Ceilidh
I hear the voice of the bloodline
skirling down the hillsides,
rippling the weeds on the lochan,
skirting drumlins in the mirk,
from Treshnish via Duachy, skittering
at the watery edge of Loch Fyne,
by the illicit stills of Glasgow
to this sedate southern valley
with its rhodies and leylandii,
its kayaks in the boat pond,
its hoity toity tones
and morals. One wee dram,
it whispers.
Uisge Beatha! Aon deoch bheag!
In my mind, I hear my dad’s
high yelping Hyeuch!
ghost round the corner,
my mother’s rising Well!
to start the dancing.
Instead, I’m sitting, hands clasped
like it’s Sunday.
It’s all you need
to get this ‘ceilidh’ started,
I hear it sweet-talk.
Uisge Beatha!
One wee nip.
About this poem
This poem was included in Best Scottish Poems 2022. Best Scottish Poems is an online publication, consisting of 20 poems chosen by a different editor each year, with comments by the editor and poets. It provides a personal overview of a year of Scottish poetry. The editor for 2022 was Ifor ap Glyn.
Editor’s notes:
This piece takes us on a journey south from the highlands to an unspecified southern suburbia ‘with its hoity toity tones’. The ceilidh of the title needs something to ‘get it started’ in this ‘sedate southern valley’.
I almost got off on the wrong foot with this poem; because of the ‘bloodline’ of the opening line. The narrator is someone with family connections to a more energetic way of holding a ceilidh. But the choice of the word ‘bloodline’ is not to posit a more ‘authentic’ form of Scottishness, it in fact suggests that the narrator is struggling with addiction – and one that may have been inherited. The poem’s tone is quietly persuasive, like that of the demon voice within.
Author’s notes:
A few years ago at a conference, I attended something advertised as a ceilidh – the Scots Gaelic word for a get-together. This ‘ceilidh’ was not what I expected. Where was the singing? Where was the dancing? And where was the whisky-drinking?
It made me realise how far I’ve travelled from my family’s roots in terms of language and customs, and in having access to greater social diversity. I wanted to write a poem to express this.
I incorporated Gaelic and Scots to locate the poem, and for the sheer joy of the sounds. Incidentally, uisge beatha means ‘water of life’ (whisky). Aon deoch bheag means ‘one small drink’.
I wanted my poem to acknowledge heritage, but also have a sense of fun. Ceilidhs for me are about exuberant social sharing: reinforcing bonds through singing, dancing and talk, aided – perhaps – by a small measure of a traditional Scottish drink.
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Carol McKay
Carol McKay has demonstrated lifelong commitment to literature in Scotland as a librarian (1974 – 1991) and subsequently as a creative writing tutor and active member of writers' organisations.