poetry

25d

#OTD in 1816.

At the Villa Diodati, Lord Byron reads Fantasmagoriana to Percy Shelley, Mary Shelley, Claire Clairmont, and John Polidori, then challenges each to write a ghost story, culminating in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, John Polidori’s story “The Vampyre,” and Byron’s poem “Darkness.”

Fantasmagoriana:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fantasmagoriana

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

Frankenstein:
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/84

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

#books #literature #poetry

(Left to Right):
Mary Shelley: She wears a dark gown with a bare neckline, consistent with early 19th-century fashion.

Her image likely comes from Richard Rothwell’s 1840 posthumous portrait.

John Polidori: The author of The Vampyre (1819), often considered the first modern vampire story. He appears youthful, with curly dark hair and a romantic expression.

Claire Clairmont: The stepsister of Mary Shelley and mother of Lord Byron’s daughter, Allegra. She is depicted with reddish-brown curls and wearing a modest white dress.

Percy Bysshe Shelley: The radical Romantic poet known for Prometheus Unbound and Ode to the West Wind. He is shown with intense eyes and a loosely worn open shirt and dark coat.

Lord Byron: He is shown in a contemplative pose with his hand to his face, wearing a deep red coat—this mirrors Thomas Phillips’s famous portrait of Byron.

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34d

Aonghas Dubh – Ceòl às na Briathran
The poet & writer Aonghas MacNeacail (1942–2022) was born #OTD, 7 June. This programme, originally aired on the BBC, is drawn from “Skerries, Trawlings, Tides” – a literary event celebrating Aonghas’s 80th birthday

1/2

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fAb0LdDuaSk

#Scottish #literature #poetry #Gaelic #Gaidhlig

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37d

Twa Cats anes on a Cheese did light,
To which baith had an equal Right,
But Disputes, sic as aft arise,
Fell out at sharing of the Prize…

“The twa Cats & the Cheese”, by Allan Ramsay (1686–1758)
😾😾🧀🐵

Today, 4 June, is National Cheese Day!

https://digital.nls.uk/special-collections-of-printed-music/archive/105690319

#Scottish #literature #Scots #Scotslanguage #poem #poetry #18thCentury #cats #cheese #NationalCheeseDay

The Twa Cats and the Cheese
Fable IX
by Allan Ramsay

Twa Cats anes on a Cheese did light,
To which baith had an equal Right,
But Disputes, sic as aft arise,
Fell out at sharing of the Prize;
Fair Play said ane, Ye bite o’er thick
Thae Teeth of yours gang wonder quick:
Let’s part it, else lang or the Moon
Be chang’d, the Kebuck will be done.

But wha’s to do’t,—They’re Parties baith,
And ane may do the other Skaith,
Sae with Consent away they trudge,
And laid the Cheese before a Judge,
A Monkey with a campsho Face,
Clerk to a Justice of the Peace,
A Judge he seem’d in Justice skill’d,
When he his Master’s Chair fill’d;
Now Umpire chosen for Division,
Baith sware to stand by his Decision.
Demure he looks.—The Cheese he pales,—
He prives it good,—Ca’s for the Scales,
His Knife whops throw’t,—In twa it fell,
He puts ilk Haff in either Shell;
Said he, We’ll truly weigh the Case,
And strickest Justice shall have Place,
Then lifting up the Scales, he fand
The tane bang up, the ither stand;
Syne out he took the heaviest Haff,
And ate a Knoost o’t quickly aff,
And try’d it syne,—It now prov’d light,
Friend Cats, said he, We’ll do ye right.
Then to the ither Haff he fell,
And laid till’t teughly Tooth and Nail,
Till weigh’d again it lightest prov’d:
The Judge wha this sweet Process lov’d,
Still weigh’d the Case, and still ate on,
Till Clients baith were weary grown,

And tenting how the Matter went,
Cry’d, Come, come Sir, We’re baith content.
Ye Fools, quoth he, and Justice too
Maun be content as well as you.
Thus grumbled they, thus he went on,
Till baith the Haves were near hand done;
Poor Pousies now the Daffine saw
Of gawn for Nignyes to the Law:
And bill’d the Judge that he wad please
To give them the remaining Cheese:
To which his Worship grave reply’d,
The Dues of Court maun first be paid.
Now Justice pleas’d,—What’s to the Fore
Will but right scrimply clear your Score;
That’s our Decreet,—Gae Hame and Sleep,
And thank us ye’re win aff sae cheap.

Edited 37d ago

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51d

May 22, 2025:

What is a "haibun"?

A haibun (俳文) is a short piece that combines prose and poetry (a haiku), with a subtle or direct link between the prose and the haiku.

Here's my first one, "My brother's fall" on Medium.

Haibun, "My brother's fall"
https://medium.com/@romanalanwrites/my-brothers-fall-134a0a8a6830

My Medium stuff should be open and accessible to all – let me know if it's not.

#Poetry #Prose #Haiku #Haibun #Writing #WritingCommunity #AmWriting

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49d

Hamish Henderson, Burns & Music
21 June, Dundee Central Library – free

Prof Fred Freeman of the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland talks about two great songsters & poets, Hamish Henderson & Robert Burns – both of whom redefined Scottish culture & provided a national & international vision of the country

https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/hamish-henderson-burns-and-music-tickets-1374121928679

#Scottish #literature #poetry #song #HamishHenderson #RobertBurns #Scots #Scotslanguage #culture #identity #Dundee

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49d

I love all films that start with rain:
rain, braiding a windowpane
or darkening a hung-out dress
or streaming down her upturned face…

—Don Paterson, “Rain”
Published in RAIN (Faber, 2010)

https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poem/rain-2/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #rain #film #cinema

Don Paterson
Rain

I love all films that start with rain:
rain, braiding a windowpane
or darkening a hung-out dress
or streaming down her upturned face;

one big thundering downpour
right through the empty script and score
before the act, before the blame,
before the lens pulls through the frame

to where the woman sits alone
beside a silent telephone
or the dress lies ruined on the grass
or the girl walks off the overpass,

and all things flow out from that source
along their fatal watercourse.
However bad or overlong
such a film can do no wrong,

so when his native twang shows through
or when the boom dips into view
or when her speech starts to betray
its adaptation from a play,

I think to when we opened cold
on a starlit gutter, running gold
with the neon of a drugstore sign
and I’d read into its blazing line:

forget the ink, the milk, the blood –
all was washed clean with the flood
we rose up from the falling waters
the fallen rain’s own sons and daughters

and none of this, none of this matters.

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37d

In favoured summers
These islands have the sun all to themselves
And light a toy to play with, weeks on end…

—Edwin Muir, “The Northern Islands”
published in The Complete Poems of Edwin Muir, ed. Peter H. Butter (ASLS, 1999)

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Orkney #summer #EdwinMuir

Edwin Muir
The Northern Islands

In favoured summers
These islands have the sun all to themselves
And light a toy to play with, weeks on end.
The empty sky and waters are a shell
Endlessly turning, turning the wheel of light,
While the tranced waves run wavering up the sand.
The beasts sleep when they can, midnight or midday,
Slumbering on into unending brightness.
The green, green fields give too much, are too rank,
With beautiful beasts for breeding or for slaughter.
The horses, glorious useless race, are leaving.
Have the old ways left with them, and the faith,
Lost in this dream too comfortable and goodly
To make room for a blessing? Where can it fall?
The old ways change in the turning, turning light,
Taking and giving life to life from life.

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55d

Do you like hedgehogs? Artist @KarenKasparArt and I certainly do! We have created two designs of #haikuart with them, from T-shirts and throw pillows to cards and prints. Now with a 25% discount at Redbubble!

For Europe:
https://www.redbubble.com/i/t-shirt/Hedgehog-in-Hibernation-Haiku-English-Watercolor-Painting-by-KarenKaspar/170755239.WFLAH

https://www.redbubble.com/i/throw-pillow/The-Scent-of-Spring-Hedgehog-Haiku-English-Watercolor-by-KarenKaspar/170756430.5X2YF

https://www.artheroes.de/de/motiv/Igel-im-Winterschlaf-Haiku-Englisch/1732219?mediumId=1&size=45x60&var2=0&var3=2

https://www.artheroes.de/de/motiv/Der-Duft-des-Fruehlings-Igel-Haiku-Englisch/1732230

For ao The US :
https://karen-kaspar.pixels.com/featured/hibernating-hedgehog-haiku-english-karen-kaspar.html

https://karen-kaspar.pixels.com/featured/the-scent-of-spring-karen-kaspar.html

#haiku #haikuart #poetry #art #buyintoart #ayearforart #FAA #writing #hedgehog #hedgehogs #nature #animals

Blue T-shirt with a watercolour painting of a snow landscape with a fir tree and a hibernating hedgehog under a blanket of snow.
Haikuart:
art by : @KarenKasparArt@socel.net
haiku by : @MarjoleinRotsteeg@mastodon.nl

Edited 54d ago

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36d

"We Paid The Debts Of Others" #writing #poetry #debt #florida

My parents bought a used station wagon. We all took it shopping. Then came out of the store to a shattered back window. Witnesses helped find the culprit. The previous owner had owed him money. We paid the debts of others. And it was a cold drive home.

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33d

The International Council on Archives / Conseil international des archives was founded #OTD, 9 June, 1948, under the auspices of UNESCO.

To celebrate, here’s Edwin Morgan’s poem “Archives”, published in Centenary Selected Poems (Carcanet, 2020)

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

#Scottish #literature #poem #archives #poetry #InternationalArchivesDay #UNESCO #EdwinMorgan

Archives
by Edwin Morgan

generation upon
generation upon
generation upon
generation upon
generation upon
generation upon
generation upon
generation upon
generation upon
generation upon
generation upon
generation upon
generation upon
generation upon
generation upon
generation upon
generation upon
generation upon
generation upon
generation upon
g neration up n
g nerat on up n
g nerat n up n
g nerat n p n
g erat n p n
g era n p n
g era n n
g er n n
g r n n
g n n
g n
g

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33d

Well Versed Author Event: Peter Mackay

18 June, free online

Open Book welcomes Scotland’s Makar Peter Mackay to share some poems, have a chat, & give attendees a chance to ask questions. Part of Open Book’s Well Versed series in partnership with StAnza International Poetry Festival.

https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/well-versed-author-events-peter-mackay-tickets-1383659144749

#Scottish #literature #poetry

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32d

Where’s Brude? Where’s Brude?
So many souls to be saved!

—Edwin Morgan, “Columba’s Song”
in CENTENARY SELECTED POEMS (Carcanet, 2020)

Today, 9 June, is the feast day of St Columba (c.521–597), who led the Irish monastic missions to Dál Riata & the kingdoms of the Picts

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https://www.carcanet.co.uk/9781784109967/centenary-selected-poems/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #EdwinMorgan #saints #StColumba

Columba's Song
by Edwin Morgan

Where's Brude? Where's Brude?
So many souls to be saved!
The bracken is thick, the wildcat is quick,
the foxes dance in the moonlight,
the salmon dance in the waters,
the adders dance in the thick brown bracken.
Where's Brude? Where's man?
There's too much nature here,
eagles and deer,
but where's the mind and where's the soul?
Show me your kings, your women, the man of the plough.
And cry me to your cradles.
It wasn't for a fox or an eagle I set sail!

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35d

“The Sodgers”, by Alexander Scott (1920–1989)

Alexander Scott landed in Normandy with the Gordon Highlanders, & saw action in the Ardennes & crossing the Rhine. He later became Head of Scottish Literature at the University of Glasgow, & was president of ASL from 1976–79

Published in FROM THE LINE: Scottish War Poetry 1914–1945, ed. David Goldie & Roderick Watson

https://asls.org.uk/publications/books/volumes/from_the_line/

#Scottish #literature #Scots #ScotsLanguage #poem #poetry #DDay #WW2 #WarPoetry

The Sodgers
by Alexander Scott

Nae wi the gallus captains
That niver jinkit war
But socht for glory's wildfire lowe
As wise men aince for anither star—

And nae wi the ramstam colonels
That leuch at the din o the drum
And skirled for the bleeze o battle's Inferno
As saunts micht skirl for Kingdom Come—

But aye wi the sweirt sodgers
That niver wished tae dee
And anelie marched the forrart road
Sen onie back they cudna see—

Near blind wi the reek o wappins
And the reek o leean words,
But niver near sae blind wi bluid
As faa in luve wi guns and swords.

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32d

‘Do you know what we should do
what turns over in my mind?
Begin to sing old songs!
Lend voice to our runes.’

Reading the Kalevala

By Lyonel Perabo

https://wildhunt.org/2025/06/reading-the-kalevala.html

Kalevala at PG:
https://gutenberg.org/ebooks/5186

#books #literature #poetry

Inside front title page of The "Old" Kalevala, Finnish national epos, collection of old Finnish poems, by Elias Lönnrot. First edition; volume 1, 1835.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kalevala#/media/File:Kalevala1.jpg

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35d

When you have walked through a town, as an infantryman
you’ll never go through streets the same way again…

—Colin McIntyre (1927–2012), “Infantryman”
Published in FROM THE LINE: Scottish War Poetry 1914–1945

https://asls.org.uk/publications/books/volumes/from_the_line/

#Scottish #literature #poem #DDay #poetry #WarPoetry #WW2

Infantryman
by Colin McIntyre

When you have walked through a town, as an infantryman
you'll never go through streets the same way again.

There is shoulder-ache from rifle-sling, and sore
butt-bruise, of bolt, on hip and thigh.

The walk comes somewhere between slope and slow hike,
a wary step, splay-footed, as drawers cellular,
catch in the crotch, twist centrifugally around.

Our lot moved at slow deliberate plod, eyes down, look out,
Ted walked on the left, looks right; I took the right,
looked left. Well spaced out, bloody tired all the time.

Ted and I had a reputation, in Four Section, for hitting
the deck, together, quick as a flash, at the first shell.
Ted had a nose for crossroads ranged by guns.

Infantrymen grow fat in later years, from never walking.
Ted would have become quite gross. But Ted's dead.
Stepped on an AP mine in champagne country.
Cheers, Ted, you old sod, you.

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46d

From the Scottish Poetry Library archives: poet & novelist John Burnside discusses fellow Scottish poet W.S. Graham. During the talk, recorded at the National Library of Scotland, Burnside talks about poetry & visual art, the poet as nomad, & “feeding the dead”

https://splpodcast.podbean.com/e/john-burnside-on-ws-graham

#Scottish #literature #poetry #visualart #poets #JohnBurnside #WSGraham

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35d

We’re the D-Day Dodgers out in Italy,
Always on the vino, always on the spree…

—“The Ballad of the D-Day Dodgers”, a WW2 soldiers’ song collected by Hamish Henderson
Sung by Rod Paterson

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VDXoXx7RRWs&list=OLAK5uy_lyHb3w_CdLiyDsHl84M6obGIoyIc2Ydl4&index=2

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #song #soldiers #DDay #warpoetry #Italy

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34d

as we find a way to wipe your armpit
without lifting your arm up and away

you say, you’ve never seen me so (I forget
the word you use and replace it with close

as in, we’ve never been so close) and I say
I was thinking that…

—Kathrine Sowerby, “about your armpit”
published in GUTTER 28

A poem for #Pride 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poem/about-your-armpit/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Pride #Pride2025 #LGBTQ

about your armpit
Kathrine Sowerby

as we find a way to wipe your armpit
without lifting your arm up and away

you say, you’ve never seen me so (I forget
the word you use and replace it with close

as in, we’ve never been so close) and I say
I was thinking that—it’s because, you say

I didn’t want you near what wasn’t my body
(I’m putting it into words before I forget)

there isn’t much space between the stiff
compression vest and your arm but I ease

the cloth in and two days later I’m thinking
of the word honour, as in what an honour

which is not a word I often use and I wonder
what you would say, if you knew I was writing

about your armpit

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34d

To quote my distant friend Imran MacLeod,
“A man with no culture has no identity”…

—Hamid Shami, “Lost”
published in Wish I Was Here: a Scottish multicultural anthology (pocketbooks, 2000)

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

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #multiculturalism

Lost
Hamid Shami

To quote my distant friend Imran MacLeod,
‘A man with no culture has no identity.’

The last I heard of him was, he was off
To the Himalayas.

He had a very confused childhood.

Father was Scottish,
Mother Pakistani.

They’d always be arguing over many things
Concerning him.

One was religion.

Father wanted him brought up
A Catholic; mother wanted a Muslim.

Was the only boy on our street who went
To mosque on Fridays and chapel on Sundays.

But in the mountains

God’s sure to find him.

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35d

Ye think thon wes the end?
Yon meetin in the wuids
When Thracian Orpheus heard the drum, the cries,
The whud o the bacchantes’ thrangan feet…

—“Orpheus”, by Tom Scott (1918–1995), born #OTD, 6 June
Published in A KIST O SKINKLAN THINGS

1/3

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

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Scots #Scotslanguage #20thcentury #Mythology #GreekMythology

Tom Scott
Orpheus

Ye think thon wes the end?
Yon meetin in the wuids
When Thracian Orpheus heard the drum, the cries,
The whud o the bacchantes’ thrangan feet
And, seik in saul,
Mad to be jyned for aye to his Eurydikee,
Strung his harp
And gaed to meet them wi a sang.
Ye think thon wes the end?

Na. Eftir the thrang breeled on, red
Fingert, bluidie-mawed, the riven limbs
Quiveran aye amang the mairtyred gress,
There wes a lull
And throu it syne a roun
And syne as muckle’s a moan
And syne a voice,
Yon voice o his
That quietit the forest and its fowk,
That reconcilit lion and lamb,
Ordert the rain,
Spoke frae the grund
And threept in the greitan tree
‘Euridikee! Euridikee!’

And at the name
A ferlie thing wes duin.
Thir broken bits o bodie, bits o bane,
Brisket, gash, airm and droukit hair
Cam thegither as gin some will
Mair nor the merely real
Had wrocht on them.
And on yon slauchtert grund was formed
Orpheus anew,
Orpheus the singer, Orpheus the makar,
Orpheus cleansed o the auld despair.
And by the halie tree
In the leaman licht o the wuid,
Squired by a houlet, a hawk and a doo,
Wes his Euridikee.

They say he made a new sang,
A nobler nor the auld,
And sings it aye in the great haa o the warld.

They say it will nevir end.

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45d

You told me the brightest flowers grow on sand.

By the breakwater, a frayed nest of fishers’ rope
twined into a bouquet: pale blue, green, teal,
and peach; a twisted tale of what growth is…

—Jane McKie, “Rope”
Published in nobody remembers the birdman: New Writing Scotland 40 (ASL, 2022)

https://asls.org.uk/publications/books/newwriting/nws40/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry

Jane McKie
ROPE

You told me the brightest flowers grow on sand.

By the breakwater, a frayed nest of fishers’ rope
twined into a bouquet: pale blue, green, teal,
and peach; a twisted tale of what growth is.
But you are right – they are flowers in the way
of any weathered thing, unpicking itself,
or hollowing itself into something eye-catching,
essential: a split egg of rock, a breaking wave.

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45d

Moscow is milling with watermelons.
Everything breathes a boundless freedom.
And it blows with unbridled fierceness
from the breathless melonvendors…

“Commended as a Russian translator… for his rendering of Mayakovsky into Scots, Morgan gets the muscles of the English language working with similar vigour in his treatment of Voznesensky”

—Carol Rumens on Edwin Morgan’s translation of Andrei Voznesensky

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2025/may/26/poem-of-the-week-selling-watermelons-by-andrei-voznesensky-translated-by-edwin-morgan

#Scottish #literature #translation #Russian #poem #poetry

Selling Watermelons
by Andrei Voznesensky
translated by Edwin Morgan

Moscow is milling with watermelons.
Everything breathes a boundless freedom.
And it blows with unbridled fierceness
from the breathless melonvendors.

Stalls. Din. Girls’ headscarves.
They laugh. Change bangs down. Knives —

and a choice sample slice.
— Take one, chief, for a long life!
Who’s for a melon?
Freshly split! —

And just as tasty and just as juicy are
the capbands of policemen
and the ranks of motor-scooters.
The September air is fresh and keen
and resonant as a watermelon.

And just as joyfully on its own tack
as the city-limit melon-multitudes,
the earth swings in its great string-bag
of meridians and latitudes!

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52d

new text up on my site: "health"

https://anarchive.mooo.com/blog/health

"... mind is the bathrooms and plumbing of a parliament of diseases and what rushes through it is the unending stream of their shit piss sweat and spittle as they debate, deliberate, yell, carp, filibuster, scuffle, none of which the lowly minds pipes is privy to, and that piped shit of the diseases, rather than the parliamentary debate it cannot hear, mind calls structure, form (a kinda platos cave of cubicle shit), which it knows all to be made of...."

Edited 52d ago

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33d

This week; the sermon is salt
and the taste of it as song. A clean, cold burn

quickens the blood…

—A.M. Havinden, “Sea Chapel”
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

A. M. Havinden
Sea Chapel

This week; the sermon is salt
and the taste of it as song. A clean, cold burn

quickens the blood. Unseen, underfoot,
deep notes of wrack and weed wind

ankles. We raise our voices
in bright blasphemy, in shock and defiance

a hymn of human-scale endurance,
how great and small we are;

how outrageously alone; how far
we’ve come, suddenly, from shore.

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44d

#OTD The Irish writer and poet Thomas Moore was born in 1779. He was "widely regarded in the late Georgian era as Ireland's "national bard."

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thomas_Moore

Thomas Moore at PG

https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/2185

#books #poetry #literature

Painting of Thomas Moore by Thomas Lawrence.

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