Edwin Morgan (1920–2010)

41/2021. This is a 1969 collection of work by Alan Bold, Edward (Kamau) Brathwaite, and Edwin Morgan. This is at least a partial re-read for me. Alan Bold's work is justly neglected now, while Brathwaite has achieved classic status as a Caribbean poet, and Edwin Morgan is a national treasure in both Scotland and the rest of Britain.

Firstly, my review of the 60 page selection of Alan Bold's poems: no. 1*

Next, the 50 page selection of Edward (Kamau) Brathwaite's poems from his first three books Rights of Passage, Masks, and Islands, had a few good lines but on the whole they didn't make me want to re-read any further into his works. 3*

From The Emigrants: "In London, Undergrounds are cold.
The train rolls in from darkness
with our fears."

From South: "And gulls, their white sails slanted seaward,
fly into the limitless morning before us."

Lastly, the 50 page selection of Edwin Morgan's poems: YES. 5*… (meer)

THREE SCOTTISH POETS: MacCAIG, MORGAN, LOCHHEAD edited by Roderick Watson… I ordered this book because I had read a delightful poem by Norman MacCaig called "Small Boy" and was disappointed not to find it here. I was not thrilled with the quality of the print job either (Canongate Classics, printed and bound by Clays Ltd)—and it would have helped to have the poet's name on the bottom of the page for his/her section—but I found much to love in the words. Best read in a Scottish brogue, these were some of my favorite lines from each:

Norman MacCaig: "The thatched roof rings like heaven where mice / Squeak small hosannahs all night long" and "a sea tin-tacked with rain" and "I love frogs that sit / like Buddha" and "The collie underneath the table / Slumps with a world-rejecting sigh."

Edwin Morgan: "After many summer dyes, the swan-white ice / glints only crystal beyond white. Even / dearest blue's not there, though poets would find it" and "half reluctant, half truculent, / half handsome, half absurd, / but let me see you forget him: not to be done."

Of course, there were entire poems that were magnificent in addition to those few select lines. My favorite voice in the collection, though, belongs to Liz Lochhead. Her observations of the smallest details take on significance (e.g., her shampoo in "The Empty Song"). The majority of her poems are about relationships along with a brilliant monologue called "Verena: Security" in which she honestly explores the pros and cons of a significant other working away from home for weeks at a time. I'll leave you and this review with the last stanza of Lochhead's "Hafiz on Danforth Avenue":

And to tell you this is easy,
scribbling this was as simple
as the shopping-list it jostles
on the next page of my notebook.
Love, as well as bread and coffee
it says eggplants, olive oil
don't forget
the nutmeg and the cinnamon.… (meer)