I am the hawk perched on the fence in between winter and da voar – this Shetland spring held in snowflakes in a month deemed everlasting. I am the hawk, smallest of all, slashing through time and arctic air. My pointed wings now retracted, elevate my heart to thee, sun. In between ice and celandine, gold of petals hidden in white, I am the hawk so statuesque and yet so small, men may not notice me at all… Aloft I feel invisible.
Hoswick
I am the water, not the rock: home to life wild – waders, wild fins or wanderers – today, two swans drank off the mouth of my own burn (that stream that flows from nearby hills) since I do not offer a river. Today I shone in blue and white… A glorious sun against ripples and icicles. Men live nearby in small cottages by my beach.
Greylags
We are the ones fae a population steeped in ice. Land of fire, we have conquered every field; flown through the stars and icicles to find respite by every bay. In such tough times of survival, we leave our footprints in snowflakes. This island bare yet bountiful, we are awaiting the great thaw.
Burn
I am still abducted by ice. My water tastes rich and peaty under this thin layer of ice. Winter filled me to feed the sea so shamelessly… But as the sun feels strong again, I am awaking one more time. Soon, celandine and marigold will strive again. March is a trickster as a month and Mother Earth, so resilient.
Dusk
I am a dame all clad that blue always ending as indigo, where Venus kisses Jupiter. I am the home of the entire Milky Way – and when I trap those solar flares, I dress my self with a sari in hues of green or orange… Men fear da mørkin of my world (darkness of winter or just night) so they will marvel at my magic multicolour. As ice settled on the island, I refract blue of icicles.
Tonight, I will feast with the Moon, the ebbing tide and Orion.
This afternoon’s wild walk by my gale-swept Nordic shores prompted a blog post in my mind.
However, as wild waves – rollers, breakers – crashed at my feet, my heart reeled back to last weekend, as disaster struck over an antipodean archipelago.
Wild waves by my shoormal.
News of the cataclysm in the Pacific prompted a piece in response, written in the wake of it last Monday.
Living Planet
400,000 lightning bolts.
That sonic boom heard in Fiji, New Zealand, even Alaska. Hunga-Tonga-Hunga Ha’pai blown into sky; billowing cloud, giant mushroom on satellite, it has been felt around the globe.
Little Earth shook - ocean rippled so far away, Peru, Japan… It has been felt around us all.
So much unknown under water or where folk live like castaways; potential hell, dust, acid rain over it all.
Harvesting fruits out of projects – to the poet, tis the moment to celebrate words ripe enough to shine and echo through folk’s hearts…
Months turned in weeks, as Mother Earth waltzes in grace amid the void and songs from stars, light from our Sun reminds of life – from the vegetal to birdsong, September shines and celebrates.
Fleurs de saison, like seeds of life from a planet en route to changes of her own… Let’s reel seasons, as the island sings and flowers – where life as free as flocks of birds comes to da loch to drink or bathe.
Tis that moment I celebrate.
Clumlie Loch shared at WordPlay 2021.
Tis the same that has journeyed from hills and burn (stream) down to the sea to settle among other greats and less known voices in two towns, Lerwick and Edinburgh, through the summer.
Clumlie Lochcelebrates wild life – tis where we witness wilderness as important as rainforests or melting ice at either poles… Because it homes essence of life.
Clumlie Loch at the Virtual Exhibition by the the WWF Scotland’s Great Scottish Canvas Initiative, 18-26 Sep ’21 during Climate Fringe.
Today, The Great Scottish Canvas has begun to display it in a virtual exhibition. Such an honour to map Shetland to the greatest of Earth Summits.
It will feature in November among others and other art forms – 45 in total , from 45 Scottish voices, poets, writers, visual artists and sculptors… 45 voices to trigger a beam of hope for life on Earth… Our survival as a species and for our homeworld, natural.
Teeming life at Clumlie Loch, 2021.
Nature, so inspiring, our garden of Eden, we ought to protect at all costs.
Let’s hope and pray, our words and works speak to all world leaders in Glasgow. Like Jackie Kay, Scottish icon as a poet & former Makar – she, the insatiable optimist – I believe in wisdom and future in which children will bloom and grow in a rich world where animals and plant can live.
I feel humbled, honoured and chuffed for Clumlie Loch to feature among Jackie’s and others’ works, blown up on walls to they eyes and hearts of all COP26 participants.
Let’s enjoy Hairst and life on Earth, where our hearts beat.
Thrilled, humbled and honoured to join in a trio of fine Shetland writers (prose & poetry) to an evening of the spoken word & stories bound by the centenary of George McKay Brown at WordPlay, Scotland’s most northerly book festival.
The writing of the great Stromness man of letters has fashioned and influenced island writing as it has influenced the way we speak and celebrate our Northern Isles and beyond.
Each one of us nestled our work among the celebration of the word through the announcement of winners from the 2021 Young Writers of the Year Awards, the very cradle of Shetland’s future writers.
When one’s love of a great author nestles admiration, her creative spirit and verve on paper to a fabulous collective and ends up in a major literary body of work.
I, the poet, feel humbled by such accolade & participation to the great edifice – brainchild from friend and fellow poet, Makar at our Federation Writers (Scotland) and compagnon d’écriture, Jim Mackintosh, through time.
Together, we celebrate George Mackay Brown’s centenary through a wonderful anthology titled very aptly Beyond the Swelkie now ready to pre-order.
In such extraordinary and industrious comes a first fruit, which has ripened well.
Now official :
I am very honoured and privileged to map Shetland at COP26 Glasgow through The Great Scottish Canvas this September with the publication for the great event later this autumn, and live reading of my selected poem to our Scottish MSPs as part of Climate Fringe, which will go live in due time.
I am very humbled this poem, very close to my heart, is journeying in so many directions so far. Shortlisting it at such level was so unexpected. Tis also voice recorded for the purpose of the exhibition. Happy poet. 🙂
There are moments when we just need to step back and dream…
Step back and sleep, dream in the arms of the dragon. April the joker, the trickster, that turned the island back to ice.
Our spring buds deprived of sap, light and that warmth, had to yield to the wrath, shenanigans from a planet déboussolée…
It all happened within minutes…
Even Saoirse the Cat had to give in to da bliind moorie -a violent snow storm – that engulfed us in its millions of horizontal icicles.
I’m pretty sure she dreamt of bees and bugs she loves so much to play with… She looks a meerkat on her back limbs. So comical at times.
I was dreaming of summer.
Voar – our springtime – is a season to respect. As Mother Earth turns generous once more, life in all its forms begins again. The island back in a sky filled with birdsong – oystercatchers, curlews, skylarks and snipes to name but a few… We seed to harvest and yet we are aware of its harshness.
In their life-driven waves, our seabirds feel magnetised to our cliffs. Guillemots, razorbills and puffins had to battle a polar flying gale to reconvene in our boreal world.
Life back on land
April still clawed by cold air.
And yet nature is resilient. From daffodils to primroses, from Skylarks to Meadow Pipits or Northern Wheatears, wir voar means life.
On and around the island, magic occurs. Last weekend alone was graced by a pod of orcas on Saturday followed by a showcase of wir tammie nories (that delightful local name for our Atlantic Puffins) at sundown.
Magical.
We really live on an extraordinary planet.
It does not take much to tear down preconceived ideas and marvel at the diversity of life. The trick being to open our eyes and heart, and feel part of it.
Life is everywhere: in the wild, in cities – Mother Nature finds her ways in the most incredible places, from a stone wall to the great depths of our oceans…
We are all guests on our planet, that has a twin, so different.
Now, the following piece of verse is all about our Earth’s sister.
Planet Walk (Venus)
YOU ARE HERE,
between Mercury and my world, one grain of sand on a lone beach, in easy reach to solar winds, rotating eye around stardust; you, Earth’s sister, encased in hell and toxic clouds, sun, volcanoes and hurricanes – you too look blue from the distance through a filter. So far away from Tahiti, you caught the eye of a captain when you appeared as a black disc, so elusive before the sun. Amazing grace, your rotation in slow motion – each sunrise lasts, days outclass years on your surface – the odd one out waltzing clockwise in our West sky. You are beauty without seasons, hottest of all, void of water, rocky-basalt in a cocktail so Molotov… Satellite irresistible, you are goddess among the stars, no one will dare to plant a flag; but still wonder if there is life, love in your clouds.✨
April not a fool, just a joker … This is hame clawed in icicles since April’s first weekend.
April feels a brigant, with its hoards of dark clouds filling our springtime skies with their trillions of icicles, haily puckles, sleet, snowflakes… As if wir voar (our Nordic spring season) was trapped and confined to each afternoon.
Yet, tis not about our abominable moorie caavie (violent blizzard) this blog post is devoted, but to a book review I had longed to complete.
Long awaited.
Time is both a blessing and a curse.
In Brigantia
A.J. Murray’s second collection of poetry opens with the gentle and yet vibrant title poem, in which he begins his imaginary journey by the river, setting a vivid scene and a strong sense of place, inviting us, each reader, to ready for this journey,
“sitting by the river, / rounded aesthetics / rolling down a verdigris valley”
taking us back deep into times where Caesar’s legions clashed with a queen he names later,
“Coins, unearthed in soil / Roman – no hoard”
…That sense of place, geographical as well as in time.
Murray’s strong sense of place is echoed in the second poem, Valley. The poet brushes a very dark and mystical nano-universe by addressing a queen:
“Cartimandua, / history has not been kind to you” (…) this glade holds the bodies of ancient warriors, / fallen in forgotten battles”.
Murray the Mancunian feels eager to transcend time itself when he feels that urge to step into Brigantia, his Narnia:
“I need to come here / I’m urbanized”…
A feeling he develops through the subsequent poems Moor, Hillfort, The Way Trees Speak, Hinged Moments or Motorway, in which Murray also flirts with a certain sense of entrapment:
“Our country is too small for road trips.”
A powerful statement.
His own modern version of Brigantia emerges from sprinkled poems throughout the book, Something Urban, Stone Shale Earth, Rainy Day Blues, Nocturnes, and the beautiful Kittiwakes,
“Kittiwakes on iron girders, / man-made cliff edges / to which they return to breed, / away from the tumult / of the North Sea”.
So evocative of my own Nordic world.
Murray the poet wishes us to travel with him through his dreamy Brigantia whilst bumping into iconic or notorious personalities, Marylyn Monroe, Hitler or Elvis (!) notably through Salted, Routes, Journey, Night Poem, Eddie or Mytholmroyd, to close with Cranes,
“Cranes in the sky / and I wonder why (…) embroidered words / on an unraveling sky.”
Well chiselled, dark, poignant with a pinch of Mancunian humour itself descendent from a brigant, A.J. Murray’s second collection transports us in his Brigantia.
My question is, where next? Orkney Birds seem to point the way.
In Brigantia is available on Amazon, ISBN 9781731271365.
nordicblackbird 