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VISITING HOUR BY NORMAN MACCAIG Visiting Hour. Norman MacCaig. The hospital smell. combs my nostrils. as they go bobbing along. green and yellow corridors. What seems a corpse. is trundled into a lift and vanishes. heavenward. EPITAPH ON MY OWN FRIEND BY ROBERT BURNS Epitaph on my own Friend. Robert Burns. An honest man here lies at rest, As e’er God with His image blest: The friend of man, the friend of truth; The friend of age, and guide of youth: Few hearts like his, with virtue warm’d, Few heads with knowledge so inform’d: If there’s another world, he lives in bliss; THE GUEST HOUSE BY JALALUDDIN RUMI About this poem. This poem is included in the anthology Tools of the Trade: Poems for new doctors (Scottish Poetry Library, 2014). The anthology was edited by Dr Lesley Morrison, GP; Dr John Gillies, GP and Chair, Royal College of GPs in Scotland, Rev Ali Newell, and Lilias Fraser. A copy was given to all graduating doctors in Scotlandin 2014.
FIERE BY JACKIE KAY
If ye went tae the tapmost hill, Fiere. Whaur we used tae clamb as girls, Ye’d see the snow the day, Fiere, Settling on the hills. You’d mind o’ anither day, mibbe, We ran doon the hill in the snow, Sliding and singing oor way tae the foot, Lassies laughing thegither – how braw. The years slipping awa; oot in the weather. THE SAIR FINGER BY WALTER WINGATE Walter Wingate 1865 - 1918 Poet and schoolmaster, Walter Wingate was the author of 'The Sair Finger', the much-loved recitation piece about the wean with the skelf in THE PEACE OF WILD THINGS BY WENDELL BERRY The Peace of Wild Things. Wendell Berry. When despair for the world grows in me. and I wake in the night at the least sound. in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake. rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heronfeeds. I
BROOKLYN COP BY NORMAN MACCAIG thick-fleshed, steak-coloured, with two. hieroglyphs in his face that mean. trouble, he walks the sidewalk and the. thin tissue over violence. This morning, when he said, ‘See you, babe’ to his wife, he hoped it, he truly hoped it. He is a gorilla. to whom ‘Hiya, honey’ is no cliché. SCOTTISH POETRY LIBRARY The Scottish Poetry Library is a unique national resource and advocate for the art of poetry, and Scottish poetry in particular. POETS TO COME BY WALT WHITMAN Poets to Come. Walt Whitman. Poets to come! orators, singers, musicians to come! Not to-day is to justify me and answer what I am for, But you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental, greater than before known, Arouse! for you must justify me. I myself but write one or two indicative words for the future, AUNT JULIA BY NORMAN MACCAIG The poem that I have selected is MacCaig’s 'Aunt Julia', which reflects upon his relationship with his Gaelic-speaking aunt on the Isle of Harris. Norman MacCaig was born in Edinburgh on the 14th November 1910, and divided the rest of his life between Edinburgh and Assynt, an area just north of Ullapool. He read classics at theUniversity of
VISITING HOUR BY NORMAN MACCAIG Visiting Hour. Norman MacCaig. The hospital smell. combs my nostrils. as they go bobbing along. green and yellow corridors. What seems a corpse. is trundled into a lift and vanishes. heavenward. EPITAPH ON MY OWN FRIEND BY ROBERT BURNS Epitaph on my own Friend. Robert Burns. An honest man here lies at rest, As e’er God with His image blest: The friend of man, the friend of truth; The friend of age, and guide of youth: Few hearts like his, with virtue warm’d, Few heads with knowledge so inform’d: If there’s another world, he lives in bliss; THE GUEST HOUSE BY JALALUDDIN RUMI About this poem. This poem is included in the anthology Tools of the Trade: Poems for new doctors (Scottish Poetry Library, 2014). The anthology was edited by Dr Lesley Morrison, GP; Dr John Gillies, GP and Chair, Royal College of GPs in Scotland, Rev Ali Newell, and Lilias Fraser. A copy was given to all graduating doctors in Scotlandin 2014.
FIERE BY JACKIE KAY
If ye went tae the tapmost hill, Fiere. Whaur we used tae clamb as girls, Ye’d see the snow the day, Fiere, Settling on the hills. You’d mind o’ anither day, mibbe, We ran doon the hill in the snow, Sliding and singing oor way tae the foot, Lassies laughing thegither – how braw. The years slipping awa; oot in the weather. THE SAIR FINGER BY WALTER WINGATE Walter Wingate 1865 - 1918 Poet and schoolmaster, Walter Wingate was the author of 'The Sair Finger', the much-loved recitation piece about the wean with the skelf in THE PEACE OF WILD THINGS BY WENDELL BERRY The Peace of Wild Things. Wendell Berry. When despair for the world grows in me. and I wake in the night at the least sound. in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake. rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heronfeeds. I
BROOKLYN COP BY NORMAN MACCAIG thick-fleshed, steak-coloured, with two. hieroglyphs in his face that mean. trouble, he walks the sidewalk and the. thin tissue over violence. This morning, when he said, ‘See you, babe’ to his wife, he hoped it, he truly hoped it. He is a gorilla. to whom ‘Hiya, honey’ is no cliché. FILMPOEM 7/ -ED BY PRIVATE: ALASTAIR COOK -ed is Alastair’s film of a poem by Mairi Campbell-Jack, from her collection This is a Poem. Alastair writes: “It took a long time for me to begin this filmpoem for two reasons: I have been busy with this summer’s solo film and photography show as part of the Edinburgh Festival; also the poem is dark and yet meditative, lifting to a powerful crescendo and as a result I felt that I needed POETS TO COME BY WALT WHITMAN Poets to Come. Walt Whitman. Poets to come! orators, singers, musicians to come! Not to-day is to justify me and answer what I am for, But you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental, greater than before known, Arouse! for you must justify me. I myself but write one or two indicative words for the future, EPITAPH ON MY OWN FRIEND BY ROBERT BURNS Epitaph on my own Friend. Robert Burns. An honest man here lies at rest, As e’er God with His image blest: The friend of man, the friend of truth; The friend of age, and guide of youth: Few hearts like his, with virtue warm’d, Few heads with knowledge so inform’d: If there’s another world, he lives in bliss; FOR FUNERALS ARCHIVES The Late Swallow - by Edwin Muir. { Poem } Leave, leave your well-loved nest, / Late swallow, and fly away. / Here is no rest. / For hollowing heart and wearying wing. / Your comrades all have.SNAKES ARCHIVES
Scottish Poetry Library 5 Crichton's Close, Canongate Edinburgh EH8 8DT Tel: +44 (0)131 557 2876 VALENTINE BY CAROL ANN DUFFY Carol Ann Duffy b.1955 The first female, Scottish Poet Laureate in the role's 400 year history, Carol Ann Duffy's combination of tenderness and toughness, humour and lyricism, unconventional attitudes and conventional forms, has won her a very wide audience of readers andlisteners.
RAIN BY DON PATERSON rain, braiding a windowpane. or darkening a hung-out dress. or streaming down her upturned face; one big thundering downpour. right through the empty script and score. before the act, before the blame, before the lens pulls through the frame. to where the woman sits alone. beside a silent telephone. GAP YEAR BY JACKIE KAY Gap Year. (for Mateo) I. I remember your Moses basket before you were born. I’d stare at the fleecy white sheet for days, weeks, willing you to arrive, hardly able to believe. I would ever have a real baby to put in the basket. I’d feel the mound of my tight tub of astomach,
LUCOZADE BY JACKIE KAY Tell him: stop the neighbours coming.’. I clear her cupboard in Ward 10B, Stobhill Hospital. I leave, bags full, Lucozade, grapes, oranges, sad chrysanthemums under my arms, weighted down. I turn round, wave with her flowers. My mother, on her high hospital bed, waves back. Her FROM THE ROYAL COLLEGE OF SURGEONS OF EDINBURGH BY ANDREW About this poem. This poem is included in the anthology Tools of the Trade: Poems for new doctors (Scottish Poetry Library, 2014). The anthology was edited by Dr Lesley Morrison, GP; Dr John Gillies, GP and Chair, Royal College of GPs in Scotland, Rev Ali Newell, andLilias Fraser.
SCOTTISH POETRY LIBRARY The Scottish Poetry Library is a unique national resource and advocate for the art of poetry, and Scottish poetry in particular. VISITING HOUR BY NORMAN MACCAIG Visiting Hour. Norman MacCaig. The hospital smell. combs my nostrils. as they go bobbing along. green and yellow corridors. What seems a corpse. is trundled into a lift and vanishes. heavenward. FOR FUNERALS ARCHIVES The Late Swallow - by Edwin Muir. { Poem } Leave, leave your well-loved nest, / Late swallow, and fly away. / Here is no rest. / For hollowing heart and wearying wing. / Your comrades all have. AUNT JULIA BY NORMAN MACCAIG The poem that I have selected is MacCaig’s 'Aunt Julia', which reflects upon his relationship with his Gaelic-speaking aunt on the Isle of Harris. Norman MacCaig was born in Edinburgh on the 14th November 1910, and divided the rest of his life between Edinburgh and Assynt, an area just north of Ullapool. He read classics at theUniversity of
THE SAIR FINGER BY WALTER WINGATE Walter Wingate 1865 - 1918 Poet and schoolmaster, Walter Wingate was the author of 'The Sair Finger', the much-loved recitation piece about the wean with the skelf in BROOKLYN COP BY NORMAN MACCAIG thick-fleshed, steak-coloured, with two. hieroglyphs in his face that mean. trouble, he walks the sidewalk and the. thin tissue over violence. This morning, when he said, ‘See you, babe’ to his wife, he hoped it, he truly hoped it. He is a gorilla. to whom ‘Hiya, honey’ is no cliché. GAP YEAR BY JACKIE KAY Gap Year. (for Mateo) I. I remember your Moses basket before you were born. I’d stare at the fleecy white sheet for days, weeks, willing you to arrive, hardly able to believe. I would ever have a real baby to put in the basket. I’d feel the mound of my tight tub of astomach,
'BREATHES THERE THE MAN' BY SIR WALTER SCOTT Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land! Whose heart hath ne’er within him burn’d, As home his footsteps he hath turn’d, From wandering on a foreign strand! If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no Minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, WARNING BY JENNY JOSEPH Warning. Jenny Joseph. When I am an old woman I shall wear purple. With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me. And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves. And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter. I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired. And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells. THE WAY MY MOTHER SPEAKS BY CAROL ANN DUFFY The Way My Mother Speaks. Carol Ann Duffy. I say her phrases to myself. in my head. or under the shallows of my breath, restful shapesmoving. The day and
SCOTTISH POETRY LIBRARY The Scottish Poetry Library is a unique national resource and advocate for the art of poetry, and Scottish poetry in particular. VISITING HOUR BY NORMAN MACCAIG Visiting Hour. Norman MacCaig. The hospital smell. combs my nostrils. as they go bobbing along. green and yellow corridors. What seems a corpse. is trundled into a lift and vanishes. heavenward. FOR FUNERALS ARCHIVES The Late Swallow - by Edwin Muir. { Poem } Leave, leave your well-loved nest, / Late swallow, and fly away. / Here is no rest. / For hollowing heart and wearying wing. / Your comrades all have. AUNT JULIA BY NORMAN MACCAIG The poem that I have selected is MacCaig’s 'Aunt Julia', which reflects upon his relationship with his Gaelic-speaking aunt on the Isle of Harris. Norman MacCaig was born in Edinburgh on the 14th November 1910, and divided the rest of his life between Edinburgh and Assynt, an area just north of Ullapool. He read classics at theUniversity of
THE SAIR FINGER BY WALTER WINGATE Walter Wingate 1865 - 1918 Poet and schoolmaster, Walter Wingate was the author of 'The Sair Finger', the much-loved recitation piece about the wean with the skelf in BROOKLYN COP BY NORMAN MACCAIG thick-fleshed, steak-coloured, with two. hieroglyphs in his face that mean. trouble, he walks the sidewalk and the. thin tissue over violence. This morning, when he said, ‘See you, babe’ to his wife, he hoped it, he truly hoped it. He is a gorilla. to whom ‘Hiya, honey’ is no cliché. GAP YEAR BY JACKIE KAY Gap Year. (for Mateo) I. I remember your Moses basket before you were born. I’d stare at the fleecy white sheet for days, weeks, willing you to arrive, hardly able to believe. I would ever have a real baby to put in the basket. I’d feel the mound of my tight tub of astomach,
'BREATHES THERE THE MAN' BY SIR WALTER SCOTT Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land! Whose heart hath ne’er within him burn’d, As home his footsteps he hath turn’d, From wandering on a foreign strand! If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no Minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, WARNING BY JENNY JOSEPH Warning. Jenny Joseph. When I am an old woman I shall wear purple. With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me. And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves. And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter. I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired. And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells. THE WAY MY MOTHER SPEAKS BY CAROL ANN DUFFY The Way My Mother Speaks. Carol Ann Duffy. I say her phrases to myself. in my head. or under the shallows of my breath, restful shapesmoving. The day and
SCOTTISH POETRY LIBRARY The Scottish Poetry Library is a unique national resource and advocate for the art of poetry, and Scottish poetry in particular. EPITAPH ON MY OWN FRIEND BY ROBERT BURNS Epitaph on my own Friend. Robert Burns. An honest man here lies at rest, As e’er God with His image blest: The friend of man, the friend of truth; The friend of age, and guide of youth: Few hearts like his, with virtue warm’d, Few heads with knowledge so inform’d: If there’s another world, he lives in bliss;LOVE ARCHIVES
Poem for a Hospital Wall - by Diana Hendry. { Poem } Love has been loitering. / down this corridor. / has been seen. / chatting up out-patients. / spinning the wheels of wheelchairs. / fluttering the pulse of the night nurse. / appearing,. ORIGINALLY BY CAROL ANN DUFFY Originally. Carol Ann Duffy. We came from our own country in a red room. which fell through the fields, our mother singing. our father’s name to the turn of the wheels. My brothers cried, one of them bawling, Home, Home, as the miles rushed back to the city, the street, the house, the vacant rooms. where we didn’t live any more. THE FERRYMAN'S ARMS BY DON PATERSON The Ferryman’s Arms. Don Paterson. About to sit down with my half-pint of Guinness. I was magnetized by a remote phosphorescence. and drawn, like a moth, to the darkened back room. where a pool-table hummed to itself in the corner. With ten minutes to kill and the wholeplace deserted. I
WARNING BY JENNY JOSEPH Warning. Jenny Joseph. When I am an old woman I shall wear purple. With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me. And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves. And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter. I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired. And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells. THE PEACE OF WILD THINGS BY WENDELL BERRY The Peace of Wild Things. Wendell Berry. When despair for the world grows in me. and I wake in the night at the least sound. in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake. rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things.SCOTS ARCHIVES
Douglas Young, poet and essayist, was a colourful figure of the Scottish Renaissance, a member of the young Scottish National Party, and was imprisoned for refusing conscription in 1942. OLD TONGUE BY JACKIE KAY When I was eight, I was forced south. Not long after, when I opened my mouth, a strange thing happened. I lost my Scottish accent. Words fell off my tongue: eedyit, dreich, wabbit, crabbit stummer, teuchter, heidbanger, so you are, so am ur, see you, see ma ma, shut yer geggieor I’ll gie you
MY RIVAL'S HOUSE BY LIZ LOCHHEAD Silver sugar-tongs and silver salver, my rival serves us tea. She glosses over him and me. I am all edges, a surface, a shell. and yet my rival thinks she means me well. But what squirms beneath her surface I can tell. Soon, my rival. capped tooth, polished nail. will fight, fight foul for her survival.Skip to content
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