This far north, the harvest happens late.
Rooks go clattering over the sycamores
whose shadows yawn after them, down to the river.
Uncut wheat staggers under its own weight…
—Dorothy Lawrenson, “September”
published in Painted, spoken 22 (2011)
poem
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
There are times when I think
of the knowledge we had as children:
the patterns we saw in number, or the spells
and recipes we had
for love and fear…
—John Burnside, “Being and Time”
published in THE LIGHT TRAP (Jonathan Cape, 2002)
https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poem/being-and-time/
He moves the way light moves: now sudden,
racing up a field as sun clears cloud,
now unnoticed, leaching from the world
until you look up into dark…
—Sheenagh Pugh, “Him Again”
published in A Little Touch of Cliff in the Evening: New Writing Scotland 30 (ASL, 2012)
