trinkie
30-Jan-08, 10:28
From the CHAPMAN 1998
Scotland’s Lit Mag.
The Highland Railway reaches Caithness.
By Ian McDonough
Metal,wood, stone hauled across the sodden moor
Hammered into arteries which pump the outside in.
Hammered into arteries which pump the outside in
Stone,wood, metal beating paths to every door.
Stone, wood, metal beating paths to every door
Harbingers of tongues which run at different speeds.
Harbingers of tongues which run at different speeds
Wood, metal, stone running faster than the deer.
Wood, metal, stone running faster than the deer
Ploughing up the bog, driving roads into the heart.
Ploughing up the bog, driving roads into the heart
Metal, stone, wood laying all the country bare.
Metal, stone, wood laying all the country bare
Carrying a spark that will flame into a fire.
Carrying a spark that will flame into a fire
Stone, metal, wood singing more, more, more.
Stone, metal, wood singing more, more, more
Holding up a mirror that will bend us to its view.
Holding up a mirror that will bend us to its view
Wood, stone, metal burning up the keening air.
Wood, stone, metal burning up the keening air
Hammered into arteries which pump the outside in.
Hammered into arteries which pump the outside in
Metal, wood, stone hauled across the sodden moor.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Holburn Head, Caithness
By Ian McDonough.
What has this to do with nations ?
With the culture branded
like a laceration on our skin?
these cliffs do not aspire from
nor fall into the sea, and neither
do they poison children with their songs
of gallantry in death. The wind does not
howl like a banshee on Culloden moor,
but forms its sound by beating up the air;
the air, where gulls fly white as sheets
against a blue Atlantic, signalling
a saltire for the first and last of states.
Scotland’s Lit Mag.
The Highland Railway reaches Caithness.
By Ian McDonough
Metal,wood, stone hauled across the sodden moor
Hammered into arteries which pump the outside in.
Hammered into arteries which pump the outside in
Stone,wood, metal beating paths to every door.
Stone, wood, metal beating paths to every door
Harbingers of tongues which run at different speeds.
Harbingers of tongues which run at different speeds
Wood, metal, stone running faster than the deer.
Wood, metal, stone running faster than the deer
Ploughing up the bog, driving roads into the heart.
Ploughing up the bog, driving roads into the heart
Metal, stone, wood laying all the country bare.
Metal, stone, wood laying all the country bare
Carrying a spark that will flame into a fire.
Carrying a spark that will flame into a fire
Stone, metal, wood singing more, more, more.
Stone, metal, wood singing more, more, more
Holding up a mirror that will bend us to its view.
Holding up a mirror that will bend us to its view
Wood, stone, metal burning up the keening air.
Wood, stone, metal burning up the keening air
Hammered into arteries which pump the outside in.
Hammered into arteries which pump the outside in
Metal, wood, stone hauled across the sodden moor.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Holburn Head, Caithness
By Ian McDonough.
What has this to do with nations ?
With the culture branded
like a laceration on our skin?
these cliffs do not aspire from
nor fall into the sea, and neither
do they poison children with their songs
of gallantry in death. The wind does not
howl like a banshee on Culloden moor,
but forms its sound by beating up the air;
the air, where gulls fly white as sheets
against a blue Atlantic, signalling
a saltire for the first and last of states.