Edwin Morgan

Grim times indeed - my favourite poet, Edwin Morgan, has passed away.

My wonderful high school English teacher Mr Poyner was a Morgan enthusiast, and introduced us to his work. It felt like a privilege, something that other pupils in other classes weren't doing. We analysed, broke things down, and even tried to imitate.


In the Snack Bar was the first poem we studied; a short episode in life, described in almost painful detail. It still leaves me with strange feeling reading it now.

I quickly found the range of Morgan's work and the subject matter intriguing - the forensic detail of his instamatic poems, the playfulness of the concrete poetry, the brutal and continuing reality of the Glasgow Sonnets, and the dreamlike and mysterious worlds beyond.

I have taken Selected Poems down off the shelf to reacquaint myself with the great man's words, and hope you'll do the same. I can't reproduce my favourites on here; best perhaps to share the words he composed for the opening of the Scottish Parliament's in 2004. They are a fine reminder for what and who the institution should be for.

Open the doors! Light of the day, shine in; light of the mind, shine out!

We have a building which is more than a building.
There is a commerce between inner and outer,
between brightness and shadow, between the world and those who think about the world.

Is it not a mystery? The parts cohere, they come together
like petals of a flower, yet they also send their tongues
outward to feel and taste the teeming earth.
Did you want classic columns and predictable pediments? A
growl of old Gothic grandeur? A blissfully boring box?
Not here, no thanks! No icon, no IKEA, no iceberg, but
curves and caverns, nooks and niches, huddles and
heavens syncopations and surprises. Leave symmetry to
the cemetery.
But bring together slate and stainless steel, black granite
and grey granite, seasoned oak and sycamore, concrete
blond and smooth as silk – the mix is almost alive – it
breathes and beckons – imperial marble it is not!

Come down the Mile, into the heart of the city, past the kirk
of St Giles and the closes and wynds of the noted ghosts of
history who drank their claret and fell down the steep
tenements stairs into the arms of link-boys but who wrote
and talked the starry Enlightenment of their days –
And before them the auld makars who tickled a Scottish king’s
ear with melody and ribaldry and frank advice –
And when you are there, down there, in the midst of things,
not set upon an hill with your nose in the air,
This is where you know your parliament should be
And this is where it is, just here.

What do the people want of the place? They want it to be
filled with thinking persons as open and adventurous as its
architecture.
A nest of fearties is what they do not want.
A symposium of procrastinators is what they do not want.
A phalanx of forelock-tuggers is what they do not want.
And perhaps above all the droopy mantra of ‘it wizny me’ is
what they do not want.
Dear friends, dear lawgivers, dear parliamentarians, you are
picking up a thread of pride and self-esteem that has been
almost but not quite, oh no not quite, not ever broken or
forgotten.
When you convene you will be reconvening, with a sense of not
wholly the power, not yet wholly the power, but a good
sense of what was once in the honour of your grasp.
All right. Forget, or don’t forget, the past. Trumpets and
robes are fine, but in the present and the future you will
need something more.
What is it? We, the people, cannot tell you yet, but you will know about it when we do tell you.
We give you our consent to govern, don’t pocket it and ride away.
We give you our deepest dearest wish to govern well, don’t say we
have no mandate to be so bold.
We give you this great building, don’t let your work and hope be other than great when you enter and begin.
So now begin. Open the doors and begin.

Edwin Morgan

Jimmy Reid

I was saddened to hear this morning about the passing of Jimmy Reid, Trade Union activist and legend in his own lifetime. He was a truly great and inspirational man.

I met him on a few occasions, first when I worked as a researcher for Bruce McFee MSP - we were running a campaign to save the threatened Ferguson's Shipyard in Port Glasgow and Jimmy had gotten involved. He came into the office, and shared some tales and advice with us. It was a treat to be in his presence, although he felt my tea-making skills weren't up to scratch!

Later, he spoke at a meeting at the Pearce Institute in Govan - at length and without notes. My mum and dad had come along (unusually for them) to hear him, and were as captivated as the rest of us. His stories at times seemed to be a series of anecdotes, but by the end, he had gathered all of them elegantly together to illustrate the central thrust of his argument. It was quite an experience.

It was mentioned by one of Jimmy's close friends on the radio this afternoon that he often 'held court' after meetings, and SNP campaign conference in Glasgow in 2007 was such an occasion. He had been looked after at conference by the Trade Union Group, but found himself in the wee small hours surrounded by members of the party's youth and student wings. It was quite something to sit near this great man and listen to his experiences, asking questions and soaking up his wisdom. He was principled but realistic, explaining to us his place in the SNP had come by understanding that Labour was no longer the party he had joined.

At the time, he said:

"I have waited a long time to see forces emerging within the New Labour Party that would bring the party back to its roots, "

"But I have been waiting in vain and with every year that passes, Tony Blair and New Labour move further to the right. They are now indistinguishable from the Thatcherite Tories."

He made a great contribution to our cause in the relatively brief time he was a member, making the trip up from the Isle of Bute to give of his precious time despite his age and failing health. The most recent contribution I recall was during the Glasgow East by election.

I feel incredibly fortunate to have met Jimmy. Scotland is a greater place for having had him, and a dimmer place tonight.

Clydeslide!

My colleague David Turner has persuaded me that hurtling to near-death on a 1000ft zip slide across a river for charity is a great idea, so we will be doing the Clydeslide on the 3rd of October for Action for Children.

I'm not particularly scared of heights, but the Clyde is a) cold and b) deep! Anyway, we both hope to survive without need for a by election.

If you'd like to sponsor me, I've set up a link on justgiving. Thanks!

Goodbye to a legend

I'm sure I'm not the only blogger who has been saddened by the death of Motherwell Captain Phil O'Donnell; however, I thought I should wait 'til today to commit my thoughts to the internet. I was down at Joe's parents in Derby when I heard the news. I was all chuffed about what sounded like a thrilling game 5-3 win against Dundee United at Fir Park, and had been watching the result come in on the tv. My brother texted me from the game to say Phil had collapsed, then phoned when the news of his death emerged.

People who know me know I'm a Motherwell fan. I was at the famous Cup Final in 1991, when Phil O'Donnell scored his first goal for the club. I was eight. I was pleased to see him come back to the club, lending experience to our young side. At any game I was at, he always made a significant contribution, no matter the end result. I was at Fir Park for the game against Aberdeen a few weeks ago, and could see what a great role he was playing as club Captain. I've rarely seen such a well organised 'Well side, playing remarkably good football. It looked as though he was having a good time out there, which makes it all the more unexpected and tragic that Phil O'Donnell's life was cut short.

He will be missed.