Noone locked their door in Flamborough town Too hot in trainers, my feet swelled with pain We shall never see those cliffs again Now you lie in earth, all muddy brown
My metatarsal arch collapsed, like Dunwich drowned Wandering on a cliff path in light rain Noone locked their door in Flamborough town Too hot in trainers, my feet swelled with pain
In Bridlington the cashpoint let us down The town was dirty,unkempt,in the main Where was Hockney, will he come by train? Bempton Cliffs astonished,sea renowned Noone locked their door in Flamborough town
Scotland’s first official Makar in modern times, Edwin Morgan was endlessly inventive, inquiring, energetic, internationalist, and deeply committed to his home city of Glasgow.
A book of poems in his honour, Unknown Is Best, was produced to celebrate Morgan’s eightieth birthday in 2000. His own poem, ‘At Eighty’, was characteristic of the poet’s work, faring forward into the future, embracing change: ‘Push the boat out, compañeros / Push the boat out, whatever the seas…. push it all out into the unknown! / Unknown is best, it beckons best…’.
This seems an unlikely sentiment from a man of Morgan’s background. He was the only child of loving, anxious and undemonstrative parents, Stanley and Margaret (née Arnott) Morgan, politically conservative and Presbyterian. His father was a director of a small firm of iron and steel merchants. Edwin George Morgan was born on 27 April 1920 in Glasgow’s West End, and brought up in Pollokshields and Rutherglen. He attended – unhappily – Rutherglen Academy, moving on to complete his schooling at Glasgow High and entering Glasgow University in 1937. When he was called up in 1940, he horrified his family by registering as a conscientious objector. He reached a compromise position while waiting for his case to be called, and asked to serve in the RAMC, with which he spent the war in Egypt, the Lebanon and Palestine.
He was demobbed in 1946, returned to Glasgow and took a first class Honours degree in English Language and Literature. There was a chance of studying at Oxford, but Morgan preferred to take up the offer of a Lectureship in the Department of English at Glasgow University, where he remained. Having become Titular Professor in 1975, he retired from the University in 1980. He was a much-valued colleague and himself appreciated the structure and salary that academic life gave him.
Morgan first published under the name ‘Kaa’ in the High School of Glasgow Magazine, in 1936, and went on using that nom de plume in the Glasgow University Magazine, emerging as reviewer and translator under his own name in a variety of periodicals after the war. His first collection, The Vision of Cathkin Braes, was published by William MacLellan of Glasgow in 1952, and in the same year the Hand and Flower Press issued his translation of Beowulf (reissued by Carcanet Press in 2002). For fifty years Morgan maintained this double output, translations from Russian and Hungarian, Latin and French, Italian and Old English keeping pace with his own work, showing astonishing variety and technical skills in both. He won the Soros Translation Award in 1985, and spent the prize money on a day trip to Lapland on Corcorde.
The oven is an halogen,it’s so good It has a golden light which aids my mind It grills my steak till it goes brown like wood
I don’t like meat that oozes with red blood I’m guilty.I have sinned and been unkind The oven is an halogen,it’s good
No oven is of use during the flood Do you like to eat the bacon rind? I grill my bacon till it’s brown like wood
I cannot eat a trout which has a head I scream into its eye both dead and blind The oven is an halogen,bright, good
Since we killed the Jews and others sad God wrote yet his words escaped our minds Jesus, Joan of Arc, the cross, the wood
The genocides utopian were thought good One person or ten trillion, guilt denied It fries the soul, and dries up all the blood
Was it the philosophers that lied No dignity and yet excessive pride The sun is fierce, it’s blinding us to good The darkeness, the Inferno in the Wood
Stan was teaching social statistics to a group of elderly neighbors.Since he was 109 it gave them all hope to see him demonstrating his prowess with various techniques.He was planning to do some logic and philosophy too. Annie his mistress was sitting by the door so she could answer the bell if any paramedics turned up for tea. “I’m not going to calculate the standard deviations” he murmured.”I just want you to grasp the general purpose.” “Deviations,they’re not normal are they?” enquired his neighbor “Henry,an ex-English teacher.”So how can they be standard? It’s confusing..” “Are you thinking of deviants?” Stan enquired calmly yet firmly ”Certainly not,at my age .I’m a bit past that!””Still , it adds a bit of excitement to the class.” he thought. How do words in ordinary language relate to those in Statistics?”asked Henry kindly “They are just more precisely defined in statistics.To say someone is a deviant is a rather vague term.” “No,it’s not!My neighbor is a deviant.He dresses entirely in yellow.” “Well,that must be hard to do.Certainly unusual.” Stan agreed boldly. “But in another country that might be the norm.So it’s a matter of context. In statistics, it’s more boring.There’s a formula.It’s totally independent of context.Have you ever wondered why so many mathematicians have more than a touch of Asperger’s syndrome?”
“No,it’s not something that wanders through my mind much”replied Henry A shudder passed through the room at hearing the word “formula“, which perhaps they considered something of a deviant!Anything with letters and numbers mixed together is certainly not welcome in many people’s minds, along with their more unusual sexual tastes, desires ,and inclinations which were kept secret even from themselves in many cases.
“Time for tea.” called Annie,hoping to divert their attention.She carried in a platter of mouse sandwiches kindly donated by the local ambulance service and some iced Victoria sponge she and Stan had made the day before while Mary was giving a lecture on doughnuts and algebraic topology. “Just a quick word about next week.We’ll take a look at ratios and proportions and maybe see how that relates to the concept of rationality.” “That sounds fun!” Annie called encouragingly.Henry decided to act on a deviant desire and fell onto her lap. ”Oh,dear!” she gasped loudly as the chair collapsed under her. ”Why can’t you be deviant at home?” “My wife won’t let me!” He kindlily answered. “And look,” Stan continued,”we’ll have to ring 999.This chair is in fragments.I thought for one day we’d be able to avoid calling them out!” “Well,life is not controllable.” said a quiet but fierce looking lady with sharp green eyes. ”That’s what makes it tolerable“ She then greedily consumed a large piece of iced cake . “I can stand the thinking if the cake is good” she whispered to her shy friend Amy. ”That’s rather a feeble argument,”Amy retorted.”You can’t really compare cake and statistics.” “I’ll compare anything I like!” the green-eyed woman snarled loudly. “You do what you like but you must keep a sense of proportion!” “Now then,have you rung 999?” Stan queried of Annie.”Yes,here they are,and they’ve got a stretcher for the chair!” “Well,that’s certainly unusual,even deviant“,Stan thought anxiously to himself. ”Where do they get their funding? Is there a fund for distributing money to help chairs which are not fit for purpose?
How my heart sings 