newfangle grown wi’ new-got form,
You soar aboon your mither worm.

Kind Nature lent but for a day
Her wings to mak ye sprush and gay;
In her habuliments a while
Ye may your former sell beguile,
And ding awa’ the vexing thought
O’ hourly dwinin’ into nought,
By beengin’ to your foppish brithers,
Black corbies dress’d in peacock’s feathers;
Like thee they dander here and there,
Whan Simmer’s blinks are warm and fair,
And lo’e to snuff the healthy balm,
Whan E’enin’ spreads her wing sae calm;
But whan she girns and glow’rs sae dour
Frae Borean houff in angry show’r,
Like thee they scour frae street or field,
And hap them in a lyther bield;
For they were never made to dree
The adverse gloom o’ Fortune’s e’e,
Nor ever pried life’s pinin’ woes,
Nor pu’d the prickles wi’ the rose.

ALT

Poor Butterfly! thy case I mourn,
To green kail-yard and fruits return:
How could you troke the mavis’ note
For “penny pies all-pipin’ hot?”
Can lintie’s music be compar’d
Wi’ gruntles frae the City Guard?
Or can our flow’rs, at ten hour’s bell,
The gowan or the spink excel?

Now shou’d our sclates wi’ hailstanes ring,
What cabbage-fauld wad screen your wing;
Say, fluttering fairy! wert thy hap
To light beneath braw Nanny’s cap,
Wad she, proud butterfly of May!
In pity let you skaithless gae?
The furies glancing frae her een
Wad rug your wings o’ siller sheen,
That, wae for thee! far, far outvy
Her Paris artist’s finest dye;
Then a’ your bonny spraings wad fall,
And you a worm be left to crawl.

To sic mishanter rins the laird
Wha quits his ha’-house and kail-yard,
Grows politician, scours to court,
Whare he’s the laughing-stock and sport
O’ Ministers, wha jeer and jibe,
And heeze his hopes wi’ thought o’ bribe,
Till in the end they flae him bare,
Leave him to poortith, and to care.
Their fleetchin’ words owre late he sees,
He trudges hame, repines, and dies.

Sic be their fa’ wha dirk their ben
In blackest business nae their ain;
And may they scad their lips fu’ leal,
That dip their spoons in ither’s kail.

ALT

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4d

Susan Ferrier (1782–1854) was born #OTD, 7 Sept. Her 3 novels – 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘐𝘯𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, & 𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘺 – are vivid & humorous accounts of Scottish society. Often compared to her contemporary Jane Austen, Ferrier’s satires are much more vicious…

A 🎂🧵

1/10

https://www.nls.uk/collections/stories/literature-and-poetry/susan-ferrier-and-her-contemporaries/

#Scottish #literature #Regency #18thcentury #19thCentury #romanticism #WomenWriters #SusanFerrier #JaneAusten #humour #satire

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45d

Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad?
Whare hae ye been sae brankie, O?
Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad?
Came ye by Killiecrankie, O?

—“Killicrankie”, from James Hogg’s JACOBITE RELICS OF SCOTLAND (1819).

The Battle of Killiecrankie ⚔️ was fought #OTD, 27 July, 1689. A Jacobite force led by Ewan Cameron of Lochiel & Viscount Dundee defeated a Scottish government army commanded by Hugh Mackay

#Scottish #literature #EarlyModern #17thcentury #battle #Jacobite #song #folksong

Page images from James Hogg’s JACOBITE RELICS OF SCOTLAND (1819). Musical notation is supplied for the chorus: the full text of the song is also given:

Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad?
Whare hae ye been sae brankie, O?
Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad?
Came ye by Killiecrankie, O?

CHORUS:
An ye had been whare I hae been
Ye wadna been sae cantie, O;
An’ ye had seen what I hae seen,
I’ the braes o’ Killiecrankie, O

I faught at land, I faught at sea,
At hame I faught my auntie, O;
But I met the Devil and Dundee
On the braes o’ Killiecrankie, O
An ye had been, &c.

The bauld Pitcur fell in a furr,
And Clavers gat a clankie, O,
Or I had fed an Athol gled
On the braes o’ Killiecrankie, O.
An ye had been, &c.

Oh fie, Mackay, what gart ye lie
I’ the brush ayont the brankie, O?
Ye’d better kiss’d King Willie’s loof,
Than come to Killiecrankie, O.
It’s nae shame, it’s nae shame
It’s nae shame to shank ye, O;
There’s sour slaes on Athol braes,
And deils at Killiecrankie, O.

ALT

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3d

"Quanto più su l'instabil ruota vedi
Di Fortuna ire in alto il miser uomo,
Tanto più tosto hai da vedergli i piedi
Ove ora ha il capo, e far cadendo il tomo."

The higher up on Fortune's wheel you see
A wretch ascend, the sooner he will fall,
And where his head is now, his feet will be.

Canto XLV, stanza 1 (tr. B. Reynolds) - Orlando Furioso (1532)

~Ludovico Ariosto, born #OTD in 1474

Orlando Furioso at PG:
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/615

#books #literature

illustration of Ludovico Ariosto’s “Orlando Furioso”. By Gustave Doré.

It depicts the rescue of Angelica, who is shown chained to a rock, being attacked by an orc, while the knight Ruggiero arrives riding the hippogriff to save her, lance in hand.

ALT

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2d

The deid-hole’s a sma-boukit place for you.
You need tae be blawn aboot the cosmos
so’s your live matter mells wi the spaces
and you become the stour starns are made o…

—Alastair Mackie: In Memoriam Hugh MacDiarmid (1892–1978)

Christopher Murray Grieve – Hugh MacDiarmid – died #OTD, 9 September

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

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Scots #Scotslanguage #HughMacDiarmid #InMemoriam