Eggplant.place

82d

Frae the broo o’ a brae I saw them gang,
I saw them hirple to a lanesome shore.
I saw them pass abune the ferly seals
Withouten keel and sail and oar…

—William Jeffrey, “The Refugees”
Published in A KIST O SKINKLAN THINGS (ASL, 2017)

20 June is World Refugee Day

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

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Scots #Scotslanguage #WorldRefugeeDay #refugees #humanrights

William Jeffrey
The Refugees

‘Arise and flee into Egypt’

‘There’s a carline walkin’ the road ootby,
A body wi’ hair o’ the streekit snaw,
And an auld man daunders at her side,
A chiel that’s laggie and bent in twa.’

‘They maun be folk frae a fremit toun.
Bid them come in and bide a wee.’
Sae the carline and the auld man came
And supp’d guid brose anent the swee.

I speer’d the taen, and I speer’d the tither,
And scant the answer did I get—
But O, the licht in their eldren e’en
Shone frae some gouden unkenned yett.

Quo’ the carline frail, ‘There’s hame nae mair
In kintras raxt on the crookit sword’;
But the bodach murmured, ‘Nay, there’s hame
Where folks are free wi’ the kindly word.

‘Natheless,’ quo’ she, ‘gang west, my son,
Westlins to isles o’ Bride and the sea.’
Syne they rose and quaitlike went frae the door
And steppit west by the flowery lea.

Frae the broo o’ a brae I saw them gang,
I saw them hirple to a lanesome shore.
I saw them pass abune the ferly seals
Withouten keel and sail and oar.

I saw them gang in a siller glore,
Walkin’ the sea in’ a calm sae still—
The braid eard faulded like a rose
And Bethlehem gloss’d an island hill.

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57d

I can see da rüfs aa taekit, an da hens aroond da door;
Fok kerryin twartree paets hame, an rigs delled every voar.
Aa da lums ir reekin, an I hear da happy soonds
O peerie bairns skirlin, as dey play dem ower da toons…

—“Da Clearance”, by Rhoda Bulter (1929–94), born #OTD, 15 July

A 🎂🧵 – 1/3

Listen to Rhoda Bulter reading “Da Clearance” here

https://www.shetlanddialect.org.uk/da-clearance

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

Da Clearance
Rhoda Bulter

I can see da rüfs aa taekit, an da hens aroond da door;
Fok kerryin twartree paets hame, an rigs delled every voar.
Aa da lums ir reekin, an I hear da happy soonds
O peerie bairns skirlin, as dey play dem ower da toons.

I see eens sittin roond da fire, an twartree mair oot by;
Sookin infants at da breest, an weemen gjaan ta cry.
Da tochtfil, tried faces o dem at’s lived ower lang;
Fractious bairns feytin sleep, an sensin somethin wrang.

I hear a lood, lood knockin, an da crump o monny feet;
Men's voices raised in anger, an da bairns start to greet.
I see da fok aa girded oot afore da laandloard’s men;
An aa da bits a things dey hed, fired ower da briggy-stane.

I see da bare waas staandin, an aa da laand lie green;
Lang syne da fire wis slokkit, an monny a year is geen.
Noo dey aa hae equal portions o aert ta tak dir sleep.
Tell me, wis it wirt it aa for twartree extry sheep?

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81d

Fade then, light; but longing never will.
Midsummer makes the west spectacular
and even gives its last glow a show
of reluctance, as if it had postponed
midnight…

—Edwin Morgan, “21 June”
Published in CATHURES (Carcanet, 2002)

https://www.carcanet.co.uk/9781857546170/cathures/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #midsummer #EdwinMorgan

Edwin Morgan
21 June

Fade then, light; but longing never will.
Midsummer makes the west spectacular
and even gives its last glow a show
of reluctance, as if it had postponed
midnight. But midnight is too faithful.
You're back among the black, the black,
you're down and fit to drown, to drown,
you're padding into nightmare town.
You haven't got a house, a bed-light,
there are no clocks or telephones out there,
you are on your own, you have a large panic
waiting to break through your chest, you are panting,
you count, as it arrives, each brimming pang.
What a clutch of sheets! What a parody of pain!

The longest day, the night is not so long.
You fling back the curtains, the morning sky
is like a meadow. What is it you want?
I don't know. You cannot walk there. No.
So what do you want? The morning, perhaps,
and then I want the day, another day.

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80d

My seventy-seven-year-old father
put his reading glasses on
to help my mother do the buttons
on the back of her dress…

—“George Square”, by Jackie Kay
LIFE MASK (Bloodaxe, 2005)

Hear Jackie Kay read this poem on the Poetry Archive:

https://poetryarchive.org/poem/george-square/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Glasgow #peace

George Square
by Jackie Kay

My seventy-seven-year-old father
put his reading glasses on
to help my mother do the buttons
on the back of her dress.
‘What a pair the two of us are!’
my mother said, ‘Me with my sore wrist,
you with your bad eyes, your soft thumbs!’

And off they went, my two parents
to march against the war in Iraq,
him with his plastic hips, her with her arthritis
to congregate at George Square where the banners
waved at each other like old friends, flapping,
where they’d met for so many marches over their years,
for peace on earth, for pity’s sake, for peace, for peace.

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80d

It is a land of wee
hard men and all I
am wanted for is to
stand and cheer…

Prof Alan Riach considers the life & work of the poet & playwright Joan Ure (1918–1978) – born #OTD, 22 June

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https://www.thenational.scot/news/17455955.joan-ure-the-scots-poet-and-playwright-who-set-a-precedent/

#Scottish #literature #poetry #poet #drama #playwright #20thcentury #womenwriters

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59d

He picked up a pebble
and threw it into the sea.

And another, and another.
He couldn’t stop…

—Norman MacCaig, “Small Boy”
Published in The Poems of Norman MacCaig, Birlinn 2011

https://birlinn.co.uk/product/the-poems-of-norman-maccaig/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #NormanMacCaig

Text of a poem, dated July 1985

Small boy
by Norman MacCaig

He picked up a pebble
and threw it into the sea.

And another, and another.
He couldn’t stop.

He wasn’t trying to fill the sea.
He wasn’t trying to empty the beach.

He was just throwing away,
nothing else but.

Like a kitten playing
he was practising for the future

when there’ll be so many things
he’ll want to throw away

if only his fingers will unclench
and let them go.

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79d

Schyr Hanry myssit the noble king…

Robert I, King of Scots, killed Sir Henry de Bohun in single combat on the first day of the Battle of Bannockburn #OTD, 23 June 1314. The epic vernacular poem “The Brus” by John Barbour (c.1320–1395) describes the event

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https://www.gla.ac.uk/schools/critical/aboutus/resources/stella/projects/starn/poetry/the-brus/book-12/

#Scottish #literature #poetry #medieval #14thcentury #history #MiddleAges #Bannockburn #epic #vernacular #poem #Scots #Scotslanguage

Text is too long for ALT-text – however full text can be found via the link, lines 25 to 85.

Image description: “Bruce and de Bohun”, by John Duncan (1866–1945), Stirling Smith Art Gallery and Museum. King Robert I, wearing chain mail, with a gold circlet around his helmet, and a flowing red-gold cloak and a surcoat bearing the Scottish lion rampant (red, on a yellow background) , stands up in the stirrups of the grey horse he is riding. He holds the reins tightly in his left hand and wields a battle-axe in his right. Sir Henry de Bohun, with golden plate armour and a flowing red cloth tied to his helm, rides past, his long lance missing the king. He is crouched low, almost seeming to bow, his head lined up for the blow from the king's axe.

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80d

"A Deeper Sky", a collection of my longer (not haiku / senryu) poems, up to the end of 2024, is available on Amazon and Rakuten Kobo. Paperback, hardcover and e-reader. If interested in a signed copy, DM me to discuss.

amazon .com link:
https://tinyurl.com/DeeperSkyAmazon

For Amazon UK link, see my author homepage:
https://tinyurl.com/fc3njxup

Kobo link:
https://tinyurl.com/DeeperSkyKobo

Boosts appreciated.

#indie #author #SJAshcroftsPoems #poems #poetry #PoetryCommunity #MyWordsMyWork

Cover of "A Deeper Sky"

Blue sky dotted with broken cloud, takes up about two thirds of the image, above a lake. A line of trees is silhouetted against the evening light and reflects in the water. "A Deeper Sky" appears across the sky in dark letters. "Simon J Ashcroft is in white along the dark line of trees.

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53d

She’s goat her legs oot –
her foldin plastic chair
oan the gress at Glesga Green –
an her airms an enough
creamy dimpled bosom
tae please Renoir…

—Sheila Templeton, “Glesga Fair”
published in Songs of Other Places: New Writing Scotland 32 (ASL, 2014)

Happy Fair Weekend to all the Glasgow Fairies!

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Scots #Scotslanguage #Glasgow #GlasgowFair

Glesga Fair
Sheila Templeton

She’s goat her legs oot –
her foldin plastic chair
oan the gress at Glesga Green –
an her airms an enough
creamy dimpled bosom
tae please Renoir;
bra straps oan show,
frock lirkit richt up
ower her knees
sittin lik a mannie
legs weel splayed as if
tae accommodate
magnificent baws –
but it’s no that.
It’s tae mak room
mak a space
for her belly,
lovely big roon
wumman’s belly
growthie in the sun.

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53d

The Man He Killed

by Thomas Hardy

https://blog.bestamericanpoetry.com/the_best_american_poetry/2025/07/the-man-he-killed-by-thomas-hardy-2.html

Books by Thomas Hardy at PG:

https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/23

#poetry #literature

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78d

I hate midsummer in the north.
There’s no night to speak of,
just day in and day in
with maybe a slight hesitancy
about two o’clock in the morning…

—Alasdair Maclean, “I Hate Midsummer in the North”
published in From the Wilderness (Gollancz, 1973)

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #midsummer

I Hate Midsummer in the North
by Alasdair Maclean

I hate midsummer in the north.
There’s no night to speak of,
just day in and day in
with maybe a slight hesitancy
about two o’clock in the morning.

The sun’s at work continually,
zooming in from some part of the sky,
at some angle or another. In time
it penetrates the thickest skull. In time
it levels up the most forbidding brow.

Light pours down. It makes thing clear.
I see there’s only one world
after all, and it’s a hot one
and a bright one. My hayfield
curls up at the corners. My lips, too.

While the days swagger, elbow one another,
I wait, with what sadness I can muster.
This white weather doesn’t suit me,
I think. I get fatter all the time.
For weeks I live off my stored darkness.

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78d

Here lies our land: every airt
Beneath swift clouds, glad glints of sun,
Belonging to none but itself…

—Kathleen Jamie, “Here lies our land”

This poem was commissioned in 2014 to mark the 700th anniversary of the battle of Bannockburn – fought #OTD, 24 June, 1314. The poem is inscribed on the Bannockburn monument.

https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poem/here-lies-our-land/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Bannockburn #BattleofBannockburn

Here lies our land
Kathleen Jamie

Here lies our land: every airt
Beneath swift clouds, glad glints of sun,
Belonging to none but itself.

We are mere transients, who sing
Its westlin’ winds and fernie braes,
Northern lights and siller tides,

Small folk playing our part.
‘Come all ye’, the country says,
You win me, who take me most to heart.

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56d

Today, 16 July, is #WorldSnakeDay – so here is “Siesta of a Hungarian Snake”, by Edwin Morgan 🐍

Published in New Selected Poems (Carcanet, 2012)

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #concretepoetry #snake #snakes #EdwinMorgan

Edwin Morgan
Siesta of a Hungarian Snake

s sz sz SZ sz SZ sz ZS zs ZS zs zs z

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56d

The grey roots circle thee, who never knew
At any hour within thy travels lone
A human shape but mine…

—Olive Fraser, “The Adder of Quinag”
First published in The Pure Account (Aberdeen University Press, 1981), & included in The Wrong Music (@canongatebooks 1989)

A poem for #WorldSnakeDay 🐍

https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poem/adder-quinag/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #naturewriting #Scotland #highlands #snake #snakes

The Adder of Quinag
Olive Fraser

The grey roots circle thee, who never knew
At any hour within thy travels lone
A human shape but mine. Thou com’st to view,
Wild, unafraid, what stands beside thy stone
And gazes on thee in thy wilderness
Of fifty miles. What thinkst thou of me,
For I am of a race thou could’st not guess
Would murder all thy hapless innocency?

O mountain, take thy small heart back again
And keep him in thy care when I shall go,
Unvisited by all things but the rain,
The hurtless sunbeams, and the winds that blow
For ever in his moors. O let him hold
No intricate memory of that being who stood
Just once by his wild beauty, and did fold
Him with a blessing alien to my blood.

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77d

Der a ön o haet ida gairden here,
Whaar da sun-flooer proodly staands,
An dark-red roses trowe da green
Laek da lowe fae fiery braands…

—T.A. Robertson (“Vagaland”), “Haem Tochts”
published in The Collected Poems of Vagaland (Shetland Times, 1975)

https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poem/haem-tochts/

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

Poem is too long for ALT-text: full text available via link in the post.

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51d

Is there a whim-inspired fool,
Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule,
Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool,
Let him draw near…

Robert Burns (1759–96) died #OTD, 21 July, aged 37. “A Bard’s Epitaph” is the final poem in the 1786 Kilmarnock Edition of Poems, Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect

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#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #RobertBurns #18thcentury #romanticism #epitaph

A Bard’s Epitaph
Robert Burns

Is there a whim-inspired fool,
Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule,
Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool,
Let him draw near;
And owre this grassy heap sing dool,
And drap a tear.

Is there a bard of rustic song,
Who, noteless, steals the crowds among,
That weekly this area throng,
O, pass not by!
But, with a frater-feeling strong,
Here, heave a sigh.

Is there a man, whose judgment clear
Can others teach the course to steer,
Yet runs, himself, life’s mad career,
Wild as the wave,
Here pause—and, thro’ the starting tear,
Survey this grave.

The poor inhabitant below
Was quick to learn the wise to know,
And keenly felt the friendly glow,
And softer flame;
But thoughtless follies laid him low,
And stain’d his name!

Reader, attend! whether thy soul
Soars fancy’s flights beyond the pole,
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole,
In low pursuit:
Know, prudent, cautious, self-control
Is wisdom’s root.

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76d

An iarmailt cho soilleir tana
mar gum biodh am brat-sgàile air a reubadh
’s an Cruthaidhear ’na shuidhe am fianuis a shluaigh
aig a’ bhuntàt ’s a sgadan…

—Ruaraidh MacThòmais, “Leodhas as t-Samhradh”

Published in Scottish Religious Poetry from the sixth century to the present (Saint Andrew Press, 2024)

https://standrewpress.hymnsam.co.uk/books/9781800830479/scottish-religious-poetry

#Scottish #literautre #poem #poetry #Gaelic #Gaidhlig #Hebrides #Lewis #summer

Leodhas as t-Samhradh
Ruaraidh MacThòmais

An iarmailt cho soilleir tana
mar gum biodh am brat-sgàile air a reubadh
’s an Cruthaidhear ’na shuidhe am fianuis a shluaigh
aig a’ bhuntàt ’s a sgadan,
gun duine ris an dèan E altachadh.
’S iongantach gu bheil iarmailt air an t-saoghal
tha cur cho beag a bhacadh air daoine
sealltainn a-steach dha’n an t-sìorruidheachd;
chan eil feum air feallsanachd
far an dèan thu chùis le do phrosbaig.

------------------------------

Lewis in Summer
Translator: Derick Thomson

The atmosphere clear and transparent
as though the veil had been rent
and the Creator were sitting in full view of His people
eating potatoes and herring,
with no man to whom He can say grace.
Probably there’s no other sky in the world
that makes it so easy for people
to look in on eternity;
you don’t need philosophy
where you can make do with binoculars.

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55d

just to see how you’re
faring up there
with little company

just the odd bat or hare
that careers around
‘turning the world’

so you tell me…

—Kathleen Jamie, “Considering a Hike to Yon Tree”
in the London Review of Books, 24 July 2025

https://www.lrb.co.uk/the-paper/v47/n13/kathleen-jamie/considering-a-hike-to-yon-tree

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry

A poem by Kathleen Jamie
Considering a Hike to Yon Tree

just to see how you’re
faring up there
with little company

just the odd bat or hare
that careers around
‘turning the world’

so you tell me. I gather
you snap your fingers
in the face of the east wind

feel the moon groan as she
learns the ropes again
tangled among branches

that you bend, so you say,
to shake her free. You tell me
good will prevail, all

shall be well etcetera,
the same old saws I suspect
you rehearse when you

spot me toiling uphill
in my torn coat, expressly
to listen to your havers.

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55d

[To Sheila Lanyon, on the Flyleaf of a Book]
W. S. Graham

Inscribed by the author on the flyleaf of a copy of THE WHITE THRESHOLD belonging to Sheila Lanyon, widow of the late painter Peter Lanyon. The poem is dated June 18, 1966 and the “second summer” referred to is the second since Peter’s death, after a gliding accident, on August 31, 1964.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/145185/to-sheila-lanyon-on-the-flyleaf-of-a-book

#Scottish #literature #poetry #20thcentury #WSGraham

[To Sheila Lanyon, on the Flyleaf of a Book]
by W. S. Graham

Sheila, we speak here on the fly
Leaf of a book which was myself
A good few graves ago.
Now I am maintained by other
Words for better or for worse
To whisper my hello.

The seasons turn. Threshold on thresh
Hold forms continually and falls
Under grief’s lonely hammer.
What did you say? I thought between
These fly leaf words I heard you speak
Out of your Second Summer.

The summer chimes and turns its blue
Dragon-flying eyes to see
We two are not afraid.
Hello, Sheila, I can hear
Your breath on the other side of the word
And see you turn your head.

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52d

Laid-back in orbit, they found their minds.
They found their minds were very clean and clear.
Clear crystals in swarms outside were their fireflies and larks.
Larks they were in lift-off, swallows in soaring…

—Edwin Morgan, “A Home in Space”
from CENTENARY SELECTED POEMS (Carcanet, 2020)

#OTD, 20 July, 1969, Neil Armstrong & Buzz Aldrin landed on the moon

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

#Scottish #literature #MoonLanding #MoonLandingDay #poem #poetry #astronauts #scifi #scifipoem #scifipoetry

A Home in Space
Edwin Morgan

Laid-back in orbit, they found their minds.
They found their minds were very clean and clear.
Clear crystals in swarms outside were their fireflies and larks.
Larks they were in lift-off, swallows in soaring.
Soaring metal is flight and nest together.
Together they must hatch.
Hatches let the welders out.
Out went the whitesuit riggers with frames as light as air.
Air was millions under lock and key.
Key-ins had computers wild on Saturday nights.
Nights, days, months, years they lived in space.
Space shone black in their eyes.
Eyes, hands, food-tubes, screens, lenses, keys were one.
One night – or day – or month – or year – they all –
all gathered at the panel and agreed –
agreed to cut communication with –
with the earth base – and it must be said they were –
were cool and clear as they dismantled the station and –
and gave their capsule such power that –
that they launched themselves outwards –
outwards in an impeccable trajectory, that band –
that band of tranquil defiers, not to plant any –
any home with roots but to keep a –
a voyaging generation voyaging, and as far –
as far as there would ever be a home in space –
space that needs time and time that needs life.

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75d

When all this is over I mean
to travel north, by the high

drove roads and cart tracks
probably in June,

with the gentle dog-roses
flourishing beside me…

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

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

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry

Kathleen Jamie
Lochan

(For Jean Johnstone)

When all this is over I mean
to travel north, by the high

drove roads and cart tracks
probably in June,

with the gentle dog-roses
flourishing beside me. I mean

to find among the thousands
scattered in that land

a certain quiet lochan,
where water lilies rise

like small fat moons,
and tied among the reeds,

underneath a rowan,
a white boat waits.

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52d

Did Shakespeare Write Hamlet While He Was Stoned?

"Sam Kelly Explores the Potential Influence of Cannabis on the Bard’s Prolific Literary Output"

https://lithub.com/did-shakespeare-write-hamlet-while-he-was-stoned/

Shakespeare at PG

https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/65

#books #literature #plays #poetry #drugs

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74d

Come all ye lovers and affairs,
singles, discrete souls, and bears,
straightest of straights, bentest of bents,
carbolic scrub, Armani scents…

—Edwin Morgan, “G.G.L.C.”

A poem composed for the opening of the Glasgow Gay & Lesbian Centre, 1995

#Pride #PrideDay 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

https://universityofglasgowlibrary.wordpress.com/2014/02/20/lgbt-history-month-poem-that-launched-gglc/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Glasgow #Pride #PrideDay #InternationalPrideDay #LGBTQ

G.G.L.C.
Edwin Morgan

On the opening of the Glasgow Gay & Lesbian Centre, 4th November 1995

Come all ye persons of goodwill,
from Newton Mearns to Maryhill,
rattle the chains and launch the boat
and get it properly afloat.
I bash this poem against the bow,
name it G.G.L.C., and endow
its future cruise with benedictions,
sailing past all feuds and frictions.
Come all ye lovers and affairs,
singles, discrete souls, and bears,
straightest of straights, bentest of bents,
carbolic scrub, Armani scents,
Doc Martens girls, minikilt boys,
buyers of exotic toys,
opera queens, ballet queens,
and all the hesitant in-betweens,
trendsetters and anoraks,
underdogs looking for whacks,
indomitably spring-heeled dykes
sweeping up on mountain bikes,
jessies with attitude, closet cases,
solicitors with bright red braces,
Levis with a coloured hanky
to signal the right hanky-panky,
Lurex and Spandex and other ex-es
to mix the senses and the sexes,
but if you should prefer a suit
we'll certainly no pit ye oot,
for this is where we all can meet
down by the river in Dixon Street,
and the Broomielaw rolls on to the sea
with the happy cargo of G.G.L.C.

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74d

Queerness in Scotland has always existed, hidden in medieval manuscripts, coded in Jacobite poetry, or expressed through the arts. In the first of a 3-part series, the National Galleries of Scotland explores queer artforms & artists from Scotland, past & present

#Pride #PrideDay 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

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

#Scottish #literature #poetry #art #manuscripts #medieval #18thcentury #history #jacobites #queerhistory #queerness #Pride #PrideDay #InternationalPrideDay #LGBTQ