There's a Time and Place

 Ruth Nicol: 'Bayble, Lewis, Iain Crighton Smith'

Landscape artist Ruth Nicol came to Duff House, Banff last November.  http://www.duffhouse.org.uk/

Since then I have been thinking over the conversation she had with portrait artist Alexander Moffat and poet Alan Riach,about people, place and identity. 

Scottish identity and definitions of "Scotland" as an idea, were at the centre of the exhibition.

As 2014 was also the year of the Scottish Referendum, a political drama that gripped the whole nation for several weeks, this was a timely project. As an Englishwoman living in Scotland do I define myself as English? British? European?  Am I a migrant - an incomer, or a Scot-by-adoption? 

At one time any child born on British soil had the right to a British passport. That rule has changed and we have all become more mobile and affected by multiple cultures and wider experience - real or virtual.  Does place still matter to identity? 


Ruth Nicol was inspired to paint her huge landscapes by the portraits of seven important Scottish poets created by Alexander Moffat a few years ago. They were: Hugh MacDiarmid, Edwin Morgan, Norman MacCaig, Sorley MacLean, George Mackay Brown, Robert Garioch, and Iain Crichton Smith.

His series of portraits culminated in the celebrated painting "Poets' Pub" on display in the Scottish NPG in Edinburgh. Moffat was commissioned to paint each of the poets but threw in this wonderful imagined gathering of all seven poets for good measure.

I have mentioned this picture before in the blog as it made such an impression on me when I first saw it last spring.  When an email popped into my inbox (thanks to local artist Bryan Angus) saying that a talk was taking place just along the road and featuring one of my favourite painters and some of my favourite Scottish poets (especially Norman MacCaig) - I felt it could have been planned with me in mind.

Living here we are accustomed to making a considerable trek each time we want to access some art and culture.  It was such a joy to have it brought to us for a change and Duff House made a worthy setting on a November evening for such people and such paintings. 

These poets are all strongly connected with certain places: MacCaig with Edinburgh and Assynt:

Edwin Morgan with Glasgow:

George Mackay Brown with Orkney:

and so on. One of the recurring ideas is that individuals, and especially artists, can feel deep love for particular places and that these places inspire their work. This is not a new idea of course - we almost take it for granted - and yet millions of people (the vast majority of the planet's population) are obliged to live in cities and spaces they don't love in order to have work.  Maybe that's why artists are so important to our collective psyche - they are able to express what we don't have time or space to express while we are busy getting and spending.  If we don't live in a place we love we can create a mental landscape to sustain us and art can help us with that.

The work of these poets and painters is almost all about Scottish identity and experience yet has a far wider appeal.  Who owns the land?  Where do we most belong?

Here is an extract from "A Man in Assynt" by Norman MacCaig, my favourite of the seven poets featured here:

I can't pretend

it gets sick for me in my absence,

though I get

sick for it. Yet I love it

with special gratitude,since

it sends me no letters, is never

jealous and, expecting nothing

from me, gets nothing but

cigarette packets and footprints.

Who owns this landscape? –

The millionaire who bought it or

the poacher staggering downhill in the early morning

with a deer on his back?

Who possesses this landscape? –

The man who bought it or

I who am possessed by it?

False questions, for
this landscape is 
masterless
and intractable in any terms
that are human.

Who are you?  Where is your place? I hope you have one to love.

Almost two years since I moved to beautiful Gamrie I have come to love my chosen place and feel very privileged to live here overlooking the Moray Firth.  The community here is mixed and welcoming and this is now my home. One doesn't have to born in a place to belong there. 

Reindeer Dreams

This remarkable press photo sparked my interest in reindeer last winter and I realised on reading the newspaper article that I had a herd of these magical creatures right on my doorstep in the Cairngorms. 

I added the reindeer centre to my Wish List and finally got to see them this October on a golden summery day when the mountains were especially beautiful. 

Reindeer were reintroduced to Scotland in 1952

by a Swedish reindeer herder Mikel Utsi who recognised that this terrain was ideal for reindeer and couldn't believe that there weren't any tucked away anywhere. They had been extinct in Britain for thousands of years - it's not known when they died out.

The herd in the Cairngorms is now going strong and thousands go to visit them every year.   http://www.cairngormreindeer.co.uk /

I created a poem about reindeer inspired by the herd near Aviemore, but it's not a patch on the one featured further down the page.  I also brought home a reindeer that doesn't need feeding.

A re-introduction

(Reindeer were re-introduced into Scotland in 1952)

  

Here’s one now!

Let me introduce you –

Meet the smaller-than-you imagined furry animal

Friendly because food-focused

Hoovering up bran and *black gold

Like a soft-mouthed vacuum cleaner

A deer with sink-plunger feet

Deciduous signature antlers -

An annual make-over

Of bespoke headwear

A triumph of form over function

Challenging the neck

Food all gone she

Merges back with the herd.

Sensibly shod but with high-fashion headgear

Stylishly sporting bibs of extra fur at the neck

There they go in all their soft colourways

Beige and sable, blonde and mink

Cairngorm reindeer

Perfectly dashing!

*black gold – a serendipitous by-product of the Scottish whisky industry

  

Sally Givertz©2014

  

But why did reindeer become associated with Christmas?  Was it the famous poem by Clement C. Moore?  Originally entitled, "A visit from St Nicholas"  it is now better now as "The Night Before Christmas".

Poor Clement Clarke Moore (1779-1863, U.S.) was a heavy-weight scholar and theologian and looks like a fairly serious creature. He would probably be surprised to know that he is now most remembered for a light poem he wrote to amuse his children.  He even gets movie credits on Wikipedia!

Yes reindeer are used to pull sledges through snow but where did CCM get the flying reindeer sled idea?  It must have been a dream I think. Apparently we all dream of flying at some point. It's in the collective unconscious somewhere.  Think of all those wonderful paintings by Marc Chagall.There is nearly always a flying creature somewhere if you look closely.

However it came about, it's a great poem and an annual treat to share with children:

The Night Before Christmas

by Clement C. Moore  (1779 - 1863)

  

TWAS the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there;

THE children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;

And Mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,

WHEN out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

THE moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave the lustre of midday to objects below,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

WITH a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name :

NOW, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!

Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

AS dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,

With the sleigh full of Toys, and St Nicholas too.

AND then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.

HE was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a pedlar just opening his pack.

His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

THE stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a broad face and a little round belly,

That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.

HE was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,

And laying a finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

HE sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL

AND TO ALL     

A GOOD NIGHT !

 

So, as dreaming is a source of creativity, let you mind range free like the reindeer in the Cairngorms and feed your imagination.  

Marvels

One of my favourite poets, Seamus Heaney, became fascinated by the idea of the miraculous to be found in the mundane.

Denise Levertov writes too about the importance of paying attention in her well-known and much-loved poem, Witness.

Witness

Denise Levertov

Sometimes the mountain
is hidden from me in veils
of cloud, sometimes
I am hidden from the mountain
in veils of inattention, apathy, fatigue,
when I forget or refuse to go
down to the shore or a few yards
up the road, on a clear day,
to reconfirm
that witnessing presence.

Over the summer I became fascinated by the idea of the marvellous and the need to pay attention to the here and now.

Scotland opens up and shows many new colours as the light changes and intensifies our everyday responses to nature. And not just to nature - we stumbled upon a group of people dancing on the street in Edinburgh back in September when we had a small heatwave. 

A poem came out of this thinking:

Marvels

You’re so lucky, they say

To live here, to have seen

Dolphins and puffins and guillemots

But I think,

No – we put ourselves out

We went in search

We climbed over Troup Head

And braved the steep paths, the vertigo

We took a boat and braved

The seasickness, the discomfort

But then I thought

What about the peacock

That just appeared from nowhere

And crossed my path

Popped out of a field

And flaunted its colours

In the morning sun:

Electric blue neck

orange striped flanks

The outrageous tail

It fluttered up onto a post

And posed there like a model

(Transvestite perhaps?)

In an evening gown

Showing off its gaudy train

With its little fan comb stuck

On its pea-head.

Sometimes we have to put ourselves

Into the way of seeing things

Othertimes marvels just appear

Sally Givertz©2014

I'd like to think that we can retain our capacity to marvel at the world no matter how tough it becomes to live with the reports of misery brought to us by the media.  This is real too of course; but only part of the picture.

The Thistle and The Rose

Post-referendum post

Some of us are relieved and some of us are disappointed with the outcome of this strongly-contested referendum. 

But all of us now want to make Scotland as strong and united as possible and create a good future - both for its people and the environment. 

Poet Laureate, Carol Ann Duffy was born in Scotland and now lives in England. 

She published this reconciliation poem in many of the national papers on Saturday 20th September.

The poem is a peace offering; a gift; a plea for reconciliation and rebuilding.   

 

                            

September 2014

 

by Carol Ann Duffy 

 

Tha gaol agam ort *

A thistle can draw blood,

         so can a rose,

growing together

where the river flows, shared currency,

across a border it can never know:

where, somewhen, Rabbie Burns might swim,

or pilgrim Keats come walking

out of love for him.

         Aye, here’s to you,

cousins, sisters, brothers,

in your bold, brave, brilliant land:

the thistle jags our hearts,

take these roses,

         from our bloodied hands.

*I love you

   

The Great Tapestry of Scotland

The Great Tapestry settled for a while in Aberdeen

and it really increased the amount of foot traffic passing through the doors of the Art Gallery.  



The Great Tapestry of Scotland – a unique project to stitch the entire story of Scotland from pre-history to modern times.

If you want to know more about the Tapestry follow the link here and this will also let you know where it is on its journey around Scotland. Go and see it if you can but allow more than one visit - we took two and would have preferred three or four.  


My concern here is to look at the poetry so I will focus on the panels about Hugh MacDiarmid, Robert Burns (of course) and Robert Louis Stevenson.

This panel celebrates MacDiarmid's splendidly named poem "A Drunk Man Looks At The Thistle". 

from A Drunk Man Looks at the Thistle
BY HUGH MACDIARMID

The function, as it seems to me,   

O’ Poetry is to bring to be   

At lang, lang last that unity ...   

But wae’s me on the weary wheel!   

Higgledy-piggledy in’t we reel,                                                  

And little it cares hoo we may feel.

Twenty-six thoosand years ’t’ll tak’   

For it to threid the Zodiac

—A single roond o’ the wheel to mak’!

This is a very short bite of a long poem but I like the sentiment and it seems appropriate to the aim of the tapestry. This is what Wiki has to say about it: 

A Drunk Man Looks at the Thistle is a long poem by Hugh MacDiarmid written in Scots and published in 1926. It is composed as a form of monologue with influences from stream of consciousness genres of writing. A poem of extremes, it ranges between comic and serious modes and examines a wide range of cultural, sexual, political, scientific, existential, metaphysical and cosmic themes, ultimately unified through one consistent central thread, the poet's emotionally and intellectually charged contemplation, from a male perspective, of the condition of Scotland. It also includes extended and complex responses to figures from European and Russian literature, in particular Dostoevsky and Nietzsche, as well as referencing topical events and personalities of the mid-1920s such as Isadora Duncan or the UK General Strike of 1926. It is one of the major modernist literary works of the 20th century. 

Here's the Burns panel focusing on the wonderful Tam o'Shanter:

Robert Burns    (25 January 1759 – 21 July 1796)

Tam o’Shanter – a tiny sample

   

Verse 1

When chapmen billies leave the street,
And drouthy neibors, neibors meet,
As market days are wearing late,
An' folk begin to tak the gate;
While we sit bousing at the nappy,
And getting fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Where sits our sulky sullen dame.
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

Verse 5

But pleasures are like poppies spread, 
You sieze the flower, its bloom is shed; 
Or like the snow falls in the river, 
A moment white--then melts for ever; 
Or like the borealis race, 
That flit ere you can point their place; 
Or like the rainbow's lovely form 
Evanishing amid the storm.-- 
Nae man can tether time or tide; 
The hour approaches Tam maun ride; 
That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, 
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in; 
And sic a night he taks the road in 
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.

                                                 Tam o'Shanter 

 I love this poem as an adult, especially the atmospheric descriptions and its mix of humour and lyricism.

                                             

Robert Louis Stevenson has also been hugely influential all over the world. 

The Scottish tapestry panel devoted to Stevenson quotes, "Tusitala - teller of tales, dreamer of dreams on gossamer sails."   RLS was one of the millions of Scottish migrants and Tusitala was a name he adopted when he lived in Samoa - it is the native word for "storyteller".  Illness forced him away from Scotland to warmer climates and childhood illness prompted this clever and sensitive child to become more introspective.  Hard to choose one poem by him as he was so prolific but this one is especially Scottish.  He must have been so homesick at times.

In the Highlands

IN the highlands, in the country places,
Where the old plain men have rosy faces,
   And the young fair maidens
   Quiet eyes;
Where essential silence cheers and blesses,
And for ever in the hill-recesses
   Her more lovely music
   Broods and dies--

O to mount again where erst I haunted;
Where the old red hills are bird-enchanted, 
   And the low green meadows
   Bright with sward;
And when even dies, the million-tinted,
And the night has come, and planets glinted,
   Lo, the valley hollow
   Lamp-bestarr'd!

O to dream, O to awake and wander
There, and with delight to take and render,
   Through the trance of silence,
   Quiet breath!
Lo! for there, among the flowers and grasses,
Only the mightier movement sounds and passes;
   Only winds and rivers,
   Life and death. 

 Robert Louis Stevenson

RLS died in Samoa - a long way from home.

The Scottish diaspora pretty much cover the globe and more than 4 million Scots left home for new worlds in the 19th and 20th centuries. 

Of course, Sir Walter Scott also gets a panel but he's not one of my favourites and I must admit that his novels make me laugh! Perhaps I'll try again...

The Great Tapestry also celebrates ordinary people and the lives of its women - famous or otherwise which is as it should be.  Almost all of the stitchers who created the panels and helped to design and choose the content are women. 

These are two of my favourite panels of working women - fishers and knitters:

  

I don't think that Norman MacCaig features in the tapestry but perhaps he should.

In an interview still available on Youtube here he says in his typical provocative way, that he hates history because it is the story of violence - of battles and destruction; that he doesn't much care for mankind but likes some people.

In his introduction to the book about the making of The Great Tapestry of Scotland, Alastair Moffatt tells how he and the artist Andrew Crummy became very aware of  pitfalls when deciding what to include:  "....the military option, the temptation to see our history as a series of invasions, wars and battles, many of them grey defeats."

The tapestry is anything but grey and a definite victory.

For me part of the appeal of the Tapestry (and it has become hugely popular) is the vast scope of its timeline and the carefully selected details so that it encompasses so much of human experience. I leave you with some tiny details that the stitchers added around the edges of the main panels. There is even a selection of famous Scottish healthfood.