A poem by Kathleen Jamie.
Weel here we are faur oot on the muir, and the path’s gey near
tint itsel amang ling and yellae tormentil and the ither flooers at
oor feet: the flee-catchin sundew, the green fritillary fluchterin
amang thaim. Ah, the wee flooers – nae suiner kythed nor they’re
done, nae suiner opent than spent. The laun raxes aw weys – ill
yaised and skaithed, see thae turbines and plantations? Full muin
the nicht – she’ll heeze hersel ower awthin, even the missile testin
site, and oot will come the ghaist-fowk, ghaist deer and wolves
that haunt this place, even in summer. And we’ll be wraiths anaw
gin we dinnae turn roun and fin oor wey back tae the narrae road
wi its passin places and the car. Whaur wis it again, the car? Luik
at thae sun-nets driftin ower thae faurawa braes, clood shaddaes
passin ower us, luik at thon keelie-hawk, huntin.
Well here we are far out on the moor, and the path has almost lost
itself among the ling and yellow tormentil and other flowers at our
feet: the fly-catching sundew, the green fritillary fluttering among
them. Ah, the little flowers, over as soon as they appear, no sooner
opened than spent. The land reaches all directions, ill-used and
damaged – see those turbines and plantations? Full moon tonight,
she’ll hoist herself over everything, even the missile testing site,
and out will come the ghost-people, ghost deer and wolves that
haunt this place, even in summer. And we’ll be wraiths too if we
don’t turn around and find our way back to the narrow road with
its passing places and the car. Where was it again, the car? Look
at those sun-nets drifting across those distant hillsides, cloud
shadows passing over us. Look at that kestrel, hunting.
*
Taken from ‘The Keelie Hawk’, Kathleen Jamie’s brand new collection of Scots poetry, just-published by Picador. Buy a copy here (£12.34). There is also a chance to win a copy of the book on tomorrow’s newsletter — sign up in the sidebar for entry details!