Mine is a copper weathervane’s hen’s eye view:
Vertigo. Looking down on Sir Walter’s pigeon stained head
Thick wavy hair, so lush, did he wear a wig?
Above greywedding cake tiers, right hand holds walking stick
In case you don’t know who he is
Left hand grips documents, manuscripts
Erected by Ritchie for the Gentlemen of the County, inlaid:
High achiever laurel wreaths, Waverley novelty wings.
Mary and child shows God and right were on his side
Latin motto demonstrates he is of educated stock
Reparabit Cornua Phoebe, Watch weel
Scots undercuts, instructs he was in touch with the people.
Up here I can outreach reiver Minstrelsy imaginings
Urban buildings occlude Romanticism.
His stone gown is a construction –
Office, state and front o’ a ‘fiver’ immortality.
Which came first, Sheriff’s tasks or the scrieving?
Pioneering the historical novel or social standing?
Buccleuch’s bestowed patronage fairly undemanding
Enough to stop folk calling him a dilettante.
‘Poetry: Yon’s no’ a job. Show us yer money.
Ye Nineteenth Century JK Rowling’
About this poem
The statue of Sir Walter Scott in Selkirk stands in front of the courtroom (on whose spire there resides a weathervane) where he was once the sheriff.