Small Lochs
He's obsessed with clocks, she with politics,
He with motor cars, she with Amber and jet.
There's something to be obsessed with for all of us.
Mine is lochs, the smaller the better.
I look at the big ones – Loch Ness, Loch Lomond,
Loch Shin, Loch Tay – and I bow respectfully,
but they are too grand to be invited home.
How can I treat them in the way they'd expect?
But the Dog Loch runs in eights when I go walking.
The cat Loch purrs on the windowsill. I wade
along Princes Street through Loch na Barrack.
In smoky bars I tell them like beads.
And don't think it's just the big ones that are lordily named
I met one once and when I asked what she was called
the little thing said (without blushing, mind you)
The Loch Of The Corrie Of The Green Waterfalls.
I know they are just H2O in a hollow.
Yet not much time passes without me thinking of them.
Dandling lilies and talking sleepily
And standing huge mountains on their watery heads.
Norman MacCaig
December 1974.
Sunday, 31 July 2011
Wednesday, 27 July 2011
Posting.
Hello my wee blog,
I was thinking about doing a blog post about maps and history the other day. I never studied history at school but became interested in it across the years after I'd left. Over time I became interested in maps too. To be honest, I've always been interested in maps. Even as a small child I remember creating fantasy maps of islands where X marked the spot for pirate treasure, naming the mountains, bays and inlets with terrifying and bloody names. Too much childhood time perhaps spent with Robert Louis Stevenson and his tales of 'Treasure Island', 'Robinson Crusoe' and even 'Kidnapped'. Even now I'll often spend time standing in front of one of the several old maps of Scotland I have on the walls of the 'library', lost in thought about this or that. I became interested in languages too and soon began connecting maps and language. It was this connection that set me off on the train of thought about what a post would look like I suppose.
I was thinking about how people throughout time have used their language and understanding, folklore and history, to help establish and understand their place on the landscape by naming what they saw around them, whether that was based on a desription of the shape of a mountain, naming the place after the prominent trees that grew along a particular part of a glen or river, or the name of a person or incident associated with a place. The first people would have used those terms to describe and communicate ways to navigate across and around the land from time immemorial and now, with our modern maps and all the information they contain, those names are printed on mountain, hill and moor, giving us a fix on place and many clues - albeit often obscure ones - about our history, culture and linguistic heritage. {And that's not even touching on religious, military or political influence through time!}
These thoughts have also spawned several ideas about postings on language and pre-history too as this area is full to the brim with opportunity on that score. But, I've been thinking about modern language and its story too, the difference between the Scots language of the lowlands and standard English. I just don't know if I could do any of it justice without making an epic out of it and that would be hard to read, which isn't the aim of blogging is it?
So I suppose I'm trying to prepare you for what's to come in a way. For those of you who have been looking out for tales of Jess and early morning musings, I'm sure those will come too but may need to wait until I get the thoughts above either organised or out of my head altogether. I just hope it happens soon.
See you later.
Listening to.
Women - Know your Limits......
A step too far......
Let's just say.
No Darling, your not wrong.
{You're just not as right as I am.}
I'm going to get in so much trouble for this!!!!
Jings!
Sunday, 24 July 2011
The Sunday Post
This week's Sunday post is another one from the pen of Norman MacCaig. This poem is dedicated to his friend Hugh McDiarmid, a very well-known figure in Scottish literature. McDiarmid was a poet, author and political activist, famous as a founder member of the Scottish National party. He was later expelled from the SNP for Communist activities and expelled from the Communist Party for nationalist activities. His works use words and phrases from colloquial Scots dialects mixed with English and the occasional Gaelic word. His most famous work is 'A Drunk Man Looks At The Thistle'
After His Death.
It turned out
that the bombs he had thrown
raised buildings:
That the acid he had sprayed
had painfully opened
the eyes of the blind.
Fishermen hauled
prize-winning fish
from the water he had polluted.
We sat with astonishment
enjoying the shade
of the vicious words he had planted.
The government decreed that
on the anniversary of his birth
the people should observe
two minutes pandemonium.
Norman MacCaig
April 1971.
Thursday, 21 July 2011
On the tip of my tongue.
Hello ma wee blog,
I'm standing in line to buy something at the bookshop, idling the waiting time away in people watching as per usual. The girl behind the counter is obviously a student, possibly working on a summer job . It's obvious that she's not having a good day. She's slim, blonde and trying her very best, but somehow it's just not working for her. Her face is flushed and she looks exasperated. Everything she seems to try is turning into a bit of a disaster. Clearly technology is not her forte and the till is not being a friend. Customers and customer service is perhaps something of a training need, but maybe I'm being unkind, perhaps it's just that being so flustered she can't seem to do anything right. She looks on the point of tears.
As the lane slowly moves forward and I get closer, things aren't getting any better for the young girl. By the time I'm at the head of the queue it's clear that the next person she's going to be serving will be me. As I step forward she puts her hands on the countertop and blows upwards across her flushed face, making her fringe flick outwards for a second. Yep - definitely not a good day!
I look at her and without smiling and say, "I'm looking for a book that helps me cope with rejection without resorting to violence. Do you have it? "
No, I don't say that. But it's on the tip of my tongue.
I'm cruel, but I'm not that cruel.
(Not today anyway)
See you later.
Listening to.
Wednesday, 20 July 2011
Back from holiday.
Plant-Pot Ornament.
Hullo ma wee blog,That's us back home from holiday in Switzerland. It's been great to see family again and as usual I took loads of photographs so we'll have lots of memories of our time there with the family. One of the reasons for the visit was because the lovely G's uncle had been very ill. It was great to see that he had made some huge improvement since the lovely G had seen him last in February of this year, even though he was still very frail. It's hard to see someone who was very powerful laid low by encroaching old age. The improvement helped the lovely G settle down and enjoy the holiday and gave me the chance to do some minor tasks around the place as a way of helping out G's Aunt and simply saying thanks for all the times we have stayed with them. So, I did some gardening and took over responsibility for making sure that the vegetable plot was kept well watered in the heat.
Path im Wald.
Silhouette
Over the last week, the temperature rose every day until it was almost too much for me to bear. I struggle in the heat and become quite grumpy, especially as tiredness begins to affect me. So, despite the fact that it's always amazing to see family and that we love the place so much, it was nice to step onto the plane in 33° heat and get off two hours later in a much more accommodating 18°. No matter how much I love a place or a holiday, I also can't help looking forward to my own bed either, so it was also great that night to slip between the sheets here at home once more. Since then there's been lots of lovely rain to keep the temperature down and welcome me home. Some people are never satisfied are they???
Here are some more photos from holiday.
On a Woodland walk.
Cut branches.
Kids day out.
Dog training
What Makes You Think This Is Your Chair?.
Best Side Please?
See you later.
Listening to
Sunday, 17 July 2011
The Sunday Post
This weeks Poem:
The King’s English
I take it you already know
Of tough and bough and cough and dough?
Others may stumble, but not you,
On hiccough, thorough, slough and through.
Beware of heard, a dreadful word,
That looks like beard but sounds like bird.
And dead: It’s said like bed, not bead --
For goodness’ sake, don’t call it deed!
Watch out for meat and great and threat…
They rhyme with suite and straight and debt.
A moth is not the moth in mother,
Nor both in bother, nor broth in brother.
And here is not a match for there,
Nor dear and fear for bear and pear,
And then there’s dose and rose and lose --
Just look them up -- and goose and choose.
And cork and work and card and ward,
And font and front and word and sword.
And do and go, then thwart and cart,
Come, come, I’ve hardly made a start!
A dreadful language? Why, sakes alive!
I’d learned to speak it when I was five.
And yet, to write it, the more I tried,
I hadn’t learned it at fifty-five.
Anon
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