I never felt so much
Since I have felt at all
The tingling smell and touch
Of dogrose and sweet briar,
Nettles against the wall,
All sours and sweets that grow
Together or apart
In hedge or marsh or ditch…
On the second day
The radios failed; we turned the knobs; no answer.
On the third day a warship passed us, heading north,
Dead bodies piled on the deck…
“Edwin Muir (1887–1959) is a mysteriously neglected, gorgeous, and emotionally penetrating poet. Of all the many pieces of writing spurred by the Cold War and the threat of nuclear apocalypse, and of the other kinds of 20th century apocalyptic writing, his poem ‘The Horses’ may be the most effective, perhaps because it is the most calm and gentle.”
—Robert Pinsky
Old gods and goddesses who have lived so long
Through time and never found eternity,
Fettered by wasting wood and hollowing hill,
You should have fled our ever-dying song…
One foot in Eden still, I stand
And look across the other land.
The world’s great day is growing late,
Yet strange these fields that we have planted
So long with crops of love and hate…
“Muir’s contact with Europe is significant, however, not only in a personal and literary sense, but also in a wider political context which resonates with our own early twenty-first century times. His travels in the 1920s immediately after the end of World War One, and again at the end of World War Two, tell a story of Europe itself at critical points in its history.”
On Saturday 13th April, islanders again gathered on the steps of St Magnus Cathedral, calling for a immediate ceasefire, the return of all hostages and an end to the genocide in #Gaza. For over 6 months they have held vigils every Saturday. Filmed by Mike Robertson for The #Orkney News https://youtu.be/6Ee4gfwoDsQ?si=Q6a9oPycS0tCqsqh
Christmas Day heralded the best weather of the few days I was on Orkney, and I was showering when I realised that this would be the best time to visit the Ring of Brodgar... I hurried from the shower and drove the short distance to the Ring of Brodgar, in time to catch the sunrise. (This wasn't particularly early: the sun rose sometime after 9am, and set just after 3pm!)
I spent Christmas on Orkney; I thought it would be interesting to be there at the darkest point in winter. When I planned the trip in November, Scotland had weeks of clear skies, several aurora, and reports of whales in Orkney. By Christmas the weather was not so benign - I was lucky to get there. I saw neither stars nor whales. Still, I went for walks - and took lots of photos, of which these are the first. Many more will follow!
This is Stoker Patrick Connolly who was killed when HMS Pheasant sank off Rora Head #Orkney on 1st March 1917. I've been researching this for 7 years and now being written up for publication in a book coming this year. The Wexford People of Saturday 10th March 1917 reported:
“The relatives of Stoker Patrick Connolly have been informed that he has lost his life at sea. Stoker Connolly who was a well known pugilist, leaves a widow and five children.”
Broch of Gurness, on the northern part of the main island of Orkney. Iron Age of course. The central tower was about three times its current height. It surrounded by a small village that was built later (possibly after the broch collapsed or been shortened).
It's forty minutes walk from the nearest bus stop. (I get on the bus and ask for a ticket to Evie? You're going to the broch, asks the bus driver. The second stop is closer and less traffic, he says. He'll drop me at the second stop.) But it doesn't feel like forty minutes and way worth it.