Eggplant.place

54d

But gin the auld fowks’ tales are richt
An’ ghaists come hame on Hallow nicht,
O freend o’ freends! what wad I gie
To feel ye rax yer hand to me
Atween the dark an’ caun’le-licht?

—Violet Jacob, “Hallowe’en”
first published in COUNTRY LIFE, 1920

Jacob’s only son, Harry, was killed at the Somme in 1916

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Halloween #warpoem #warpoetry #WW1

Hallowe’en
Violet Jacob

The tattie-liftin’s nearly through,
They’re ploughin’ whaur the barley grew,‍‍
And aifter dark, roond ilka stack,‍‍
Ye’ll see the horsemen stand an’ crack
O Lachlan, but I mind o’ you!

I mind foo often we hae seen
Ten thoosand stars keek doon atween‍‍
The nakit branches, an’ below‍‍
Baith fairm an’ bothie hae their show,
Alowe wi’ lichts o’ Hallowe’en.

There’s bairns wi’ guizards at their tail
Clourin’ the doors wi’ runts o’ kail,‍‍
And fine ye’ll hear the skreichs an’ skirls‍‍
O’ lassies wi’ their droukit curls
Bobbin’ for aipples i’ the pail.

The bothie fire is loupin’ het,
A new heid horseman’s kist is set‍‍
Richts o’ the lum; whaur by the blaze‍‍
The auld ane stude that kept yer claes—
I canna thole to see it yet!

But gin the auld fowks’ tales are richt
An’ ghaists come hame on Hallow nicht,‍‍
O freend o’ freends! what wad I gie‍‍
To feel ye rax yer hand to me
Atween the dark an’ caun’le licht?

Awa in France, across the wave,
The wee lichts burn on ilka grave,‍‍
An’ you an’ me their lowe hae seen—‍‍
Ye’ll mebbe hae yer Hallowe’en
Yont, whaur ye’re lyin’ wi’ the lave.

There’s drink an’ daffin’, sang an’ dance
And ploys and kisses get their chance,‍‍
But Lachlan, man, the place I see‍‍
Is whaur the auld kist used to be
And the lichts o’ Hallowe’en in France!

ALT

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1y

German poet Friedrich Gottlieb Klopstock was born #OTD in 1724.

He is best known for his epic poem "Der Messias" which was heavily influenced by John Milton's "Paradise Lost" but distinguished itself with its intense emotionality and religious fervor. Klopstock also wrote numerous odes and lyric poems that celebrated themes of friendship, patriotism, nature, and spirituality. Notable collections include "Odes" and "Poetische Werke".

https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/6558

#books #literature #poetry

Klopstock by Johann Caspar Füssli (1750)
Johann Caspar Füssli - Das Jahrhundert der Freundschaft. Johann Wilhelm Ludwig Gleim und seine Zeitgenossen, ed. Ute Pott (Göttingen: Wallstein, 2004), p. 25.

Image of a man with white hair and a red tie in a painting.

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Titelblatt der Erstausgabe der ersten drei Gesänge des Messias (1749).

Klopstock began writing "Der Messias" in 1748. This epic poem, written in unrhymed hexameters, is a religious and lyrical masterpiece that narrates the life and mission of Jesus Christ. It was heavily influenced by John Milton's "Paradise Lost" but distinguished itself with its intense emotionality and religious fervor.

The first three cantos were published in 1748, and the poem was eventually completed in 1773. The work was groundbreaking for its time, emphasizing religious devotion and the sublime rather than the rationality and order typical of Enlightenment literature.

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56d

WRITERS!

Submissions invited to NEW WRITING SCOTLAND 44! We want poetry & prose in English, #Gaelic, & #Scots from writers who are Scottish by residence, birth, or inclination. All successful contributors are paid – deadline 31 Oct!

@writingcommunity

Submit free via Submittable 👇

https://nws.submittable.com/submit

#Scottish #literature #writing #WritingCommunity #IAmWriting #poetry #shortfiction #shortstories #Scots #Scotslanguage #Gaelic #Gaidhlig

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14d

I am a human being
and I exist

a human being
and a citizen of the world

responsible to that world
– and responsible for that world

—Tom Leonard, “Being a Human Being”
First published in PN Review 32 (2005)

Today, 10 December, is Human Rights Day

https://www.un.org/en/observances/human-rights-day

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #HumanRights #HUmanRightsDay

Being a Human Being
Tom Leonard

for Mordechai Vanunu

not to be complicit
not to accept everyone else is silent it must be alright

not to keep one’s mouth shut to hold onto one’s job
not to accept public language as cover and decoy

not to put friends and family before the rest of the world
not to say I am wrong when you know the government is wrong

not to be just a bought behaviour pattern
to accept the moment and fact of choice

I am a human being
and I exist

a human being
and a citizen of the world

responsible to that world
– and responsible for that world

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55d

Rubbing a glistening circle
on the steamed-up window I framed
a pheasant in a field of mist…

—Edwin Morgan, “Aberdeen Train”
published in CENTENARY SELECTED POEMS (Carcanet, 2020)

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

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #ChineseArt #EdwinMorgan #autumn #October

Edwin Morgan
Aberdeen Train

Rubbing a glistening circle
on the steamed-up window I framed
a pheasant in a field of mist.
The sun was a great red thing somewhere low,
struggling with the milky scene. In the furrows
a piece of glass winked into life,
hypnotized the silly dandy; we
hooted past him with his head cocked,
contemplating a bottle-end,
and this was the last of October,
a Chinese moment in the Mearns.

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55d

He telt us his wife had run aff wi Super Mario.
Noo, he wis dinin on the dustbins, dwinin awa
for want o a pouer pill and a braw sheenie cherry…

—Amy Jo Philip, “Pac-Man’s Last Stand”
in DOUBLE BILL (Red Squirrel Press 2014)
🟡 🍒 👻

Happy 45th birthday to Pac-Man!

https://www.redsquirrelpress.com/product-page/double-bill-andy-jackson

#Scottish #literature #PacMan #poem #poetry #Scots #Scotslanguage #gaming #retrogaming #GoogleDoodle

Pac-Man’s Last Stand
Amy Jo Philip

We funt him dossin in a piss-scented close
oot the back o a defunct arcade,
his canary coupon dulled fae dool and stour
tae say naething o the bargain booze he swallied
fae a bottle happed in a broun paper poke.

He telt us his wife had run aff wi Super Mario.
Noo, he wis dinin on the dustbins, dwinin awa
for want o a pouer pill and a braw sheenie cherry;
in a constant, feartie, blootered dwam
o Inky, Blinky, Pinky and even Clyde closin in

for the kill. Haurdly a shaddae o his auld sel.
The worst o it wis, every time he yawned
his gub wid gant that wee tait wider till it seemed
he’d fauld in on hissel and the air aroun him growe
shairp wi they twa wirds ilka gamer dreids.

Naiturally, we taen him hame wi’s and fed him up
on spare fou stops, Morellos and tartrazine.
Man, ye shuid hae seen thon appetite!
The trouble stairted wi a toattie bite taen out
the sofa. Afore lang, the living room was a guddle

o sawdust, torn swatches and chowed wires. Im gey feart
he’ll soon hae eaten us oot o hous and hauld.
And that’s whaur youse come in. A puckle wee ghosties
dinnae fleg me, but yon yellae golach’s anither story.
The doors and windaes is aw locked. He’ll no suspect a thing.

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53d

The Distributed Proofreaders' blog this month is about another Edgar Allan Poe book at PG: "The Poems of Edgar Allan Poe."

https://blog.pgdp.net/2025/11/01/nevermore/

#books #literature #poetry

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54d

Someone was playing the piano when suddenly
there they were standing in the room.
They would not sing or speak or tell their names.
Their skull faces blankly shifted round
as if they were studying us implacably…

—Iain Crichton Smith, “Halloween”
first published in the TLS (1982)

#Scottish #literature #Halloween #poem #poetry #20thcentury

Halloween
Iain Crichton Smith

Someone was playing the piano when suddenly
there they were standing in the room.
They would not sing or speak or tell their names.
Their skull faces blankly shifted round
as if they were studying us implacably.

“Yokels”, one thought. “Rustics”, thought another;
and truly they had trudged in out of the rain
with their masks, tall and white and bony-looking.
“Macbeth”, someone said, and someone “Hamlet”.
Or perhaps at least the “Elegy” by Gray.

The rain drummed on the roof and they were gone
in their muddy boots, squelching past cowering doors.
We looked at each other. It was graveyard time
as our black ties on our white shirts might say.

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54d

The wind blew as ’twad blawn its last;
The rattling showers rose on the blast;
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow’d;
Loud, deep, & lang the thunder bellow’d:
That night, a child might understand,
The Deil had business on his hand…

—Robert Burns’s “Tam o’ Shanter”, read by Hamish MacDonald; illustrations by Gary Welsh

Happy Halloween!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GAqVwCa_x5o

#Scottish #literature #Halloween #poem #poetry #18thcentury #witch #witches #supernatural #folklore

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1y

In July 1816.

Lord Byron, Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin, Percy Bysshe Shelley & John Polidori, who have gathered at the Villa Diodati by Lake Geneva in a rainy Switzerland in this 'Year Without a Summer', tell each other tales. This spawns two classic Gothic narratives, Mary Shelley's Frankenstein and Polidori's The Vampyre. Byron also writes the poem Darkness.

Frankenstein
https://gutenberg.org/ebooks/41445

The Vampyre
https://gutenberg.org/ebooks/6087

Darkness
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/20158

#books #literature #poetry

Title page of first edition of Frankenstein, Volume I.
Author Mary Shelley; publisher Lackington, Hughes, Harding, Mavor & Jones

ALT

Title page for The Vampyre; A Tale (London: Sherwood, Neely, and Jones, 1819) by John William Polidori, 1795-1821. EC8.P7598.819va (A), Houghton Library, Harvard University

ALT

"Darkness:, an 1816 poem by Lord Byron, first published in the 1816 The Prisoner of Chillon and Other Poems collection, page 27, published in London in 1816 by John Murray.

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54d

A boannie nicht for castin kale:
a fat mön vaegin owre Sannis,
a hale gadderie o laads an lasses…

—Christine De Luca, “Hallowe’en Hansel”
published in WAST WI DA VALKYRIES

Listen to Christine reading her poems online here

https://www.christinedeluca.co.uk/pages/wast_wi_da_valkyries

#Scottish #literature #Shetland #Halloween #poem #poetry #Scots #Scotslanguage #Shetlandic

A dark-blue postcard. In the top-left corner is a spider's web; in the bottom right there's a bubbling cauldron. The postcard has the following poem in white text:

Hallowe'en hansel
bi Christine De Luca

A boannie nicht for castin kale:
a fat mön vaegin owre Sannis,
a hale gadderie o laads an lasses.

A spree i der blöd,
laads loupit dykes
purled kale-stocks
iggit een anidder on
ripe da rigs
hunse fur hens
whit a stramash
an dan da dash
tae a porch door
lift da sneck
ball in da booty
rin like da mellishon
dunna look back.

But dee an me
pooskered wi da bassel
fell ahint ta draa breath,
taste wir first smoorikin.
But aa I can mind is da mön
gaffin at me in mi cöttikins
wis ahint a uncan barn
an dy blate hansel
anunder a kendlin o starns.

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52d

Rising in November in these days of dusk
I am one life older, watching now as the walls
green over, the stones break into bud;
if this is ebb-tide turned to flood it means that
nightfall might begin again at dawn.
And so it does…

—Robin Robertson, “Crossing the Archipelago”
published in SAILING THE FOREST (Picador, 2014)

https://www.panmacmillan.com/authors/robin-robertson/sailing-the-forest/9781447231554

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #November

Crossing the Archipelago
Robin Robertson

Rising in November in these days of dusk
I am one life older, watching now as the walls
green over, the stones break into bud;
if this is ebb-tide turned to flood it means that
nightfall might begin again at dawn.
And so it does. The sea at Djurgården is a mirror
of lost light. I watch snowflakes fall on water,
transparent as tissue, melting back to nothing,
the black water’s endless echo of the night.
A diminished life turns turtle and the day breaks
like a spell; to double back on this, through
ash and silver birch, to that extinguished past, a world
that’s over, will wreck me. Hopeless to return
now: my future lit by bridges, and their burning.

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50d

Mind that night in November, the pair of us
bursting from Mareel like late-comers
to the cinema-dark of the evening.
How we nearly missed it, the other show
that night: the aurora, the dancers, unspooling
their reels of green across the sky…

—Roseanne Watt, “Mareel”
published in MODER DY (Polygon, 2019)

https://birlinn.co.uk/product/moder-dy/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Shetland #November #auroraborealis

Mareel
by Roseanne Watt

Mind that night in November, the pair of us
bursting from Mareel like late-comers
to the cinema-dark of the evening.
How we nearly missed it, the other show
that night: the aurora, the dancers, unspooling
their reels of green across the sky, despite
a bone-bright moon in the south. Mind
how the waves in Hay’s Dock lit up with this
borrowed phosphorescence, and we skirled
at the spectacle of it all; a sky of light, a sea of sky,
and behind us, the noost of Mareel,
its north-pointed prow.

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53d

The postman just delivered my contributor's copy of The Storms Issue 5 & it is GORGEOUS! @StormShelter & @rhonagreene, you've outdone yourselves!

And, additional thanks to Dublin UNESCO City of Literature and Fingal Arts for their support of this issue

https://eatthestorms.com/the-storm-shop/

#poetry #prose #VisualArt #art #PoetryCommunity #WritingCommunity

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49d

Roch the wind in the clear day’s dawin
Blaws the cloods heelster-gowdie ow’r the bay,
But there’s mair nor a roch wind blawin
Through the great glen o’ the warld the day…

—Hamish Henderson, “The Freedom Come-All-Ye”
Published in The Golden Treasury of Scottish Verse, @canongatebooks

https://canongate.co.uk/books/3267-the-golden-treasury-of-scottish-verse/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #song #HamishHenderson #20thcentury #change #hope

The Freedom Come-All-Ye
Hamish Henderson

Roch the wind in the clear day’s dawin
Blaws the cloods heelster-gowdie ow’r the bay,
But there’s mair nor a roch wind blawin
Through the great glen o’ the warld the day.
It’s a thocht that will gar oor rottans
– A’ they rogues that gang gallus, fresh and gay –
Tak the road, and seek ither loanins
For their ill ploys, tae sport and play

Nae mair will the bonnie callants
Mairch tae war when oor braggarts crousely craw,
Nor wee weans frae pit-heid and clachan
Mourn the ships sailin’ doon the Broomielaw.
Broken faimlies in lands we’ve herriet,
Will curse Scotland the Brave nae mair, nae mair;
Black and white, ane til ither mairriet,
Mak the vile barracks o’ their maisters bare.

So come all ye at hame wi’ Freedom,
Never heed whit the hoodies croak for doom.
In your hoose a’ the bairns o’ Adam
Can find breid, barley-bree and painted room.
When MacLean meets wi’s freens in Springburn
A’ the roses and geans will turn tae bloom,
And a black boy frae yont Nyanga
Dings the fell gallows o’ the burghers doon.

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51d

Push the Boat Out 2025
20–23 Nov, Edinburgh

This year’s Push the Boat Out festival sets sail from 20–23 November with a bold mix of poetry, performance, music & art in a sparkling celebration of words in all their forms, with over 120 artists on board!

https://pushtheboatout.org/programme/

#Scottish #literature #poetry #festival #Edinburgh

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13d

But in the climbing ecstasy of thought,
Ere consummation, ere the final peak,
Come hours like this…

—Nan Shepherd, “Summit of Coire Etchachan”
published in WANDERERS: A History of Women Walking, by Kerri Andrews

Today, 11 December, is International Mountain Day

https://www.un.org/en/observances/mountain-day

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #mountains #cairngorms #NanShepherd #climbing #20thcentury #womenwriters #naturewriting #InternationalMountainDay

Summit of Coire Etchachan
Nan Shepherd

But in the climbing ecstasy of thought,
Ere consummation, ere the final peak,
Come hours like this. Behind, the long defile,
The steep rock-path, alongside which, from under
Snow-caves, sharp-corniced, tumble the ice-cold waters.
And now, here, at the corrie’s summit, no peak,
No vision of the blue world, far, unattainable,
But this grey plateau, rock-strewn, vast, silent,
The dark loch, the toiling crags, the snow;
A mountain shut within itself, yet a world,
Immensity. So may the mind achieve,
Toiling, no vision of the infinite,
But a vast, dark and inscrutable sense
Of its own terror, its own glory and power.

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51d

Nam bhodach liath a-nis
a’ streap gu mullach a bhràighe,
chan eil mi a’ còrdadh riut, a Llywarch,
mun bhata càm is riatanach gach là…

—Uilleam Nèill, “Freagairt Do Llywarch Hen”
published in FRIENDS & KANGAROOS: New Writing Scotland 17 (ASL, 1999)

(Llywarch Hen, c.534–608 CE, was an early Welsh poet & prince of Rheged, who complained about his advancing age & dependence on his walking stick)

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Gaelic #Gaidhlig #Welsh #CelticStudies

Freagairt Do Llywarch Hen
Uilleam Nèill

Nam bhodach liath a-nis
a’ streap gu mullach a bhràighe,
chan eil mi a’ còrdadh riut, a Llywarch,
mun bhata càm is riatanach gach là.
Bha mi ro-dheiseil le cainnt, gu dearbh
aig amannan a’ feannadh amadan
ro-thric le smùid orm san taigh-òsd’.
Chan eil a’ chlann-nighean a’ toirt sùil orm
ach cò gheibh cron dhaibh, na luaidhean
is mise mar fheòil righinn an seiche liurcach.
Co-dhiù tha mi nis saor bho na geimhlean
is mo cheangal don chuthaich sin.
Ach tha am bata uinnsinn a’ fàs
na charaid dìleas dhomhsa
fhad’s a chuireas mi grèim
air a cheann càm is làidir
a chumas taic rium gu càirdeil
le bhachall dìreach daingeann
a mhaireas, is dòcha, nas fhaide na mi fhìn.
Is tha mi taingeil gur troimh a thoil fhiodha
chì mi a-rithist, theagamh
earrach uaine is samhradh,
foghar òir is donn,
mus tig mo gheamhradh dorcha deireannach.

ALT

Answer to Llywarch Hen
William Neill

A grey old man now
climbing to the braehead
I don't agree with you, Llywarch,
about the necessary walking stick each day.
I was too ready with my tongue at times, it's true,
for the flaying of fools
often with a drink taken in the inn.
The girls no longer cast an eye on me
but who would blame them, the dears
and me like tough meat in a wrinkled hide.
At any rate I am free from those gyves
and no longer chained to that madness
but the ash-stick has become
a faithful friend to me
as long as I keep hold of his strong bent head
that supports me in a friendly fashion with a straight, strong stave
that will doubtless last longer than myself.
And I am thankful that by his wooden wish
I may see again, perhaps,
green spring and summer
gold and russet autumn
before my last dark winter comes.

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50d

Does honey
Remember
The comb?
Hexagonal and
Golden,
And do your
Atoms remember
The core of
The star that
Made them?
Ask yourself
When next
You burn.

#poetry

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49d

Fog shroud
and clouds
(when the clock
chimed late
in the heavy
November night-
time) lifting
the mystery
for a greater…

—Edwin Morgan, “Guy Fawkes Moon”
published in COLLECTED POEMS (Carcanet, 1997)

https://www.carcanet.co.uk/9781847779656/collected-poems/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #GuyFawkes #BonfireNight #November5th

Guy Fawkes Moon
Edwin Morgan

Fog shroud
and clouds
(when the clock
chimed late
in the heavy
November night-
time) lifting
the mystery
for a greater
drifted
off a whole
white full
moon pitched
above the white
thin chimney-
stalk of the
new Dawsholm
incinerator –
as if the piled
rags Glasgow
rubbish rusted
bedsprings bent
hair-rollers blood-
caked saddles of
crumpled Hondas
and sorry lunch-
box plastic
nests of cracks
and crumbs had
all become
a moon of smoke
and the real moon
a César moon
in a car-crusher
was now the Odeon
bulking greyly
with its sleeping stars
in reels by
the firework field.

And sparklers raced
between moons
and squeals –
and red rockets
mufflers matches
and up in smoke
far from school.

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13d

A Review of A Visit From Naughty Claus: https://lydiaschoch.com/a-review-of-a-visit-from-naughty-claus/

#Books #Christmas #BookReview #Fantasy #Poetry

@bookstodon

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49d

The mighty Mavors, jealous to behold
A Mars more mighty nor himself below,
Did once resolve his rivall to ore’throw…

—Sir Robert Ayton (1569–1638), “Upon the 5th of November”
published in JACOBEAN PARNASSUS: Scottish Poetry from the Reign of James I (ASL, 2022)

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

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #17thcentury #EarlyModern #BonfireNight #GuyFawkes #Jacobean #5thNovember

Robert Ayton
Upon the 5th of November

The mighty Mavors, jealous to behold
A Mars more mighty nor himself below,
Did once resolve his rivall to ore’throw
By assassins, whome open force made bold.
But finding there that open force did fold
Under the princely valour of his foe,
Hee then determin’d to assayle him soe
As noe defence should his offence withhold.
Thus comes he downe to Plutoes pale abode,
And there for fyre and brimstone straight doth call,
Wherewith he thinks to play the thundering god,
And make the world admire his ryvall’s fall.
But sease, fond Mars, to make the world to wonder;
Ten thousand lawrells save’s our Mars from thunder.

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51d

May our empathy
Never atrophy
In a world
Built on
Apathy.

#poetry

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49d

“Ach thèid an crann a thoirt dhen fharadh”: Celebrating Thirty Years of Tuath is Tighearna (‘Tenants and Landlords’), 1995-2025

21 Nov, University of Edinburgh. Free, ticketed

This year's Canna Lecture will be delivered by Dr Martin Macgregor who will assess the impact of Donald Meek's anthology of 19th-century Gaelic verse, Tuath is Tighearna (SGTS, 1995), thirty years on from its publication.

https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/canna-lecture-2025-tickets-1924250979479

#Scottish #literature #Gaelic #Gaidhlig #poetry #19thcentury #Victorian