A filmpoem based on a poem written and read by boxer and poet Ross Wilson.
Runner beans are affa fit
Sproots are fine an swack
Shote! here’s the poliss,
the Gayfield poliss,
an thull pi’iz in the nick fir
pleyan fi’baw in the street!
Just as any truly accurate representation of a particular geography can only exist on a scale of 1:1 (imagine the vast, rustling map of Burgundy, say, settling over it like a freshly-starched sheet!) so it is with all our abandoned histories, those ignoble lines of succession that end in neither triumph nor disaster, but merely […]
Da starns are da map I unrowl
Let Arthur Wharton come back from the dead
To see the man in black blow the final whistle.
We need another word
I join the usual coven in the pool, ladies past
a certain age, warming up their tonsils.
In memory of Alec “Spangles” Hunter (1936 – 1995)
/ When they found Marciano’s body
/ strapped in the crashed plane seat,
/ someone said…
The good ship Friendship sails between Glasgow / And your far, your golden, coast. / May fierce friendship forever flourish…
Remember when you turned cartwheels / in the schoolyard. / And danced down the length / of the fallen tree,…
Although we favoured football as a rule,
/ PE was comprehensive at our school.
/ Coached in a bit of this, a bit of…