aiblins

Glasgow Ned's Guide To 20th Century Poets

2008-09-30T08:15:00.001-07:00

Andrew Motion?
He's loco

Philip Larkin?
N’aubade

Sylvia Plath?
A pure gas, man

Seamus Heaney?
A jist don’t dig him

Jackie Kay?
No as black as she’s paintit

Edwin Morgan?
Whit planet is he oan?

Kathleen Jamie?
Wild!

Tom Gunn?
Am wi Goebbels

Songs That Didn't Quite Make The Album (I Wonder Why?)

2008-04-23T14:10:00.000-07:00

Sympathy For The Grocer

See Marjorie Play

Stuck Inside of Mobile With Some Cheese and Onion Crisps

Big Yellow Transit

Fairytale of East Cheam

Happiness Is A Warm Bath

...you no doubt have your own...

small thoughts on a sunny day

2008-04-22T16:10:00.001-07:00

spirits sometimes refuse to soar, but may be prepared to gently float

over time, the knife and fork have reached an accommodation

leaves do fall, but also often stumble, stutter or skitter along

good (and bad) things come along in all sorts of numbers, and sometimes not at all

books gather that dust may be approaching, but remain sanguine

the best thing is often just to think of the best thing

not sleeping a wink – surely that’s unlikely?

many things start this way

2008-03-31T05:49:00.000-07:00

many things start this way
with ideas, plans etc
everything seems possible
many hurdles, ditches, cul-de-sacs
remain unseen
perhaps happily
if you were to write it all down
it might seem fantastical
things you did, and others,
those strange coming togethers
now seem like so much serendipity
you wonder how anything
involving hope, love or mystery
ever happened

and then the rain stopped

2008-03-30T16:13:00.000-07:00

you emerge onto an endless field

happiness stretches behind you like a blue wave

you look ahead and see it in the distance

your shoes are heavy, your coat warm

memories of yesterday are beginning to come back

the window, the street outside, the rain

there was just you, the radio

the rain, and the street outside

it might have been that way for hours

you, the radio, the street outside, the rain

(might have been)

a word was reverberating in your head

a word you couldn’t grasp

it was something about categories of things

it may have been taxonomy, maybe not

you think it was to do with butterflies,

stamps or other collectible things,

possibly

then

the one o’clock pips went on the radio

you remember saying to yourself

must go for a walk tomorrow

and then the rain stopped

the people in sweden

2008-03-30T15:48:00.001-07:00

what is it?

that sound, that thing

is it

something far away

water falling onto stones

voices whispering

is it something you don’t recognise

a scene from a film you’ve forgotten

a book you read somewhere, sometime

call people you know and ask them what it is

write to everyone in Sweden if that will help

perhaps nothing will

sometimes even the people in Sweden can’t help

paul might indicate a line of enquiry

although then again…

sadness might follow any action that you consider prudent

the specifics of love may escape you

the lure of the past may pull you under

synchronicity is not guaranteed, indeed may be unwelcome

the fruits of a life spent walking, talking and being you

may not lead to whatever conclusion you may have been thinking of

however, rule nothing in or out

it may all work out in the end

Silly Second Lines

2008-03-19T16:59:00.000-07:00

These don't fit any known tune, they merely rhyme!

1
Nobody knows the trouble I've seen
I wish I hadn't bothered being the Queen

2
It ain't necessarily so
That there's a hereafter, after we go

3
In the beginning was the word
Then sometime later, Douglas Hurd

4
In Christ there is no East or West
Nor mention of a thermal vest

Jean Anderson, My Jo (with apologies to Robert Burns)

2008-03-19T16:44:00.000-07:00

Burns' original poem is John Anderson, my jo...jo in this context being an old Scottish word for companion. My poem is really nothing like the great man's but I nicked the first line, changed the gender and went on from there...

Jean Anderson, my jo
Mrs Brummel, my beau
love is easy, come and go
nip and tuck, ebb and flow
say goodbye and not hello
tell me that its isn't so
dance with me for one more show
heel-to-heel, toe-to-toe
be my friend and not my foe
whisper all the lies you know
speak of neither weal nor woe
say it soft and sing it low
and when the wildest winds do blow
and weeds within my garden grow
I'll give the nod to Life & Co
....and think of you

dream

2008-03-19T15:25:00.000-07:00

you’re in a bed
that’s whitest white
you know not whether day or night
a voice is singing in your head
this is your bed

you’re in a room
you feel a chill
a rocking horse is standing still
there is no light to pierce the gloom
this is your room

you’re in a house
that’s tall and grey
where childhood seems so far away
it slips by quietly like a mouse
this is your house

you’re in a street
that’s long and wide
with tall green trees on either side
where neighbours, friends and ghosts all meet
this is your street

you’re in a town
it seems so small
can you read the writing on the wall?
the seasons come and go around
this is your town

you’re in a land
that seems quite strange
where the only iron rule is change
there’s no-one there to take your hand
this is your land

you’re in a world
you rub your eyes
its not one that you recognise
somewhere your freak-flag lies unfurled
this is your world

big stuff

2008-03-12T09:00:00.000-07:00

"Our most grievous error is to think our incarnation some kind of cosmic privilege. We fall into time as a dead leaf into a river."
Don Paterson - The Book of Shadows

"The trick is to create a world from nothing."
John Burnside - Koi (From The Light Trap)

2008-03-11T01:40:00.000-07:00

Things To Do Even If You Don't Live In Denver

Have you tried singing in the bathroom yet?
Drive the family round the bend
Something by Lou Reed or Wet Wet Wet
Is what I would recommend

Have you tried to climb a Munro so far?
It’s quite a challenge is that
You’ll feel 3000 feet taller than you are
(Wear good strong shoes and a hat)

If you haven’t written a poem by this time
Do so and I think you’ll find
Not only how life and reason can rhyme
But how closely they’re intertwined

How about skydiving out of a plane?
Step right out into the blue
If you fall for that, you must be insane
But maybe sanity’s just not for you

And have you considered the Deity?
Not doing so could seem a little odd
Should you a believer or agnostic be?
There's a question you might keep for God

juno

2008-03-10T13:48:00.001-07:00

If you haven’t seen it yet, you have a very joyful experience ahead of you. Acute, acerbic, idiosyncratic and enigmatic, Juno – the film and the girl - is all of these and more. This wonderful film made me want to shout “Yes!” for Juno’s awkwardness, her individuality, her oddity. The exception to the rule about most American films – its intelligent, low-key, very funny and moving. It has been labelled an “issue” movie because teen pregnancy is the basis of the story. But that is, I think, a small part of a film which celebrates the weird and simple humanity of a sixteen year old who may be pregnant but is as yet uncorrupted by the world around her. She’s a worldy-wise ingénue, with a profoundly graceful attitude to the many quirks of that strange beast, the human race.

I got doubly lucky when I went to see the film. It was an afternoon showing and the large cinema was almost empty with individuals, couples and small groups scattered sparsely around the auditorium. At the final scene, when Juno and boyfriend are singing their lovely little duet, I glanced down to the front of the cinema and saw a group of about six or seven kids, about thirteen or fourteen years of age, waving their hands above their heads from side to side in unison with the song. It was a truly magical moment. The eternal hope and freedom of youth and the ability of music to engender a sense of joy in the world - all on a wet Friday in Glasgow.

Juno – its beautiful!

Night by Aleksander Blok

2008-02-20T11:20:00.000-08:00

Nicht, causey, leerie, pothicar,
Aw where a dreich and donnert licht
Leeve for twinty-five year mair –
Naethin will chynge. Nane taks flicht.

Ay, ye can dee – re-stert it aw,
Aw thing turns roon like a peerie:
Nicht, and the canual’s cauld swaw,
Causey, pothicar and leerie.

Scots glossary

nicht – night
causey – street
leerie – lamp
dreich – dreary
donnert - dull
pothicar – apothecary
swaw – wave

This is a translation into a synthetic Scots by Edwin Morgan. A further translation into Englsih prose might be something like:

Night, street, lamp, apothecary
All with a dreary and dull light.
Live for twenty-five years or more –
Nothing will change, nothing take flight.

Yes, you can die, restart it all,
Everything turning round like a spinning top,
Night, and the canal’s cold wave,
Street, apothecary and lamp.

Aleksander Blok : 20th century Russian Poet

Edwin Morgan : Scottish poet – 1920 - present

Found Stuff

2008-02-20T10:11:00.001-08:00

Early Morning Fog

2008-02-20T10:06:00.000-08:00

Britten

2008-02-09T15:51:00.000-08:00

This CD of choral works by Britten is superb. Naxos may be seen as a "cheap" label, but the singing, the playing and the production here are all wonderful.

in Catterline (for Joan Eardley)

2008-02-08T14:27:00.000-08:00

The cottage row sits
squat, snubbing the north east
wind; here is all there
is - the caw of gulls,
long days, low cloud
and the wash of it.
In the fields, time waits;
row of stone, row of barley,
lines that stretch a solstice
to infinity. By low water
your breath is still
and the sweep of waves far out
is rumour of something
breaking; the boom
of surf and bones
that write their names in fathoms.
A living that moved you
to edges and flat landscapes,
your eyes fixed on a movement,
cloud to rainbow, city
to sea. The daub of blue,
yellow, black, a gash
of summer light in that darkness.

The Road To Heaven

2008-01-29T07:05:00.000-08:00

A lot of the road to heaven has to be taken at thirty miles an hour.

Evelyn Underhill : The Fruits of the Spirit

David Foster Wallace

2007-07-12T14:53:00.001-07:00

Reading a book of essays by DFW entitled Consider The Lobster. The excellence of these sent me back to an earlier book of essays by said writer. A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again is truly marvellous - the title essay a brilliant, hilarious, astute and ultimately compassionate account of the human condition as observed on an "upscale" US cruise ship.

love

2007-07-12T14:39:00.000-07:00

Been listening to the "Beatles" Love album as produced by le petit Martin. Ok, I'll admit up front that I find it all totally wonderful but what is surprising to me is how great the early "pop" songs, like Help and I Want To Hold Your Hand, stand up. I confess that I could have done with the full Hey Jude, a Sun King done the right way round and a full-frontal Tomorrow Never Knows. But listening to this I am astonished at just how good they were. Goodnight children, everywhere.

trees

2007-07-12T14:36:00.000-07:00

2007-06-24T15:22:00.000-07:00

"How lovely yellow is"

Vincent to Theo Van Gogh, August 13 1888

sky and trees

2007-06-24T15:18:00.001-07:00

aiblins explained

2007-06-22T12:26:00.000-07:00

Aiblins, perhaps. A well-known word, but not in frequent use now.
[From able + -lin(g)s, the s being for is, orig. a genitival inflexion. The suffix -lin(g)s in Sc. as in Eng. forms a number of advs. and adjs. --- e.g. blin(d)lin(g)s, adv. The form ablens is found in Older Sc. (A. Montgomerie The Cherrie and the Slae, l. 1099, S.T.S. 1887). Forms of the word occur also in mod. north. Eng. dialects. Aiblins, though in general literary use in Sc., is now obs. or obsol. in actual speech.]

in the garden

2007-06-22T12:00:00.001-07:00

sunny afternoon

2007-06-22T02:48:00.000-07:00

thought for today

2007-06-22T02:44:00.000-07:00

The cock-up theory is the conspiracy theory.

first hymn to lennon

2007-05-14T00:47:00.000-07:00

ken, yon jined-up
bit o' strawbry fields
- yon wis bonny!

a ukulele and a map of france

2007-04-25T13:53:00.000-07:00

the man in the barber shop said
what will you have today
whatever’s not cut and dried
was all that I could say

the woman in the baker’s shop said
what will you have today
I’ll have my cake and eat it too
was all that I could say

the man in the betting shop said
what will you have today
a kingdom for my weary horse
was all that I could say

the sergeant in the army shop said
what will you have today
a poem from the first world war
was all that I could say

the girl in the junk shop said
what will you have today
a ukulele and a map of france
was all that I could say

a ukulele and a map of france
will go a long, long way
a ukulele and a map of france
is all I need today

silver

2007-04-25T13:46:00.000-07:00

lapsing shoe song

2007-03-19T08:54:00.000-07:00

the old wino waddles
through George Square puddles
his brothel-creepers splashing
he asks if I can
spare ten p
for tea
I say sure
he says smashing
earl grey or lemon
I ask
no china
well masked
and black
he turns his back
coughs up phlegm
snorts out snot
kicks brown leaves
and shouts
away to pot!

proverbials

2007-03-19T08:51:00.000-07:00

many hands make many gloves an absolute necessity

it's an ill wind that doesn't blow hard enough to sweep you off your feet

an apple a day may contain some pesticides

To An Unknown Iraqi

2007-03-19T08:47:00.000-07:00

I am a little cluster bomb
You must be wondering where I’m from

I’m from your dear friends in the west
For you must know that they know best

I’ll liberate you and your kin
Take Saddam out, put George Bush in

I’ve come to bring you peace at last
Please just ignore the odd bomb blast

I’ve come to make you proud and free
With Big Macs, Coke and MTV

I’ll try not to blow you clean apart
The truth is though, I’m not that smart

I’ll sort out access to your gas
For those good old boys back in Tex-ass

I hope you’re pleased to see me landing
Collateral damage notwithstanding

We’ll take the nerve gas from Saddam
(you know, like what we used in Vietnam)

Its not that I like to maim and kill
But if I don’t get you the sanctions will

‘course we’ll have to meet in secrecy
For I’m not allowed on the BBC

But I’ll be there, no ifs or buts
For doing this job takes lots of guts

And think, your death won’t be in vain
You’ll never have to fear again

And if wild sounds should reach your ears
It’ll be the White House saying “Cheers!”

And Mr Blair and Mr Straw
Will say, “Oh, What A Lovely War!”

Well, here I come, hey! – all the best!
And remember, dulce et decorum est!

Ballad O' Holyrood

2007-03-19T08:44:00.000-07:00

It stertit wi a’ guid intent
Tae build a Scottish parliament
Whaur MSPs could a’ gie vent
Tae oor concerns
An cause the odd richt stoor anent
Jock Tamson’s bairns

But wha could mak a place sae braw
Wha widny dither, hum or haw
Could sic a chiel be fun’ at a’
At this late ‘oor
Step furrit noo, the nation’s pa’
Big Donald Dewar

Big Donald got yon chiel Miralles
Tae draw a Zanadu-lik palace
tho’ it turned oot a bit poisoned chalice
For Scottish folk
Wha, gin they think thirsells richt gallus
Thocht it a joke!

But Don an’ Enric c’ad the shots
Tied a’ the oppo up in knots
Sayin’, pick ony site ye like, there's lots
That fit the bill,
Foreby yon shibboleth o’ the Scots
On Calton Hill

The Tories said it made nae sense
The Libdems sat upon the fence
The Nats blew hot and cold and thence
They took the huff
Big Margo coontit up the pence
And said “Enough!”

Noo, wha’d a thocht some upturned boats
Wid cost near hauf a billion notes
That’s quite a lot a porridge oats
Fur oor wee clan
An’ nixt time that the nation votes
Wha’ll haud the can?

Bit noo its done, we’ve had the pain
We’ll learn to love it lik a wean
This child o’ Scotland and o’ Spain
Is aff the ropes
It kerries thru sun, snaw and rain
Oor nation’s hopes

scribbles

2007-03-01T14:04:00.000-08:00

trees 2

2007-02-28T12:32:00.000-08:00

trees 1

2007-02-28T12:27:00.000-08:00

in the shadows, the light

2007-01-16T14:06:00.000-08:00

a pocketwatch, a packet of fags,
a promise that today
would be beautiful, who knows
why it isn't so, the god
of the trees, the woman
in the shop, maybe even I,
it's not that we would wish
it not, even a beggar
needs a penny and a cup
of something for the road, no
it's something altogether
strange, unlooked for,
otherly, that we see each day
in a mirror, a vision
of a life half-lived,
half-grasped, reflection
of an unknown world

2007-01-15T12:27:00.000-08:00

poet & dust jacket

photo and profile
give little away,
the cool, enigmatic smile,
tweed jacket, hair going grey;
a few facts, nothing too revealing,
an interesting life,
lives alone in Ealing,
with his wife

2007-01-12T09:54:00.000-08:00

cul-de-sac

We stayed in a small hotel,
ate croissants, went out
early. Love was about
to fall somewhere, the bell
of notre dame was dumb,
invalides hidden in fog.
Metro-museum-metro, dog
days, the rain that had to come,
your blue cup sat, still life
on a side street, as we
watched an evening slowly fade.
The pavement artist with his knife
scraped out a miniature of you for me,
love at times requires a sharper blade.

2007-01-10T12:25:00.000-08:00

proverbials

a fool and his money are often strangely resilient

all's fair in love, until it's war

better the devil than some people you know

take care of the pennies and life is destined to be a major disappointment

2007-01-10T09:44:00.000-08:00

Strange Grace

for Marina Tsveteyeva

It seems this is the life
I was born to,
no money to speak of, but
conversations with friends
that jangle like new coins
in my pocket.
In the fish queue,
I notice the hem of my skirt
is coming apart,
my careful stitching unravelling
like the threads of a life.
This is how it is,
bad days followed by one
that is good.
And how to understand the difference?
But slowly I think,
and by some strange grace
something changes within me, allowing
the small hard knot
of fate to open,
admitting a half-light
to warm this small patch
of earth so that,
even as my blue hand turns
another potato for the knife
something unspoken
is illuminated

2007-01-04T12:49:00.000-08:00

...a summer's day, a tangerine, a newspaper, some toes...something beautiful that everyone knows...the promise of another day