At thirty I thought life had passed me by,
translated Beowulf for want of love.
And one night stands in city centre lanes –
they were dark in those days – were wild but bleak.
Sydney Graham in London said, 'you know
I always thought so', kissed me on the cheek.
And I translated Rilke's Loneliness
is like a rain, and week after week after week
strained to unbind myself,
sweated to speak...
from Seven Decades
Edwin Morgan, The Scots Makar - national poet.
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'THE death of poet Edwin Morgan was sad but, at 90, he was a good old age and had lived a full life.
ReplyDeleteHis poetry concerned everything from the future of Scotland to his experiences as a gay man when acting on those feelings was illegal.
I remember calling him a few years ago after an ageing Scots politician made some dreadful homophobic comments.
"Oh, he's young," said Morgan wryly of the 70-something offender, "He'll grow out of it."
http://www.newsoftheworld.co.uk/scottish/euan_mccolm/916947/Edwin-Morgan-enjoyed-a-long-life-and-used-his-experience-well-in-his-verse.html