Eggplant.place

158d

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

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84d

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

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136d

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

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157d

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

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157d

“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

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157d

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.

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#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

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157d

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)

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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

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156d

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 156d ago

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156d

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

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156d

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

Deorsa Mac lain Deòrsa (George Campbell Hay)
Bisearta

Chì mi rè geard 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.

Shaoileadh tu gun cluinnte,
ge cian, o ’bhuillsgein ochanaich no caoineadh,
ràn corraich no gàir fuatha,
comhart chon cuthaich uaith no ulfhairt fhaolchon,
gun ruigeadh drannd an fhòirneirt
on fhùirneis òmair iomall fhèin an t-saoghail.
Ach siud a’ dol an leud e
ri oir an speur an tostachd olc is aognaidh.

C’ainm nochd a th’ orra,
na sràidean bochda anns an sgeith gach uinneag
a lasraichean ’s a deatach,
a sradagan is sgreadail a luchd thuinidh,
is taigh air thaigh ga reubadh
am broinn a chèile am brùchdadh toit’ a’ tuiteam?
Is cò a-nochd tha ’g atach
am Bàs a theachd gu grad ’nan cainntibh uile,
no a’ spàirn measg chlach is shailthean
air bhàinidh a’ gairm air cobhair, is nach cluinnear?
Cò a-nochd a phàigheas
seann chìs àbhaisteach na fala cumant?

Uair dearg mar lod na h-àraich,
uair bàn mar ghile thràighte an eagail èitigh,
a’ dìreadh ’a uair a’ teàrnadh,
a’ sìneadh le sitheadh àrd ’s a’ call a mheudachd,
a’ fannachadh car aitil
’s ag at mar anail dhiabhail air dhèinead,
an t-Olc ’na chridhe ’s ’na chuisle,
chì mi ’na bhuillean a’ sìoladh ’s a’ leum e.
Tha ’n dreòs ’na oillt air fàire,
’na fhàinne ròis is òir am bun nan speuran,
a’ breugnachadh ’s ag àicheadh
le ’shoillse sèimhe àrsaidh àrd nan reultan.

ALT

Bizerta
translated by George Campbell Hay

I see during the night guard
a blaze flickering, fringing the skyline over yonder,
beating with its wings
and scattering and dimming the stars of that airt.

You would think that there would be heard
from its midst, though far away, wailing and lamentation,
the roar of rage and the yell of hate,
the barking of frenzied dogs from it or the howling of wolves,
that the snarl of violence would reach
from yon amber furnace the very edge of the world;
but yonder it spreads
along the rim of the sky in evil ghastly silence.

What is their name tonight,
the poor streets where every window spews
its flame and smoke,
its sparks and the screaming of its inmates,
while house upon house is rent
and collapses in a gust of smoke?
And who tonight are beseeching
Death to come quickly in all their tongues,
or are struggling among stones and beams,
crying in frenzy for help, and are not heard?
Who tonight is paying
the old accustomed tax of common blood?

Now red like a battlefield puddle,
now pale like the drained whiteness of foul fear,
climbing and sinking,
reaching and darting up and shrinking in size,
growing faint for a moment
and swelling like the breath of a devil in intensity,
I see Evil as a pulse and a heart
declining and leaping in throbs.
The blaze, a horror on the skyline,
a ring of rose and gold at the foot of the sky,
belies and denies
with its light the ancient high tranquillity of the stars.

ALT

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85d

The Battle of Waterloo was fought #OTD, 18 June, 1815. Walter Scott visited the battlefield shortly after; his 1816 book PAUL’S LETTERS TO HIS KINSFOLK contains one of the earliest accounts of the aftermath, & is an important early example of war journalism

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https://theconversation.com/walter-scott-war-journalism-from-the-waterloo-battlefield-43304

#Scottish #literature #Waterloo #history #19thcentury #journalism #WalterScott

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135d

Glasgow, 1979. Twelve-year-old Janey won’t take her dog, Sid Vicious, for a walk. Not any more. It’s Sid’s fault she found the murdered woman…

The Scots Whay Hae! podcast speaks to Frances Crawford about her debut novel A BAD, BAD PLACE (Bantam, 2026)

@bookstodon

https://www.scotswhayhae.com/post/crime-of-the-times-the-scots-whay-hae-podcast-talks-to-frances-crawford

#Scottish #literature #novel #CrimeFiction #Glasgow #Punk #PunkRock

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156d

“The ballad’s enduring appeal (and Romantasy’s, too) is that it flips the traditional narrative of heroism on its head”

In the early Scottish ballad “Tam Lin”, the titular man is rescued from the fairies by the bravery of Janet, the heroine

https://www.nationalgeographic.com/culture/article/romantasy-history-acotar-celtic-folklore

#Scottish #literature #folklore #ballad #romantasy #TamLin #16thcentury

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155d

The boy is ten and today it is his birthday.
Behind him on the lawn
his mother and his little sister
unfurl a rainbow crayoned big and bright
on a roll of old wallpaper…

—Liz Lochhead, “The Spaces Between” – Glasgow, April 2020
published in A HANDSEL (Birlinn, 2023)

https://birlinn.co.uk/product/a-handsel/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #covid #lockdown

The Spaces Between
Liz Lochhead

(for Leslie McGuire)

The boy is ten and today it is his birthday.
Behind him on the lawn
his mother and his little sister
unfurl a rainbow crayoned big and bright
on a roll of old wallpaper.
His father, big-eyed, mock-solemn, pantomimes ceremony
as he lights the ten candles on the cake.
Inside her living-room
his grandmother puts her open palm to the window.
Out in the garden, her grandson
reaches up, mirrors her, stretching fingers
and they smile and smile as if they touched
warm flesh not cold glass.

More than forty thousand years ago
men or women splayed their fingers thus
and put their hands to bare rock, they
chewed ochre, red-ochre, gritted charcoal and blew,
blew with projectile effort that really took it out of them,
their living breath.
Raw gouts of pigment
spattered the living stencil
that was each’s own living hand
and made their mark.
The space of absence
was the clean, stark picture of their presence
and it pleased them.
We do not know why they did it
and maybe they did not either but
they knew they must.
It was the cold cave wall
and they knew they were up against it.

ALT

The birthday boy is juggling.
He has been spending time in the lockdown learning
but though he still can’t keep it up for long
his grandmother dumb-shows most extravagant applause.
She toasts them all in tea
from her Best Granny in the World mug, winking
and licking her lips ecstatically as,
outdoors, they cut the cake,
miming hunger, miming
prayer for her hunger to be sated.
The slim girl dances
and her grandmother claps
and claps again, blinking tears.
Another matched high-five at her window.

Neither the blown candles or the blown kisses
will leave any permanent mark
– unless love does? –
on them on this the only afternoon
they will be all alive together on just this day the boy is ten.

ALT

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155d

This is the animal that never was.
Not knowing that, they loved it anyway:
its bearing, its stride, its high, clear whinny—
right down to the still light of its gaze…

—Don Paterson, “Unicorn”
after Rilke’s “Die Sonette an Orpheus”
published in POETRY, June 2004

Today, 9 April, is National Unicorn Day! 🦄

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?volume=184&issue=3&page=73

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #NationalUnicornDay #unicorn #Rilke

Unicorn
by Don Paterson
after Rilke’s “Die Sonette an Orpheus”

This is the animal that never was.
Not knowing that, they loved it anyway:
its bearing, its stride, its high, clear whinny-
right down to the still light of its gaze.

It never was. And yet such was their love
the pure beast arose; they had cleared the space.
And in the stable of its nothingness
it shook its white mane out and stamped its hoof.

They fed it, then, not with hay or corn,
but with the chance that it might come to pass.
All this gave the creature such a power

its brow put out a horn; one single horn.
It grew inside a maiden’s looking-glass
then one day walked out, and passed into her.

ALT

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154d

“What the hell do the love letters of that old fraud H.P. Lovecraft have to do with the Department for Environment, Food & Rural Affairs?”

A slight departure for National Unicorn Day – the Hugo Award-winning novella “Equoid” by Charles Stross @cstross
🦄 🐙

@bookstodon

https://reactormag.com/equoid/

#Scottish #literature #unicorn #NationalUnicornDay #sciencefiction #scifi #lovecraft #horror #squamous #rugose #batrachian

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154d

‘When the knife came up through the pool table, audiences gasped’

Within six months of its launch in 2006, the National Theatre of Scotland (NTS) produced a globe-conquering hit. Inspired by tragic events at Camp Dogwood in Iraq, Black Watch was a humane portrayal of young squaddies on the frontline.

In this article, the makers of the devastating drama recall how it grew and grew.

https://www.theguardian.com/stage/2026/apr/08/iraq-war-black-watch-national-theatre-of-scotland-fife-pub

#Scottish #literature #drama #theatre #theater #Iraq #IraqWar #BlackWatch

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134d

When the long, varnished buds of beech
Point out beyond their reach,
And tanned by summer suns
Leaves of black bryony turn bronze…

—Andrew Young, “The Beech-Wood”

Andrew Young (1885–1971) – described by C.S. Lewis as “A modern Marvell & a modern marvel” – was born #OTD, 29 April

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#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #20thcentury

The Beech-Wood
Andrew Young

When the long, varnished buds of beech
Point out beyond their reach,
And tanned by summer suns
Leaves of black bryony turn bronze,
And gossamer floats bright and wet
From trees that are their own sunset,
Spring, summer, autumn I come here,
And what is there to fear?
And yet I never lose the feeling
That someone close behind is stealing
Or else in front has disappeared;
Though nothing I have seen or heard,
The fear of what I might have met
Makes me still walk beneath these boughs
With cautious steps as in a haunted house.

ALT

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151d

Laid-back in orbit, they found their minds.
They found their minds were very clean and clear…

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

Yuri Gagarin completed a single orbit of the Earth #OTD, 12 April, 1961. Today is the International Day of Human Space Flight

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

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #space #spaceflight #InternationalDayOfHumanSpaceFlight #Gagarin

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.

ALT

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151d

The Contested Cottage: Scottish Literature, Irish Partition & the Cottage Nation
22 April, University of Edinburgh & online – free

An IASH Work-in-Progress seminar: Dr Sarah Sharp examines “kailyard” literature in Scotland & Ulster in the long 19th century

@litstudies

https://www.iash.ed.ac.uk/event/dr-sarah-sharp-contested-cottage-scottish-literature-irish-partition-and-cottage-nation

#Scottish #Irish #literature #Ulster #kailyard #19thcentury #Victorian

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132d

For International Workers’ Day, here’s Hamish Henderson’s “Freedom Come-All-Ye”, sung by Karine Polwart in the Italian Chapel, Orkney. The chapel was built & decorated by Italian POWs during WW2 using scraps & reclaimed materials, & is still in use today

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7PhuH2K5yzw

#Scottish #literature #song #politics #politicalsong #MayDay #InternationalWorkersDay #Orkney

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151d

Where to start with: Muriel Spark

Today, 13 April, marks 20 years since the death of the novelist, short story writer, poet & essayist Muriel Spark. She was best known for her 22 novels – uncanny, astute & witty – beginning with her 1957 debut The Comforters. James Bailey, the author of a new biography, Like a Cat Loves a Bird: The Nine Lives of Muriel Spark, guides readers through her oeuvre.

@bookstodon

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2026/apr/09/where-to-start-with-muriel-spark

#Scottish #literature #MurielSpark #WomenWriters #novels

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151d

To have carved on the days of our vanity
A sun
A ship
A star
A cornstalk

Also a few marks
From an ancient forgotten time
A child may read…

—“A Work for Poets”: the final poem of George Mackay Brown (1921–1996) who died #OTD, 13 April

Published in CARVE THE RUNES (Polygon, 2021)

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

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

A Work for Poets
George Mackay Brown

To have carved on the days of our vanity
A sun
A ship
A star
A cornstalk

Also a few marks
From an ancient forgotten time
A child may read

That not far from the stone
A well
Might open for wayfarers

Here is a work for poets –
Carve the runes
Then be content with silence

ALT

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151d

On BBC Radio 4 Extra, 13 April, 3pm BST & on BBC Sounds thereafter

Drama by Sarah Wooley, based on Muriel Spark’s wartime work creating “Black Propaganda” for MI6. Her job was to produce what she called “a tangled mixture of damaging lies, flattering & plausible truths”

https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b09k8v3t

#Scottish #literature #MurielSpark #WW2 #propaganda #MI6 #20thcentury #novelist #radiodrama

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132d

“Bealltain (Beltane) is the first day of May. On May Day all the fires of the district were extinguished & ‘tein eigin’, need-fire, produced on the knoll.”

—“Am Beannachadh Bealltain” (“The Beltane Blessing”)
from Carmina Gadelica (Alexander Carmichael, 1900), online via the National Library of Scotland

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https://digital.nls.uk/early-gaelic-book-collections/archive/78420254

#Scottish #Gaelic #Gaidhlig #folklore #CelticStudies #Bealltain #Beltane #MayDay