It’s the most wonderful time of the year
1. Yay! Having shared many rejection stories with you over the last couple of years, this week I’m celebrating my first poetry journal selection.
The email began in the usual way, Hello there Christina, We had nearly 500 poems submitted for this issue…
Here it is, I thought.
…and I’m pleased to tell you. Wait, what?!
Needless to say, I am chuffed. Especially as it’s a poem that I don’t mind showing my parents. I’ll share it with you as soon as I can, once the new issue of Poetry Scotland is published.
2. I’ve been thinking about language, again. In part because my current breakfast read is the immersive Storm Pegs by Shetland-based poet, Jen Hadfield.
Back in March, I went to a talk at StAnza Poetry Festival where the author was in conversation with Scotland’s Makar, Pàdraig MacAoidh [Peter Mackay], talking about the fascinating process behind writing this memoir. In it she explores the language spoken by Shetlanders as someone who moved to the islands as an adult, and has developed a deep love for it.
It’s particularly captivating to me that Shetlandic shares some words with the Doric that I grew up with, but that it is also uniquely its own dialect. And it’s got me thinking once more about how language shapes our experiences and sense of place. Of how it is intrinsically tied to memory and the senses. Of what it means when we are banned from speaking our mither tongue. And of how we can preserve the languages and dialects that are forged from the land and the sea, while also honouring the evolution of them.
The short film, Da Waddir Wan created by Jonathon Bulter and Lauren Bulter for Shetland ForWirds gives a wonderful taste of the Shetlandic dialect if you’d like to experience it.
3. October joy. It’s hard not to heed the call of the wild geese where I grew up. One morning last week, my dad counted over 3,000 pink footed-geese arriving from Iceland and Greenland. The following day they were still there, moving around the fields between our farm and those of our neighbour’s, which sit to the North-west of Montrose Basin Nature Reserve.
Every autumn I find myself rooted, chin tilted up, eyes shiny each time a skein flies over. At the first sound of ‘wink-wink’, I’m out of my seat and opening the back door, scanning the skies to spot them. There is a hankering to go with them, to soar away from the everyday human concerns, reach wings through blustery air and stretch neck towards water. No matter how many times I try to describe the sound of thousands of migrating geese arriving for autumn, the way it resonates through my body, what it makes me feel – I fail.
In the meantime, I return to the words of Nan Shepherd, whose Wild Geese in Glen Callater ends with:
“The birds faded out into the cloud like an embodiment of mystery; they came and they were gone: I have kept them ever since.”
What I’ve been reading - In the morning, I tend to opt for non-fiction. I’m on an excellent run of memoirs by poets – the last was the bold and thought-provoking, A Line Above The Sky by Helen Mort.
At night, I always read fiction before falling asleep. I’m a third of the way in to Muckle Flugga, the debut novel by Edinburgh Makar Michael Pedersen. Unsurprisingly, it’s a joy to read. And is it a coincidence that I’ve been having vivid dreams? I’m also grateful for the inbuilt dictionary on my Kindle, as Michael is an absolute wordsmith.
I’d love to hear what’s been bringing awe and wonder to your week. Any geese sightings? Great reads? Writing wins of your own to share?
Taking us into the weekend is a song that’s been playing on repeat during the school run. One so good that my daughter doesn’t ask me to turn it down. High praise indeed. Here’s Black Horse And The Cherry Tree by Scottish singer-songwriter KT Tunstall.
Congratulations Christina! 🥳 Can't wait to read it.
Love the video clip with the weather words and Shetland accent. xx Can see how the Scandinavian languages with those touring vikings influenced the dialect.
Congratulations on that poetry acceptance - the first of many, I'm sure!