SPL Ambassadors’ commissions
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 isLeft hand grips documents, manuscripts Erected by Ritchie for the Gentlemen of the County, […]
An t-allt a’ sruthadh fhathast,
a’ bleith is a’ briseadh chreagan
gun abhsadh
a’ lìonadh linneachan dorch, bagarach.
“Cò nì leaba mo phòsaidh –
Abair, eòinein, gu stuama?
“An rèiligear liath
A chladhaicheas uaighean.
Tha Lochinvar òg ’s e air nochdadh bhon iar,
Is gun aon each nas fheàrr aig neach feadh nan Crìoch;
’S gun aige ball-airm ach deagh chlaidheamh a-mhàin,
E marcachd gun armachd ’s na aonar a-ghnàth;
Air àrd-ùrlar fiodha
tha fear marbh, sìnte,
seann phàipear a chraiceann,
dùinte, sìtheil a shùilean,
Gaisgeach gun teagamh
Agus mheall e iad uile aig Talla Netherby
Gu h-àraidh am fleasgach bochd, ad a’ snìomh na làimh,
Duine gun fheum a sheas le coltas an amadain
On Ellen Isle, there’s your Lady of the Lake
on a beach of pebbles bright as snow, lifting her head
at some imagined sound. Soon the sun will set, the loch
become a burnished sheet of living gold.
You, half-understanding,
gripping an over-buttoned remote,
sitting by a pile of reminder notes
Our dance like someone else
and she was a flow of swirling red curls
swallowed deep in vodka
This is the wave will break the spell,
this is the weed will coil my calf,
this is the waters’ warp and weft,
this is the song of the healing swell.
Clouds pass abeen, haar inatween,
The chisel cuts awa.
An aal chiel an a younger een
Ye’ve files been there anaa.
A chanting stills my drift
and a star eyed forget-me-not
tempts me to the glittering water.
