{One of a series written in memoriam for his friend A K MacLeod. It follows on from last weeks Sunday Post}
Highland Funeral.
Over the dead man's house, over his landscape,
the frozen air was a scrawny psalm
I believed in, because it was pagan
as he was.
Into it the ministers voice
spread the pollution of bad beliefs.
The sanctimonious voice dwindled away
over the boring, beautiful sea.
The sea was boring, as grief is,
but beautiful, as grief is not.
Through beliefs dark ugliness I saw that beauty
because he would have.
And that darkened the ugliness... Can the dead
help? I say so. Because, a year later,
that sanctimonious voice is silent and the pagan
landscape is sacred in a new way.
Norman MacCaig
January 1977
1 comment:
Hello Alistair, Thank you for visiting and leaving a comment on MountainWave Tribe. I am here on yours because of that. What a beautiful picture and I'm appreciating this poem by Norman Maccaig...especially the line, the frozen air was a scrawny psalm...what a great line...Peace and love to you and yours in Scotland.
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