What are you going to do
With what is left of yourself
Now among the rustling
Of your maybe best years?
—WS Graham, “An Entertainment for WS Graham for Him Having Reached Sixty-Five”
The Modernist romantic poet W.S. Graham (1918–1986) was born #OTD, 19 November
A 🎂 🧵
1/7
#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #modernism #romanticism #WSGraham
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
[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.
![[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.](/proxy/post_attachment/772057/ca5f5c2a8d.jpg "[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.")