I think of windows as I think of caves…
Ye’d wonder foo the seasons rin
/ This side o’ Tweed an’ Tyne;
/ The hairst’s awa’; October-month
/ Cam in a whilie syne,
/ But the stooks…
Apples on the bending bough,
/ Berries on the thorn,
/ Wheeling gulls behind the plough
Though I know well enough
/ To hunt the Lady’s Slipper now
/ Is playing blindman’s-buff,
/ For it was June She put it on
/ And grey…
O whence the leaves / scuttering down Easter Road, / sycamore and rowan / desperate as refugees,…
Dhuilleag, dè an teachdaireachd
a th’ agad dhuinn an-diugh?
’S e gun tàinig foghar oirnn
’s gun deach na craobhan ruadh.
Autumn, and the nights are darkening.
/ The old lady tells us of her past once more.
/ She muses on the days she…
’S mi air an t-slios ud
/ latha foghair,
/ na sligean a’ sianail mum chluasan
/ agus sianar marbh ri mo ghualainn,
/ rag-mharbh – is reòthta…
Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
Lengthen night and shorten day;
Every leaf speaks bliss to me
Fluttering from the autumn tree.
/ The market had everything:
/ that Macedonian autumn
/ earth talked through mothers
/ standing over fruit
/ cooling it with water
/ for the eyes of the customers,
Leaves falling quietly falling
/ from great willow and ash
/ long green leaves
/ falling quietly falling
/ no wind stirs today
/ must be late morning frost
/ gnawing at…
This far north, the harvest happens late.
/ Rooks go clattering over the sycamores
/ whose shadows yawn after them, down to the river.