Eggplant.place

223d

The cold Roman eye, hand on seal.
Vale. Take the thief away.

“You carry your own tree, Jimmy…”
Another gallowsbird behind.
One ahead, burdened, a bruised brightness…

—George Mackay Brown, “Stations of the Cross: The Good Thief”
published in CARVE THE RUNES: Selected Poems (Birlinn, 2021)

https://birlinn.co.uk/product/carve-the-runes/

#Scottish #literature #Easter #GoodFriday #poem #poetry #Orkney

Stations of the Cross: The Good Thief
George Mackay Brown

The cold Roman eye, hand on seal.
Vale. Take the thief away.

‘You carry your own tree, Jimmy . . .’
Another gallowsbird behind.
One ahead, burdened, a bruised brightness.

I’ve carried millstones, wine-vats, a mast.
That one was a carpenter.
His knees buckle under the heavy baulk.

My mother, poor woman, is dead.
His mother is here. Poor woman. Poor woman.

Look, Simon’s come into town
With an ox to sell.
They’ve laid another yoke on Simon.

Veronica, seamstress. No napkin ever
Soaked up such blood and sweat.

I stagger but I don’t fall.
The sneak-thief plods like a mule.
The bright one, he’s down again.

Those women! Miriam, Judith, Esther
Go home, sing over your cradles.
Sing among looms and pots.

Below, cornfields and vineyards.
A third time, fallen.
He tastes golden dust.

ALT

The soldiers won’t bother, I think,
Haggling over my coat.
No scarecrow would wear a rag like that.

Silence – curses – from cross and cross.
From the mid-ark
A dove wings out into the blackest storm.

Thrust of lance into heart-root.
The soldiers are coming with mallets
To break the legs of the thieves.

The eyes of the mother
Drown all the world in pity and love.
The hammer beats on my knee.

That the hands of such a woman
Fold me gravewards.
Bear me and all men in her folds of light.

ALT

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

223d

Three o’clock. The bus lurches
round into the sun. “D’s this go –”
he flops beside me – “right along Bath Street?
– Oh tha’s, tha’s all right, see I’ve
got to get some Easter eggs for the kiddies…

—Edwin Morgan, “Good Friday”
from CENTENARY SELECTED POEMS, @carcanet.bsky.social 2020

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

#Scottish #literature #Easter #poem #poetry #GoodFriday #Glasgow

Good Friday
Edwin Morgan

Three o’clock. The bus lurches
round into the sun. “D’s this go –”
he flops beside me – “right along Bath Street?
– Oh tha’s, tha’s all right, see I’ve
got to get some Easter eggs for the kiddies.
I’ve had a wee drink, ye understand –
ye’ll maybe think it’s a – funny day
to be celebrating – well, no, but ye see
I wasny working, and I like to celebrate
when I’m no working – I don’t say it’s right
I’m no saying it’s right, ye understand – ye understand?
But anyway tha’s the way I look at it –
I’m no boring you, eh? – ye see today,
take today, I don’t know what today’s in aid of,
whether Christ was – crucified or was he –
rose fae the dead like, see what I mean?
You’re an educatit man, you can tell me –
– Aye, well. There ye are. It’s been seen
time and again, the working man
has nae education, he jist canny – jist
hasny got it, know what I mean,
he’s jist bliddy ignorant – Christ aye,
bliddy ignorant. Well –” The bus brakes violently,
he lunges for the stair, swings down – off,
into the sun for his Easter eggs,
on very‍‍
‍ ‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ nearly‍‍
‍ ‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ steady‍‍
‍ ‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ legs.

ALT

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

223d

Three o’clock. Yer hot cross buns ur in the oven
fur another nine minutes. The soup will be tested at some point
the mora, or maybe oan Sunday…

—Charles Lang, “Good Friday (After Edwin Morgan)”
from NOBODY REMEMBERS THE BIRDMAN: New Writing Scotland 40 (ASL, 2022)

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

#Scottish #literature #Easter #poem #poetry #GoodFriday

Charles Lang
Good Friday

After Edwin Morgan

Three o’clock. Yer hot cross buns ur in the oven
fur another nine minutes. The soup will be tested at some point
the mora, or maybe oan Sunday. The world is oor oyster!
There’ll be nae eggs this year fur a few reasons.

I press play oan the telly: a recordin ae Tuesday night’s Eastenders
preceded by the last minute n a hof ae Tuesday night’s news.
That feels like such a long time ago. The days aw feel the same
but everythin is movin quickly. I fast forward through the theme tune.

lan is feelin guilty fur the part he played in Dennis’s death.
Blackmail is a wonderful thing. Dotty is usin it tae take control ae the Arches.
Will Sharon ever find oot? Will Mick sell the Queen Vic?
Did Carole Baskin kill her disappeared husband n feed him tae her lucrative tigers?

These ur things ye need tae think aboot. The questions
that need tae be answered. Is it possible tae eat mer than three
cream crackers withoot a drink a watter? How many days
will it take me tae complete this 1000-piece New Yorker jigsaw?

TBC. Maybe I’ll dae it the mora, maybe I’ll dae it next week.
Tell ye wit I’ll get most ae it oot the wiy the mora, efter ma soup,
takin a break at aboot three o’clock fur a wee coffee.
The hot cross buns, by the way: outstandin.

ALT

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

223d

heh jimmy
yawright ih
stull wayiz urryi
ih

heh jimmy
ma right insane yirra pape
ma right insane yirwanny us jimmy
see it nyir eyes
wanny uz

—Tom Leonard, “The Good Thief”
published in THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF SCOTTISH VERSE, @canongatebooks 2021

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

#Scottish #literature #Easter #poem #poetry #GoodFriday #Glasgow

Tom Leonard
The Good Thief

heh jimmy
yawright ih
stull wayiz urryi
ih

heh jimmy
ma right insane yirra pape
ma right insane yirwanny us jimmy
see it nyir eyes
wanny uz

heh

heh jimmy
lookslik wirgonny miss thi gemm
gonny miss thi GEMM jimmy
nearly three a cloke thinoo

dork init
good jobe theyve gote the lights

ALT

1 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

222d

Her face was thrawed.
She wisna aa come.

In the trams o her airms
the wummin held oot her first bairn.
It micht hae been a mercat day
and him for sale…

—Alastair Mackie, “Pietà”
from The Golden Treasury of Scottish Verse, @canongatebooks 2021

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

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

Pietà
Alastair Mackie

Her face was thrawed.
She wisna aa come.

In the trams o her airms
the wummin held oot her first bairn.
It micht hae been a mercat day
and him for sale.
Naebody stoppit tae niffer.

His life bluid cled his breast
wi a new reid semmit.
He’d hippens for deid claes.

Aifter the boombers cleck
and the sodgers traik thro the skau
there’s an auld air sterts up –
bubblin and greetin.

It’s a ballant mithers sing
on their hunkers i the stour
for a bairn deid.

They ken it by hert.

It’s the cauldest grue i the universe
yon skelloch.
It niver waukens the deid.

ALT

Edited 222d ago

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

198d

Nae man wha loves the lawland tongue
But warsles wi’ the thocht—
There are mair sangs that bide unsung
Nor a’ that hae been wrocht…

—“The Makar”, by William Soutar (1898–1943) – born #OTD, 28 April

A 🎂 🧵

1/7

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

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #20thcentury #WilliamSoutar #Scots #Scotslanguage

William Soutar
The Makar

Nae man wha loves the lawland tongue
But warsles wi’ the thocht
There are mair sangs that bide unsung
Nor a’ that hae been wrocht.

Ablow the wastrey o’ the years,
The thorter o’ himsel’,
Deep buried in his bluid he hears
A music that is leal.

And wi’ this lealness gangs his ain;
And there’s nae ither gait
Though a’ his feres were fremmit men
Wha cry: Owre late, owre late.

ALT

1 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

222d

A girnin, greitin deil wis I –
I wis auld, and feelin aulder.
Syne the heatin system burst in Hell:
It wis cauld – and gettin caulder…

—James Robertson, “Beelzebub Resurfaces”

https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poem/beelzebub-resurfaces/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Scots #Scotslanguage

Beelzebub Resurfaces
James Robertson

A girnin, greitin deil wis I –
I wis auld, and feelin aulder.
Syne the heatin system burst in Hell:
It wis cauld – and gettin caulder.

When the fires were doun tae reek and ash,
And the cauldrons fou o ice,
And imps and bogles hunkered roond
Like cowrin, chitterin mice,

And the wretched deid were truly deid,
And had nae pain left tae thole –
I kent that it wis time tae leave
Yon dreich and dowie hole.

I trauchled up the auld stane stair,
Unsnecked the rousty yett,
And hard upon the stoury grund
Ma clootie fit I set.

The Earth wis yince a paradise –
It wis bonnie, bricht and braw,
And a sulky soor-mooth like masel
It didna please at aw.

But noo I fund a different scene,
That gart ma spirits lowp,
For man had made his paradise
A stinkin, scabbit cowp.

The land wis deid, the oceans deid,
The fush and wild beasts gane,
The rainforests were hackit doun,
And the rain wis acid rain;

Deserts had smoored the green fields ower,
The ice-caps were snaw-bree,
Floods had drouned the straths and glens,
And wild winds whipped the sea.

ALT

Fires bleezed that made aw Hell’s fires seem
Mere skinkles in the nicht;
And, in their bonnie, beekin lowe,
O whit a glorious sicht!

God’s craitur fechtin wi himsel
For ile and land and food,
For widd and water, graith and gear,
And – best o aw – for God;

Men busy killin ither men
Wi guns and bombs and tanks,
And slauchterin bairns and weemin tae –
And the deid piled up in ranks.

I minded whit I’d read langsyne
And clapped ma hauns wi glee,
For whit I saw looked awfie like
A Judgment Day tae me.

Sae aw ye princes, presidents
And ither heids o state,
Herrie and fyle, oppress, invade,
And dinna be ower blate.

And aw ye haly terrorists,
Be bauld and fou o faith,
And whaur ye ding doun tyranny
Raise misery and daith.

I am a stranger faur frae hame,
But I fairly like yer style,
Sae dinna mind me sittin here –
I dout I’ll bide a while.

A girnin, greitin deil wis I –
A sair-faced auld doom-monger.
But noo I’m happy, and whit’s mair –
I believe I’m gettin younger!

ALT

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

199d

Push the boat out, compañeros,
push the boat out, whatever the sea…

—Edwin Morgan, “At Eighty”: a poem written for his own 80th birthday

Edwin Morgan (1920–2010) was born #OTD, 27 April – a 🎂 🧵

1/14

https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poem/eighty-0/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #EdwinMorgan #birthday #80thbirthday

At Eighty
by Edwin Morgan

Push the boat out, compañeros,
push the boat out, whatever the sea.
Who says we cannot guide ourselves
through the boiling reefs, black as they are,
the enemy of us all makes sure of it!
Mariners, keep good watch always
for that last passage of blue water
we have heard of and long to reach
(no matter if we cannot, no matter!)
in our eighty-year-old timbers
leaky and patched as they are but sweet
well seasoned with the scent of woods
long perished, serviceable still
in unarrested pungency
of salt and blistering sunlight. Out,
push it all out into the unknown!
Unknown is best, it beckons best,
like distant ships in mist, or bells
clanging ruthless from stormy buoys.

ALT

1 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

221d

Done is a battell on the dragon blak,
Our campioun Chryst confoundit hes his force;
The ȝettis of hell ar brokin with a crak,
The signe triumphall rasit is of the croce…

—William Dunbar, c.1460–1520. The poem was most likely written when Dunbar was at James IV’s court

1/2

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #medieval #medievalliterature #Easter #Scots #Scotslanguage

Done is a battell on the dragon blak
William Dunbar (c. 1460–1520)

Done is a battell on the dragon blak,
Our campioun Chryst confoundit hes his force;
The ȝettis of hell ar brokin with a crak,
The signe triumphall rasit is of the croce;
The diuillis trymmillis with hiddous voce,
The saulis ar borrowit and to the blis can go,
Chryst with his blud our ransonis dois indoce:
Surrexit dominus de sepulchro.

Dungin is the deidly dragon Lucifer,
The crewall serpent with the mortall stang;
The auld kene tegir, with his teith on char
Quhilk in a wait hes lyne for us so lang,
Thinking to grip us in his clowis strang;
The mercifull lord wald nocht that it wer so.
He maid him for to felȝe of that fang:
Surrexit dominus de sepulchro.

He for our saik that sufferit to be slane
And lyk a lamb in sacrifice wes dicht,
Is lyk a lyone rissin vp agane
And as a gyane raxit him on hicht;
Sprungin is Aurora radius and bricht,
On loft is gone the glorius Appollo,
The blisfull day departit fro the nycht:
Surrexit dominus de sepulchro.

ALT

The grit victour agane is rissin on hicht,
That for our querrell to the deth wes woundit:
The sone that wox all paill now schynis bricht,
And, dirknes clerit, our fayth is now refoundit;
The knell of mercy fra the hevin is soundit,
The Cristin ar deliverit of thair wo,
The Iowis and thair errour ar confoundit:
Surrexit dominus de sepulchro.

The fo is chasit, the battell is done ceis,
The presone brokin, the jevellouris fleit and flemit;
The weir is gon, confermit is the peis,
The fetteris lowsit and the dungeoun temit;
The ransoun maid, the presoneris redemit,
The feild is win, ourcumin is the fo,
Dispulit of the tresur that he ȝemit:
Surrexit dominus de sepulchro.

ALT

1 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

221d

“This poem was written when my father was very ill, dying of cancer, & I was coming home from the hospital. Suddenly this line ‘I am the resurrection & the life’ came into my head & then the poem began to emerge from the line.”

—Edwin Morgan on “Message Clear”

1/3

#Scottish #literature #Easter #poem #poetry #concretepoetry

“Message Clear”, by Edwin Morgan. A concrete poem where the lines are created by taking the phrase “i am the resurrection and the life” and, by selectively deleting letters from each line, building up the following text:

am i
if
i am he
hero
hurt
there and
here and
here and
there
i am rife
in sion and
i die
a mere sect
a mere section
of
the life
of
men
sure
the die
is set and
i am the surd
at rest
o life
i am here
i act
i run
i meet
i tie
i stand
i am thoth
i am ra
i am the sun
i am the son
i am the erect one if
i am rent
i am safe
i am sent
i heed
i test
i read
a thread
a stone
a tread
a throne
i resurrect
a life
i am in life
i am resurrection
i am the resurrection and
i am
i am the resurrection and the life

ALT

2 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

198d

“A rat race is for rats. We’re not rats. We’re human beings.”

Shipyard union leader James Reid was elected Rector of the University of Glasgow in 1971. He gave his rectorial address #OTD, 28 April, 1972. The New York Times reprinted it, & called it the greatest political speech since the Gettysburg Address. Read it online at

https://www.gla.ac.uk/media/Media_167194_smxx.pdf

#Scottish #literature #politics #alienation #politicalspeech #Glasgow #GlasgowUniversity #TradesUnions #workingclass #WorkingClassHistory

The cover of ALIENATION, James Reid's Rectorial Address at the University of Glasgow in 1972. The cover shows two black-and-white photos quartered together by a saltire cross. The left and right sections show a view of a quadrangle at the University; the top and bottom quadrants show a view of cranes and a line of shipyard workers respectively.

ALT

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

221d

There’s a boulder by the forest path,
left by the ice ten thousand years ago,
it waits, patterned with lichen…

—Antonia Kearton, “A Benediction”
published in Break in Case of Silence: New Writing Scotland 39 (ASL, 2021)

https://asls.org.uk/publications/books/newwriting/nws39/

#Scottish #literature #Easter #poem #poetry

Antonia Kearton
A Benediction

There’s a boulder by the forest path,
left by the ice ten thousand years ago,
it waits, patterned with lichen

the quietest blue, yellow soft as cream,
knee-high, flat-topped, so wide
I cannot wrap my arms around it –

small hands of moss patter up its side.
It’s nothing like my grandmother’s table
at Easter, but that’s what comes to mind,

dark brown and shining under the white cloth,
bearing the feast, eggs dyed with onion skins
and at the centre, sweet pashka

a resurrection of butter, eggs, and cream,
radiant with bright sugared fruits –
moss green, rowan red, the sun’s strong yellow.

ALT

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

197d

Here in Condorrat the nursery is shut
so adults with rosettes pinned to their hearts
can persuade us where to pin our hopes…

—Ross Wilson, “The Cost of Living”
published in VITAL SIGNS (Red Squirrel Press, 2023)

https://www.redsquirrelpress.com/product-page/vital-signs-ross-wilson

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #politics #elections

Ross Wilson
THE COST OF LIVING

Here in Condorrat the nursery is shut
so adults with rosettes pinned to their hearts
can persuade us where to pin our hopes.

How to explain voting to you, aged four?
‘What party would you vote for?’
‘A birthday party; with balloons.’
‘I think the balloon already has a party.’

Still, it’s our duty to vote. I spell
D.U.T.Y and she becomes a character
in a story we take turns to tell.

Later, you yell FASTER on a swing
as ‘Heat or eat’ headlines bemoan
the cost of living on a mobile phone
I bury in a pocket so I can push you on.

ALT

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

199d

I am waiting
for the foot to slide,
for the heart to seize,
for the leaping sinews to go slack,
for the fight to the death to be fought to the death…

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

As well as being Edwin Morgan’s birthday, today is also Hyena Day. Happy International Hyena Day to those who celebrate

1/4

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

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #hyena #InternationalHyenaDay

Hyena
Edwin Morgan

I am waiting for you.
I have been travelling all morning through the bush
and not eaten.
I am lying at the edge of the bush
on a dusty path that leads from the burnt-out kraal.
I am panting, it is midday, I found no water-hole.
I am very fierce without food and although my eyes
are screwed to slits against the sun
you must believe I am prepared to spring.

What do you think of me?
I have a rough coat like Africa.
I am crafty with dark spots
like the bush-tufted plains of Africa.
I sprawl as a shaggy bundle of gathered energy
like Africa sprawling in its waters.
I trot, I lope, I slaver, I am a ranger.
I hunch my shoulders. I eat the dead.

Do you like my song?
When the moon pours hard and cold on the veldt
I sing, and I am the slave of darkness.
Over the stone walls and the mud walls and the ruined places
and the owls, the moonlight falls.
I sniff a broken drum. I bristle. My pelt is silver.
I howl my song to the moon – up it goes.
Would you meet me there in the waste places?

It is said I am a good match
for a dead lion. I put my muzzle
at his golden flanks, and tear. He
is my golden supper, but my tastes are easy.
I have a crowd of fangs, and I use them.
Oh and my tongue – do you like me
when it comes lolling out over my jaw
very long, and I am laughing?
I am not laughing.
But I am not snarling either, only
panting in the sun, showing you
what I grip
carrion with.

ALT

I am waiting
for the foot to slide,
for the heart to seize,
for the leaping sinews to go slack,
for the fight to the death to be fought to the death,
for a glazing eye and the rumour of blood.
I am crouching in my dry shadows
till you are ready for me.
My place is to pick you clean
and leave your bones to the wind.

ALT

1 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

147d

Rain is the focus of the National Library of Scotland’s forthcoming major exhibition, opening 19 June. Rain is deeply embedded in many facets of Scottish society – from agriculture & whisky to fashion & culture & identity – & the exhibition will showcase a sample of the Library’s wide holdings

https://media.nls.uk/news/major-summer-exhibition-focuses-on-rain

#Scottish #literature #culture #rain #Scotland #Edinburgh

1 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

198d

Sradagan san Iarmailt: Peter Mackay & Anna Frater
21 May, Hillhead Library, Glasgow – free

Crowned Bard Anna Frater & Scotland’s Makar Peter Mackay will discuss Sradagan san Iarmailt/Sparks in the Firmament, the new anthology of contemporary Gaelic poetry

https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/sradagan-san-iarmailt-peter-mackay-anna-frater-tickets-1988316724848

#Scottish #literature #Gaidhlig #Gaelic #poetry

1 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

220d

Your carolan’s blythe, bricht bird i the blackthorn bou,
this braw Voar morn, wi trill eftir spirlan trill,
tho you only ken the warld as it liggs the nou,
an nocht but a glisk concerns your chatteran bill…

—Maurice Lindsay, “On Hearin a Merle Singan (Arbroath Day, April 6th, 1946)”
published in A KIST O SKINKLAN THINGS (ASL 2016)

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

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Scots #Scotslanguage

Maurice Lindsay
On Hearin a Merle Singan
(Arbroath Day, April 6th, 1946)

Your carolan’s blythe, bricht bird i the blackthorn bou,
this braw Voar morn, wi trill eftir spirlan trill,
tho you only ken the warld as it liggs the nou,
an nocht but a glisk concerns your chatteran bill.

You feel the warm sun kissan your sparklan breist,
sea-green it glints as you dirl your feathered thrapple,
naithin mindit o things afore or neist
wi whilk, on this day o days, I try tae grapple.

Tae you, the Simmer’s come, sin the blue-gers glitters,
an spinnan-Maggies stoiter aboot the lawn.
It micht be sae, sin for days there’s no been a spitter
o rain tae sloke the drouth o the yird’s dry pawn.

Yet, fegs, the sun’s made you luik gey gilliegawky!
Gin ye only kennt, there’s snaw i the heich hills yet.
Ye’re no faur-seean, bird, lik the leathern baukie
wha although he’s blin’s nae perturbed by the cauld or the het.

As I hear you singan, merle, aa the thwartit flames
o my luve for Scotland loup i my waefu hert,
an six-hunnert-years-auld bluid reenges roun my veins
till my stangit heid’s agley wi an orra smert . . .

But maist folk in Scotland noo hae the baukie’s een,
caran for nocht that isnae smoorit in derk:
an tho they wad praise your sang for its happy shein,
at the thocht o the snaw i the hills their sauls aye lerk!

ALT

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

220d

“It is in truth not for glory, nor riches, nor honours, that we are fighting, but for freedom – for that alone, which no honest man gives up but with life itself”

The Declaration of Arbroath – a letter from the Community of the Realm of Scotland to Pope John XXII, asserting Scotland’s independence & supporting Robert I as the rightful king – was signed #OTD, 6 April, 1320

https://unesco.org.uk/our-sites/memory-of-the-world/the-declaration-of-arbroath

#Scottish #literature #history #medievalhistory #14thcentury

1 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

220d

Today, 6 April, is Tartan Day – a principally North American day of celebration of Scottish heritage, although it’s also marked, unofficially, in Argentina. 6 April was chosen as it’s the date of the signing of the Declaration of Arbroath in 1320.

1/4

#Scottish #literature #culture #history #tartan #TartanDay

A square of red, green, blue, yellow and white tartan. Superimposed on the tartan are white letters, reading:

Once you can accept the universe as being something expanding into an infinite nothing which is something, wearing stripes with plaid is easy.
—Albert Einstein

ALT

1 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

219d

As by barren trackway
on a mountain crest
with view of scree and corrie,
ridge and col,
a traveller might pause…

—“A cairn”, by Gael Turnbull (1928–2004) – born #OTD, 7 April
from WHILE BREATH PERSIST (The Porcupine’s Quill, 1992)

1/3

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

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry

A Cairn
by Gael Turnbull

As by barren trackway
on a mountain crest
with view of scree and corrie,
ridge and col,
a traveller might pause,
take bearings, cast
in tribute to record:
“A man came here, went on,
left common token, shared
with those who went before
and shall come after.”

ALT

1 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

219d

It’s hard to think that the earth is one –
This poor sad bearer of wars and disasters
Rolls-Roycing round the sun with its load of gangsters,
Attended only by the loveless moon.

—Norman MacCaig, “Stars and Planets”
published in The Poems of Norman MacCaig (Birlinn, 2009)

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

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #20thcentury

Stars and Planets
by Norman MacCaig

Trees are cages for them: water holds its breath
To balance them without smudging on its delicate meniscus.
Children watch them playing in their heavenly playground;
Men use them to lug ships across oceans, through firths.

They seem so twinkle-still, but they never cease
Inventing new spaces and huge explosions
And migrating in mathematical tribes over
The steppes of space at their outrageous ease.

It’s hard to think that the earth is one –
This poor sad bearer of wars and disasters
Rolls-Roycing round the sun with its load of gangsters,
Attended only by the loveless moon.

ALT

Edited 219d ago

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

219d

Nothing But the Poem – Robin Robertson

Winner of all three Forward Prizes for poetry, Robin Robertson also holds the distinction of writing the only poem ever nominated for the Booker Prize: his epic 2018 work The Long Take.

In this new episode of the Scottish Poetry Library podcast, Samuel Tongue explores two vintage Robin Robertson poems: ‘Cat, Failing’ & ‘Swimming in the Woods’.

https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/podcast/nothing-but-the-poem-robin-robertson/

#Scottish #literature #poetry #podcast

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

218d

Chì mi rè geàrd na h-oidhche
dreòs air chrith ’na fhroidhneas thall air fàire,
a’ clapail le a sgiathaibh,
a’ sgapadh ’s a’ ciaradh rionnagan na h-àird’ ud…

—Deòrsa Mac Iain Deòrsa (George Campbell Hay), “Bisearta”. Hay witnessed the Allied bombing of Bizerte in 1943

#Scottish #literature #Gaidhlig #Gaelic #poem #poetry #warpoetry #ww2