Eggplant.place

141d

bradan à linne
fadh à frith
craobh à coille

trì nithean
nach meàirle
ghabhail o nàdar…

—Aonghas MacNeacail, “trì nithean”
published in Laoidh an donais òig / Hymn to a young demon (Polygon, 2007)

#Scottish #literature #Gaidhlig #Gaelic #EarthDay #EarthDay2026 #poem #poetry #landrights

aonghas macneacail
three things

salmon from the pool
deer from the moor
tree from the wood

three things
it’s no crime
to take from nature

grouse and salmon and deer
…and land and land and land

whose are they
who stole them

whose are they
who stole them

whose are they
who stole them

ALT

aonghas macneacail
trì nithean

bradan à linne
fadh à frith
craobh à coille

trì nithean
nach meàirle
ghabhail o nàdar

cearc-fhraoich is bradan is fiadh
… is fearann is fearann is fearann

cò leis iad
cò ghoid iad

cò leis iad
cò ghoid iad

cò leis iad
cò ghoid iad

ALT

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207d

The sun’s been tint for weeks. Deid maybe.
Likely drooned. Water’s aaplace, teemin doon
gutters and branders, rinnin aff the slates,
floodin pavements. Fowk near droon…

—Ken Morrice, “Foo Mony Cubits?”
published in Selected Poems (Keith Murray, 1991)

https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poem/foo-mony-cubits/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Scots #Scotslanguage #Aberdeenshire #rain

Foo Mony Cubits?
Ken Morrice

The sun’s been tint for weeks. Deid maybe.
Likely drooned. Water’s aaplace, teemin doon
gutters and branders, rinnin aff the slates,
floodin pavements. Fowk near droon

waitin for the bus. Fit an onding!
Weet skites up yer troosers, drips doon yer sark.
Fa wis it prayed for rain? Lord, eneuch’s eneuch.
Caa back the sun, or help’s build an ark!

ALT

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208d

Not a red rose or a satin heart.

I give you an onion.
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
It promises light
like the careful undressing of love…

—Carol Ann Duffy, “Valentine”
published in A Red Rose or a Satin Heart: An Anthology of Scottish Love Poems, @canongatebooks 2010
💝

#Scottish #literature #ValentinesDay #poem #poetry #womenwriters #lovepoem #CarolAnnDuffy

Valentine
Carol Ann Duffy

Not a red rose or a satin heart.

I give you an onion.
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
It promises light
like the careful undressing of love.

Here.
It will blind you with tears
like a lover.
It will make your reflection
a wobbling photo of grief.

I am trying to be truthful.

Not a cute card or a kissogram.

I give you an onion.
Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,
possessive and faithful
as we are,
for as long as we are.

Take it.
Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding ring,
if you like.
Lethal.
Its scent will cling to your fingers,
cling to your knife.

ALT

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208d

When you go,
if you go,
and I should want to die,
there’s nothing I’d be saved by
more than the time
you fell asleep in my arms…

—Edwin Morgan, “When You Go”
published in CENTENARY SELECTED POEMS (Carcanet, 2020)

https://www.carcanet.co.uk/cgi-bin/indexer?product=9781784109967

#Scottish #literature #ValentinesDay #LGBTQ #LGBTQplusHM #poem #poetry #Valentine #lovepoem #lovepoetry #EdwinMorgan

When you go
Edwin Morgan

When you go,
if you go,
and I should want to die,
there's nothing I’d be saved by
more than the time
you fell asleep in my arms
in a trust so gentle
I let the darkening room
drink up the evening, till
rest, or the new rain
lightly roused you awake.
I asked if you heard the rain in your dream
and half dreaming still you only said, I love you.

ALT

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208d

O dastram, dastram,
Dastram Mòrag!
Rìbhinn bhuidh’, bhasdalach,
Leac-ruiteach ròsach…

—Alasdair Mac Mhaighstir Alasdair, bho “Moladh Mòrag”
published in DASTRAM/DELIRIUM: Selected Poems of Alasdair Mac Mhaighstir Alasdair, Versions by Taylor Strickland (Broken Sleep Books, 2023)

https://www.brokensleepbooks.com/product-page/taylor-strickland-dastram-delirium

#Scottish #literature #Gaidhlig #Gaelic #ValentinesDay #poem #poetry #18thcentury #love #lovepoem #lovepoetry

bho Moladh Mòraig
Alasdair Mac Mhaighstir Alasdair

O dastram, dastram,
Dastram Mòrag!
Rìbhinn bhuidh’, bhasdalach,
Leac-ruiteach ròsach;
A gruaidhean air lasadh
Mar an lasair-chlach dhathte,
’S a deud mar a’ sneachda,
Cruinn-shnaighte ’n dlùth òrdugh;
Ri Venus cho tlachdmhor
An taitneachdainn fheòlmhor,
Ri Dido cho maiseach,
Cho snasmhor ’s cho còrr rith’;
’S e thionnsgain dhomh caitheamh
’S a lùghdaich mo ràithean,
A’ bhallag ghrinn laghach
Chuir na gathan sa ’m fheòil-sa.

ALT

from Praised be Morag
translated by Taylor Strickland

Delirium! Delirium
from her, a girl blonde,
lurid: how she snuffs out
her own flint-spark glow,
and in one white bite
hewn from snow.
As sex and excess,
as body and beauty,
so Dido, so Venus,
so Morag ravishes
my seasons,
my genius
spent.
A girl with sharp agency
can pierce the heart
clean through.

ALT

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208d

O, love, love, love!
Love is like a dizziness;
It winna let a poor body
Gang about his biziness!

—James Hogg (1770–1835), “Love is like a dizziness” 💝

#Scottish #literature #poetry #poem #ValentinesDay #Valentine #18thcentury #19thcentury #humour

Love is like a dizziness
James Hogg

I lately lived in quiet ease,
An’ ne’er wished to marry, O!
But when I saw my Peggy’s face,
I felt a sad quandary, O!
Though wild as ony Athol deer,
She has trepann’d me fairly, O!
Her cherry cheeks an’ een sae clear
Torment me late an’ early, O!

O, love, love, love!
Love is like a dizziness;
It winna let a poor body
Gang about his biziness!

To tell my feats this single week
Wad mak a daft-like diary, O!
I drave my cart out owre a dike,
My horses in a miry, O!
I wear my stockings white an’ blue,
My love’s sae fierce an’ fiery, O!
I drill the land that I should pleugh,
An’ pleugh the drills entirely, O!

Chorus

Ae morning, by the dawn o’ day,
I rase to theek the stable, O!
I cuist my coat, an’ plied away
As fast as I was able, O!
I wrought that morning out an’ out,
As I’d been redding fire, O!
When I had done an’ look’d about,
Gudefaith, it was the byre, O!

Chorus

ALT

Her wily glance I’ll ne’er forget,
The dear, the lovely blinkin’ o’t
Has pierced me through an’ through the heart,
An’ plagues me wi’ the prinkling o’t.
I tried to sing, I tried to pray,
I tried to drown’t wi’ drinkin’ o’t,
I tried wi’ sport to drive’t away,
But ne’er can sleep for thinkin’ o’t.

Chorus

Nae man can tell what pains I prove,
Or how severe my pliskie, O!
I swear I’m sairer drunk wi’ love
Than ever I was wi’ whisky, O!
For love has raked me fore an’ aft,
I scarce can lift a leggie, O!
I first grew dizzy, then gaed daft,
An’ soon I’ll dee for Peggy, O!

Chorus

ALT

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208d

Here is a letter
come across the ocean
over the back of a world
curved like a whale…

—Hugh McMillan, “Letter”
published in THE OTHER CREATURES IN THE WOOD (Mariscat, 2014)

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

#Scottish #literature #ValentinesDay #poem #poetry #lovepoem #lovepoetry #Valentine

Letter
Hugh McMillan

Here is a letter
come across the ocean
over the back of a world
curved like a whale.
I unwrap it, like tissue,
and sentences spill out,
as though the seal on a jar has broken,
coils of cornflower blue
on paper thin as shell.

I saw a sailor’s valentine once
in a museum in Nantucket Sound,
a mosaic of broken scallop
glued in a compass rose.
‘Writ from the heart’ it said.
Words come best like that:
in ink or blood,
when the source is from a major vein.

I read, and understand this much:
if ink sees off time and miles, then so must love.

ALT

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208d

Like the Idalian queene,
Her haire about her eyne,
With necke and brests ripe apples to be seene,
At first glance of the morne
In Cyprus gardens gathering those faire flowrs
Which of her bloud were borne…

—William Drummond of Hawthornden (1585–1649), “Like the Idalian queene”

https://asls.org.uk/publications/books/volumes/jacobean-parnassus/

#Scottish #literature #ValentinesDay #Valentine #17thcentury #earlymodern #poem #poetry #lovepoem #lovepoetry

“Like the Idalian queene”
by William Drummond of Hawthornden

Like the Idalian queene,
Her haire about her eyne,
With necke and brests ripe apples to be seene,
At first glance of the morne
In Cyprus gardens gathering those faire flowrs
Which of her bloud were borne,
I saw, but fainting saw, my paramours.
The Graces naked danc’d about the place,
The winds and trees, amaz’d,
With silence on her gaz’d,
The flowrs did smile, like those upon her face;
And as their aspine stalkes those fingers band,
That shee might read my case
A hyacinth I wisht mee in her hand.

ALT

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208d

There were never strawberries
like the ones we had
that sultry afternoon
sitting on the step
of the open french window
facing each other
your knees held in mine…

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

https://www.carcanet.co.uk/cgi-bin/indexer?product=9781784109967

#Scottish #literature #ValentinesDay #poem #poetry #LGBTQ #LGBTQplusHM #Valentine #lovepoem #lovepoetry #EdwinMorgan #20thcentury

Strawberries
Edwin Morgan

There were never strawberries
like the ones we had
that sultry afternoon
sitting on the step
of the open french window
facing each other
your knees held in mine
the blue plates in our laps
the strawberries glistening
in the hot sunlight
we dipped them in sugar
looking at each other
not hurrying the feast
for one to come
the empty plates

laid on the stone together
with the two forks crossed
and I bent towards you
sweet in that air
in my arms
abandoned like a child
from your eager mouth
the taste of strawberries
in my memory
lean back again
let me love you

let the sun beat
on our forgetfulness
one hour of all
the heat intense
and summer lightning
on the Kilpatrick hills

let the storm wash the plates

ALT

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208d

Whether the weather be dreich or fair, my luve,
if guid times greet us, or we hae tae face the worst,
ahint and afore whit will happen tae us…

—Jackie Kay, “A Lang Promise”
published in BANTAM (Picador, 2017)

https://www.panmacmillan.com/authors/jackie-kay/bantam/9781509887927

#Scottish #literature #ValentinesDay #Valentine #poem #poetry #LGBTQ #LGBTQplusHM #lovepoem #lovepoetry #Scots #Scotslanguage #womenwriters #JackieKay

A Lang Promise
Jackie Kay

Whether the weather be dreich or fair, my luve,
if guid times greet us, or we hae tae face the worst,
ahint and afore whit will happen tae us:
blind in the present, eyes open to the furore,
unkempt or perjink, suddenly puir or poorly,
peely-wally or in fine fettle, beld or frosty,
calm as a ghoul or in a feery-farry,
in dork December or in springy spring weather,
doon by the Barrows, or on the Champs-Élysées,
at midnight, first licht, whether the mune
be roond or crescent, and yer o' soond mind
or absent, I'll tak your trusty haun
and lead you over the haw – hame, ma darlin.
I’ll carry ma lantern, and daur defend ye agin ony foe;
and whilst there is breath in me, I'll blaw it intae ye.
Fir ye are ma true luve, the bonnie face I see;
nichts I fall intae slumber, it’s ye swimming up
in all yer guidness and blitheness, yer passion.
You’ll be mine, noo, an’ till the end o’ time,
ma bonnie lassie, I’ll tak the full guid o’ ye
and gie it back, and gie it back tae ye:
a furst kiss, a lang promise, time’s gowden ring.

ALT

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141d

dear small daughter for a long time I did not write
what had already become past-tense was past-tense
and I am sorry I was not able to hold it as one might
in a dream hold a stream of water and sing it to sleep…

—Sheila Black, “Climate (7) (Past Tense)”
published in BREAK IN CASE OF SILENCE: New Writing Scotland 39 (ASL, 2021)

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

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #EarthDay #EarthDay2026 #climate #environment #environmentalism #climatechange

Sheila Black
Climate (7) (Past Tense)

dear small daughter for a long time I did not write
what had already become past-tense was past-tense
and I am sorry I was not able to hold it as one might
in a dream hold a stream of water and sing it to sleep
and I am sorry that I told you this image as if it were
in truth perdurable plangent and constant moon
over our seas when it is the shifting that matters.
dear small the birds the mockingbirds they sang
in the middle of the night and for this we cursed
them but then we came upon their nests in the black
of day noon when the sun is a diamond burning
through however much blue and the two of them
circled so tirelessly with their wings fanning the
turquoise eggs inside the nest of dead grass and we
understood we were not the only ones but even this
could not stop us from doing as we had done all
our lives long and the cars we pulled out of driveways
and the highways that took us into the buzzing
electric of buildings poured in dense concrete
and the cooling chemicals seeping and cycling
as though through calm artificial hearts and outside
unnoticed the ghost-blue of juniper needle and berry
and the ghost-rising of smoke from the fires we
claimed we had not set. dear daughter now that we
must use the past-tense for what we thought was ours
now as we move into the possible distance I open
my hand to give you this picture of two wings.

ALT

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1y

“Multitudes” is a #haiku from Library on Fire, my 3rd volume of #poetry available at https://www.nihtgengapress.com/product/library-on-fire

#books #indie #poem

Multitudes
I must remember
Within my darkness resides
Multitudes of stars

ALT

Edited 1y ago

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1y

Thae laddies in the Celtic shirts,
a baker’s dozen
lumbering all the way to the summit cairn
the hot last Saturday of May
as larks trilled
and the loch-side braes released their midgies…

—Kathleen Jamie, “Ben Lomond”
published in THE BONNIEST COMPANIE (Picador, 2015)

https://www.panmacmillan.com/authors/kathleen-jamie/the-bonniest-companie/9781509801718

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry

Ben Lomond
Kathleen Jamie

Thae laddies in the Celtic shirts,
a baker’s dozen
lumbering all the way to the summit cairn
the hot last Saturday of May
as larks trilled
and the loch-side braes released their midgies …

Well, up at the raven-haunted trig-point
(as the sun shone bright o’er the whole lower Clyde)
they unfurled a banner,
and triumphant-sombre, ranked themselves behind it
for the photies,
‘R.I.P.’ it read, then the name of a wee boy

they’ll never meet again. Ach,
would the wean were playing fit-ba
on some bonny banks somewhere …

There’s no accounting for it, is there?
I mean the low road, and the high.

ALT

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141d

Change, change – that’s what the terns scream
down at their seaward rocks;
ﬂeet clouds and salt kiss –
everything else is provisional,
us and all our works…

—Kathleen Jamie, “Fianuis”
published in SELECTED POEMS (Picador, 2018)

https://www.panmacmillan.com/authors/kathleen-jamie/selected-poems/9781509882953

#Scottish #literature #EarthDay #poem #poetry #EarthDay2026 #environment #environmentalism

Fianuis
by Kathleen Jamie

Well, friend, we’re here again —
sauntering the last half-mile to the land’s frayed end
to find what’s laid on for us, strewn across the turf —
gull feathers, bleached shells,
a whole bull seal, bone-dry,
knackered from the rut
(we knock on his leathern head, but no one’s home).

Change, change — that’s what the terns scream
down at their seaward rocks;
ﬂeet clouds and salt kiss —
everything else is provisional,
us and all our works.
I guess that’s why we like it here:
listen — a brief lull,
a rock pipit’s seed-small notes.

ALT

Edited 141d ago

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193d

On seeing Iran in the news, I want to say

my grandmother was called Nasreen,
that she died two years ago in Tabriz
and I couldn’t go to say goodbye,
that she knew nothing of power,
nuclear or otherwise…

—Marjorie Lotfi, “On seeing Iran in the news, I want to say”
published in THE WRONG PERSON TO ASK (Bloodaxe, 2024).

D.A. Prince reviews THE WRONG PERSON TO ASK on The Friday Poem:

https://thefridaypoem.substack.com/p/the-friday-poem-on-16th-may-2025

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Iran

Marjorie Lotfi
On seeing Iran in the news, I want to say

my grandmother was called Nasreen,
that she died two years ago in Tabriz
and I couldn’t go to say goodbye,
that she knew nothing of power,
nuclear or otherwise. I want to say
that the bonfires for Chahar Shanbeh Suri
were built by our neighbour’s hands;
as children we were taught to jump over
and not be caught by the flames. I want to say
my cousin Elnaz, the one born after I left,
has a son and two degrees in Chemistry,
and had trouble getting a job. I want to say
that the night we swam towards
the moon hanging over the horizon
of the Caspian Sea, we found ourselves
kneeling on a sandbar we couldn’t see
like a last gift. I want to say
I’m the wrong person to ask.

ALT

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1y

We needed it—and he stood there,
feet on the dry porch, saying rain,
cloud and skyful, the sound of drumming…

—Niall Campbell, “The Rainmaker”
published in POETRY (July/August 2020)
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/153822/the-rainmaker

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #rain

The Rainmaker
by Niall Campbell

We needed it—and he stood there,
feet on the dry porch, saying rain,
cloud and skyful, the sound of drumming;

the bath trough in the garden listened,
white and bone dry, as he described
a bright wash across the dust fields,

the surest downpour, the flushed skin,
my soaked shirt, heavy as a bell.
Then off he went to the scorched fields,

humming, and weighing what we paid.
What did he say: prayer is moisture;
hope is a well—I didn’t care,

I wanted just the words from him—
what I couldn’t dare say—not there
beneath that sun, that blur of fire-sky.

My thoughts all thoughts of water, I
spun my head round—to hear the spill
of the word rain across the boards,

and nothing grew dark, nothing fell—
but something fell, and the ground took,
and something wild as garlic grew.

ALT

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1y

Love rules. Love laughs. Love marches. Love is the wolf that guards the gate.
Love is the food of music, art, poetry. It fills us and fuels us and fires us to create.
Love is terror. Love is sweat. Love is bashed pillow, crumpled sheet, unenviable fate…

—Edwin Morgan, “Love”
A poem for Pride Month 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️
published in A BOOK OF LIVES (Carcanet, 2011)

https://www.carcanet.co.uk/9781857549188/a-book-of-lives/

#Scottish #literature #EdwinMorgan #poem #poetry #love #lovepoem #loveislove #Pride #PrideMonth #PrideMonth2025

Love
by Edwin Morgan

Love rules. Love laughs. Love marches. Love is the wolf that guards the gate.
Love is the food of music, art, poetry. It fills us and fuels us and fires us to create.
Love is terror. Love is sweat. Love is bashed pillow, crumpled sheet, unenviable fate.
Love is the honour that kills and saves and nothing will ever let that high ambiguity abate.
Love is the crushed ice that tingles and shivers and clinks fidgin-fain for the sugar-drenched absinthe to fall on it and alter its state.
With love you send a probe
So far from the globe
No one can name the shoals the voids the belts the zones the drags the flares it signals all to leave all and to navigate.

ALT

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1y

Tenderness is mandatory.
Careless lurches may draw blood,
enthusiasms leave abrasions,
excessive ardour has been known
to snap off spinal plates…

—“The Mating of Dinosaurs”, by William Oliphant (1920–2004)
published in The Mating of Dinosaurs (Taranis Books, 1992)

Today, 1 June, is Dinosaur Day 🦖

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #dinosaurs #DinosaurDay

The Mating of Dinosaurs
William Oliphant

Tenderness is mandatory.
Careless lurches may draw blood,
enthusiasms leave abrasions,
excessive ardour has been known
to snap off spinal plates.

There is the constant burden of
the force of gravity that pulls
against the need for viable eggs.

The wear and tear on genitalia,
like spoil of grind of glacier, is
lost in some future fossil count.

The adaptationists suggest
that gentleness emerges here,
and some will come to call it love.

ALT

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1y

it is dawn and my wife is coming to bed
and she has been watching a film about the life of charlie parker

and the air in the bedroom is silent while she undresses
and the light is there at the side of the curtain beyond her head…

—Tom Leonard, “June the Second”, from outside the narrative: poems 1965–2009 (Etruscan Books/Word Power Books 2009)

https://lighthousebookshop.com/book/9780956628336

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #TomLeonard

June the Second
Tom Leonard

it is dawn and my wife is coming to bed
and she has been watching a film about the life of charlie parker

and the air in the bedroom is silent while she undresses
and the light is there at the side of the curtain beyond her head

and she tells me his body gave up of drink and drugs when he was 34
and I decide I am awake and go to the kitchen for a drink of water

and the sky in the north is translucent like a lake
translucent like a lake though it is only 3 am

and when I go back we lightly hold hands as we sometimes do
until the first to be falling asleep begins to twitch and tonight it’s Sonya

and I withdraw my hand and lie back looking at the ceiling
I am aged 51 years and nine months and nine to ten days

ALT

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1y

Get a head start by having a first name
that doesn’t really go with your second name.
Your parents were just trying to keep everyone happy…

—Palma McKeown, “How To Be Scots-Italian”
published in TALKING ABOUT LOBSTERS: New Writing Scotland 34 (ASL, 2016)
A poem for Festa della Repubblica 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🇮🇹

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #ScotsItalian #Italy #FestaDellaRepubblica

Get a head start by having a first name
that doesn’t really go with your second name.
Your parents were just trying to keep everyone happy.
Keep a bottle of Lacryma Christi for when
your Auntie Anna calls in unexpectedly.
Hide the jar of instant coffee in case
she comes into the kitchen & dust off
the old metal coffee pot that unscrews in the middle.
Put out that panettone you got at Christmas
then watch as she scoffs all the Tunnock’s Teacakes.
Learn to sidle down side streets or
melt into shop doorways when you see
old Mr D’Ambrosio coming because, despite
the fact he’s lived here for over sixty years,
you still can’t make out a word he’s saying.
Be prepared to serve sausage rolls & salami di Milano
at Hogmanay parties & give equal play time
to Jimmy Shand & Dean Martin.
You’re just trying to keep everyone happy.
Listen politely to your Auntie Carmen from Coatbridge
when she phones at three in the morning to ask
if everything’s okay because she’s had a dream
about you & the number 62
which signifies death & pestilence.
Try unsuccessfully to get back to sleep.
Feel torn when Italy is playing Scotland at football
until the crowd starts to sing ‘Flower of Scotland’
and a wee tear runs down your cheek.
Try not to get bitter that you never knew
your Italian granddad because during the war
he was taken away by two Scottish policemen
in the middle of the night, herded onto a ship
and was lost at sea when it was torpedoed.
Churchill was just trying to keep everyone happy.

ALT

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1y

Whether the weather be dreich or fair, my luve,
if guid times greet us, or we hae tae face the worst,
ahint and afore whit will happen tae us:
blind in the present, eyes open to the furore…

—Jackie Kay, “A Lang Promise”
published in BANTAM (Picador, 2017)

A poem for Pride Month 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

https://www.panmacmillan.com/authors/jackie-kay/bantam/9781509887927

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Scots #Scotslanguage #love #lovepoem #Pride #PrideMonth #JackieKay