Eggplant.place

29d

Flinching in my hands
this soiled and studded but good heart,
which stippling my cupped palms, breathes –

—Jen Hadfield, “Hedgehog, Hamnavoe”
published in NIGH-NO-PLACE (Bloodaxe, 2007)

https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poem/hedgehog-hamnavoe/

#Scottish #literature #Shetland #hedgehog #hedgehogs #poem #poetry

Hedgehog, Hamnavoe
Jen Hadfield

Flinching in my hands
this soiled and studded but good heart,
which stippling my cupped palms, breathes –

a kidney flinching on a hot griddle,
or very small Hell’s Angel, peeled from the verge
of a sweet, slurred morning.

Drunk, I coddle it like a crystal ball,
hellbent the realistic mysteries
should amount to more than guesswork

and fleas.

ALT

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29d

WRITERS!

Submissions are invited to NEW WRITING SCOTLAND 45! We want poetry & prose in English, Gaelic, & Scots from writers who are Scottish by residence, birth, or inclination. All successful contributors are paid – deadline 13 December!

@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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28d

WRITERS!

New Writing Scotland seeks a new co-editor for English- & Scots-language work. Applicants should be currently based in Scotland & have a strong publishing record, with a focus on poetry. Post is up to 3 years: stipend £1500 per issue.

Please share! 👇

https://asls.org.uk/new-writing-scotland-seeks-co-editor/

#Scottish #Scotland #literature #poetry #poet #poets #writingcommunity

ASL is inviting applications for the role of co-editor of New Writing Scotland, from writers currently based in Scotland. Applicants should have a strong publishing record of their own, with a focus on poetry; previous editorial experience would be an advantage. The post will run for up to three years from 2027, for volumes 45, 46, and 47, publishing in 2027, 2028, and 2029 (dependent on funding).

Our editors jointly select approximately 50 pieces – poetry and prose – from the English- and Scots-language submissions we receive each year. The submissions are anonymised, and we provide editors with paper copies to read. As an editor, we’d ask you to attend launches in Edinburgh and Glasgow (travelling expenses would be paid). Editors receive an annual £1500 stipend and full editorial credit.

We encourage applications from all backgrounds and particularly welcome applications from people who are under-represented within the sector, including from BPOC applicants (Black people and People of Colour), disabled people, LGBTQIA+ applicants and those from a low socioeconomic background.

Please send a CV and a one-page application letter, outlining your qualifications for the position, to admin@asls.org.uk by 6 p.m. on Sunday 8 November 2026.

ALT

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28d

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)

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Gaidhlig #Gaelic #Welsh #Cymraeg #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.

ALT

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26d

Allan Ramsay (1684–1758) – poet, playwright, founder of modern #Scots writing, & with a fair claim to be the father of Romanticism – was born #OTD, 15 October. A 🎂 🧵 …

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🖼️ Allan Ramsay, 1684–1758, by William Aikman – Scottish National Portrait Gallery

https://www.nationalgalleries.org/art-and-artists/3526

#Scottish #literature #18thcentury #romanticism #Scots #Scotslanguage #poetry #drama #theatre #theatrehistory

Portrait of Allan Ramsay (1684–1758), by William Aikman. Oil on canvas. Ramsay is clean-shaven, and looks out at the viewer with a half-smile. He wears a collarless dark green velvet coat, unbuttoned, and has an orange silk cloth wound about his head like an improvised turban.

ALT

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31d

Due parole sulla Citroën 2CV

https://giannicontarino.substack.com/p/citroen-2cv-3c0

#cars #retro #poetry #design #france

ALT

Edited 27d ago

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26d

Autumn, and the nights are darkening.
The old lady tells us of her past once more.
She muses on the days she spent nursing

at ten shillings a month…

—Iain Crichton Smith, “The Old Lady”
published in NEW COLLECTED POEMS (Carcanet, 2011)

https://www.carcanet.co.uk/9781857549607/new-collected-poems/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #20thcentury #IainCrichtonSmith #autumn

The Old Lady
Iain Crichton Smith

Autumn, and the nights are darkening.
The old lady tells us of her past once more.
She muses on the days she spent nursing

at ten shillings a month. ‘And what exams!
I could understand anything in those days.
What summers we had then, what lovely autumns.’

And so I imagine her cycling to her work
among the golden leaves, down avenues,
to hospitals which were disciplined and stark

with hard-faced matrons, doctors jovial
with an authority that was never quizzed,
while grizzled Death suckled at his phial,

and autumn glowed and died, outside the ward,
and girlishly she saw it fade in red
in sky and sheet, and evening was barred
with strange sweet clouds that hung above the bed.

ALT

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25d

Somewhere along this street, unknown to me,
behind a maze of apple trees and stars,
he rises in the small hours, finds a book
and settles at a window or a desk
to see the morning in, alone for once,
unnamed, unburdened, happy in himself…

—John Burnside, “The Good Neighbour”
published in DRIFTWORK (Cape, 2026)

https://www.penguin.co.uk/books/481482/driftwork-by-burnside-john/9781787336667

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Burnside #JohnBurnside

The Good Neighbour
John Burnside

Somewhere along this street, unknown to me,
behind a maze of apple trees and stars,
he rises in the small hours, finds a book
and settles at a window or a desk
to see the morning in, alone for once,
unnamed, unburdened, happy in himself.

I don’t know who he is; I’ve never met him
walking to the fish-house, or the bank,
and yet I think of him, on nights like these,
waking alone in my own house, my other neighbours
quiet in their beds, like drowsing flies.

He watches what I watch, tastes what I taste:
on winter nights, the snow; in summer, sky.
He listens for the bird lines in the clouds
and, like that ghost companion in the old
explorers’ tales, that phantom in the sleet,
fifth in a party of four, he’s not quite there,
but not quite inexistent, nonetheless;

and when he lays his book down, checks the hour
and fills a kettle, something hooded stops,
as cell by cell, a heartbeat at a time,
my one good neighbour sets himself aside,
and alters into someone I have known:
a passing stranger on the road to grief,
husband and father; rich man; poor man; thief.

ALT

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55d

Wanted a husband who doesn’t suppose,
That all earthly employments one feminine knows—
That she’ll scrub, do the cleaning, and cooking, and baking,
And plain needlework, hats and caps, and dressmaking…

—“Wanted A Husband”, by Marion Bernstein (1846–1906), born #OTD, 16 September. A 🎂🧵

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#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Glasgow #19thcentury #Victorian #womenwriters #feminism

Wanted a Husband
Marion Bernstein

‘Baking and cooking, scrubbing and dressing
Accomplishments grand, well worth possessing;
Economy too, with wisdom discreet,
My wife must practise to make all ends meet.’
—Eleve.

Wanted a husband who doesn’t suppose,
That all earthly employments one feminine knows—
That she’ll scrub, do the cleaning, and cooking, and baking,
And plain needlework, hats and caps, and dressmaking.
Do the family washing, yet always look neat,
Mind the bairns, with a temper unchangeably sweet,
Be a cheerful companion, whenever desired,
And contentedly toil day and night, if required.
Men expecting as much, one may easily see,
But they’re not what is wanted, at least, not by me.

Wanted a husband who’s tender and true,
Who will stick to his duty, and never get ‘fou,’
But when all his day’s work he has blithely gone through,
Help his wife, ‘set to rights,’ till her work is done too;
Who will not absurdly, and helplessly go,
And trouble the wife about ‘buttons to sew,’
On his shirt, or his gloves, or his coat, or his vest,
But will sew them himself, and not think he’s oppressed.
Now, if such a lad you should happen to see,
He’s wanted by many, but yet—not by me!

ALT

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24d

My father passed with his penny letters
Through closes opening and shutting like legends
When barbarous with gulls
Hamnavoe’s morning broke…

—“Hamnavoe”, by George Mackay Brown (1921–1996) – born #OTD, 17 Oct

“I have never seen his poetry sufficiently praised.”
—Seamus Heaney

A 🎂 🧵

You can listen to George Mackay Brown read his poem “Hamnavoe” online via the Poetry Archive

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https://poetryarchive.org/poem/hamnavoe/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Orkney #20thcentury #GeorgeMackayBrown

Hamnavoe
George Mackay Brown

My father passed with his penny letters
Through closes opening and shutting like legends
When barbarous with gulls
Hamnavoe's morning broke

On the salt and tar steps. Herring boats,
Puffing red sails, the tillers
Of cold horizons, leaned
Down the gull-gaunt tide

And threw dark nets on sudden silver harvests.
A stallion at the sweet fountain
Dredged water, and touched
Fire from steel-kissed cobbles.

Hard on noon four bearded merchants
Past the pipe-spitting pier-head strolled,
Holy with greed, chanting
Their slow grave jargon.

A tinker keened like a tartan gull
At cuithe-hung doors. A crofter lass
Trudged through the lavish dung
In a dream of corn-stalks and milk.

In the Arctic Whaler three blue elbows fell,
Regular as waves, from beards spumy with porter,
Till the amber day ebbed out
To its black dregs.

ALT

The boats drove furrows homeward, like ploughmen
In blizzards of gulls. Gaelic fisher girls
Flashed knife and dirge
Over drifts of herring,

And boys with penny wands lured gleams
From the tangled veins of the flood. Houses went blind
Up one steep close, for a
Grief by the shrouded nets.

The kirk, in a gale of psalms, went heaving through
A tumult of roofs, freighted for heaven.
And lovers Unblessed by steeples lay under
The buttered bannock of the moon.

He quenched his lantern, leaving the last door.
Because of his gay poverty that kept
My seapink innocence
From the worm and black wind;

And because, under equality's sun,
All things wear now to a common soiling,
In the fire of images
Gladly I put my hand
To save that day for him.

ALT

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23d

Ye’d wonder foo the seasons rin
This side o’ Tweed an’ Tyne;
The hairst’s awa; October-month
Cam’ in a whilie syne…

—Violet Jacob, “The Neep-Fields by the Sea”
published in THE NORTHERN LIGHTS & Other Poems (John Murray, 1927)

Digitised by the National Library of Scotland

https://digital.nls.uk/works-by-selected-scottish-authors/archive/129093839#?c=0&m=0&s=0&cv=0&xywh=-937%2C-125%2C3353%2C2485

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Scots #Scotslanguage #20thcentury #womenwriters #autumn

The Neep-Fields by the Sea
by Violet Jacob

Ye’d wonder foo the seasons rin
This side o’ Tweed an’ Tyne;
The hairst’s awa; October-month
Cam’ in a whilie syne,
But the stooks are oot in Scotland yet,
There’s green upon the tree,
And oh! What grand’s the smell ye’ll get
Frae the neep-fields by the sea!

The lang lift lies abune the warld,
On ilka windless day
The ships creep doon the ocean line
Sma’ on the band o’ grey;
And the lang sigh heaved upon the sand
Comes pechin’ up tae me
And speils the cliffs tae whaur ye stand
I’ the neep-fields by the sea.

ALT

Oh, time’s aye slow, tho’ time gangs fast
When siller’s a’ tae mak’,
An’ deith, afore ma poke is fu’,
May grip me i’ the back;
But ye’ll tak’ ma banes an’ my Sawbith braws,
Gin deith’s owre smairt for me,
And set them up amang the shaws
I’ the lang rows plantit atween the wa’s,
A tattie-dulie for fleggin’ craws
I’ the neep-fields by the sea.

ALT

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23d

Peter Mackay: Gaelic, Makars, St Andrews
20 October, St Andrews Bowling Club. Tickets £5/£7

Scotland’s Makar Peter Mackay will speak on Scots poetry, old and new, in conjunction with the Scots language exhibition Hamewith at the St Andrews Heritage Museum.

https://www.trybooking.com/uk/event/122132

#Scottish #literature #poetry #StAndrews #Scots #Scotslanguage

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