Robert Louis Stevenson (1850–1894), on Holyrood Palace
Wars have been plotted, dancing has lasted deep into the night – murder has been done in its chambers.
Duncan Ban MacIntyre’s memorial in Greyfriars Churchyard
‘S e baile mór Dhùn Eideann
A b’ éibhinn leam bhith ann…
Donnchadh Bàn Mac an t-Saoir (1724–1810)
‘Tis in Edinburgh city
I would rejoice to be…”
Edwin Morgan (1920–2010), on the Scottish Parliament building
… curves and caverns, nooks and niches, huddles and heavens, syncopations and surprises…
Come Down the Mile, at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, August 2017
Reading in Chessel’s Court, and in the New Calton Burial Ground, looking over the Scottish Parliament building to Salisbury Crags and Arthur’s Seat
‘Ye Jacobites by Name’, summer 2017
Reading poems about the ’45 at the Mercat Cross, and in Holyrood Abbey
Come Down the Mile, at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, August 2016
Reading in Holyrood Park.
Robert Fergusson (1750–1774), in Holyrood ParkLet me to Arthur’s Seat pursue,
Where bonny pastures meet the view…
Dorothy Wordsworth (1771–1855) expresses her disappointment on seeing Holyrood Palace in 1803.… sash-windowed and not an irregular pile…
Scottish Poetry Library…this house, this poem… this fresh hypothesis
Iain Crichton Smith (1928–1998); the words are inscribed on a glass balustrade inside the building.
Robert Fergusson (1750–1774) by David Annan
Annan’s bronze Fergusson foregoes a plinth to stride down the Canongate, outside the Canongate kirkyard where he is buried.
Poems on the Canongate Wall, Scottish Parliament
Alan Jackson (1938–), ‘The Young Politician Looks at the Moon’
Norman MacCaig (1910–1996), from ‘A Man in Assynt’
Who possesses this landscape? –
The man who bought it or
I who am possessed by it?
False questions, for
this landscape is
and intractable in any terms
that are human.
Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-1889), from ‘Inversnaid’
What would the world be, once bereft
Of wet and wildness? Let them be left,
O let them be left, wildness and wet;
Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet.
Mary Brooksbank (1897 – 1978), from ‘Oh Dear Me… (The Jute Mill Song)’Oh, dear me, the warld’s ill-divided,
Them that work the hardest are aye wi’ least provided,
But I maun bide contented, dark days or fine,
But there’s no much pleasure livin’ affen ten and nine.