Joint online launch of Ravage is now on YouTube; Backlisted podcast recorded at Woodstock Poetry Festival on Basil Bunting's Briggflatts (with guests MacGillivray &...
MacGillivray a guest on Radio 3's The Verb in May 2019; Sonnet 33 from The Gaelic Garden of the Dead chosen for the Scottish Poetry Library's 'Best Poems 2019' feature...
but an underskirt for the bull, cape subtly spread
from the first blow to the last axe-sawn thread,
flagging down the vehicle of my body bag,
tricolour flag – as my woman features sag:
p’raps always was the bull; when queen is dead.
Toreador, matador, composed minotaur,
we share the same bloodlust for death’s wild caper
I will take your blade in my mouth, grinning pauper
take the bull’s blood jewels, polish your scraper,
death’s changing shoes, rearranging slaughter –
thread-bare corridor, walls that taper.
2
I had a young head, full of sweet flowers,
delighted green lawn, cockle-shell arbour,
delicate blooms in flesh flush aurore.
young-blooded nose-gay, marigold, iris:
rose-steeped imagination of darkness,
fresh frankincense packed with myrrh and camphor
lilies gathered for the barber-jailor,
cut to stem, fade in my book of hours –
when pressed, thin prayers, between the pages:
at least preserve; at least slow desiccate
the conditions that life disengages,
slender wick of papery rusticate
rustling, arranged in death’s hand enrages
life’s delicate damp blossoms now aerate.
1
Oh my constricting throat, quiet, listen:
fear did not skin my muscles of old bone;
dropped into the thirsty well, my tongue – (drone
of thirstling flies, young wet for a wet sun
that bottom-up lies about being done
as each drop breaks it open); fear unspoken;
will do the coping – make blood betoken:
where tears in crystals of red water, run.
But sight has its damage, old microscope,
seen only through tense – cold lenses’ tension.
The fear-plunged sun will look up, find old hope
within the well’s walls, upon reflection –
well water mirror – swinging bucket on a rope –
musculature’s last articulation.
Contents List
The Gaelic Garden of the Dead 7
A Crisis of Dream 55
In My End Is My Beginning 79
Acknowledgements 155
Related Reviews
‘The Nine of Diamonds: Surroial Mordantless is a shamanic summoning up of the bloody and betrayed spirit of the Battle of Culloden… Norrie’s assumption of a historic Highland persona is essential to this extraordinary and gorgeous piece of writing.’ – Claire Crowther, Magma
‘The book intertwines the work of historical recovery with the poetics of chance intuited from the form of the card game… Its project is nothing less than a Scots modernist epic poem, an attempt to encapsulate Scots traditions, language and politics as Federico García Lorca did for Andalusia.’ – Sophie Mayer, The Poetry Review
'Occulted, fire-warped, close-stitched in freshly butchered skin, MacGillivray's keening rant is prophecy, hot and plain. A sequence of cards dealt in the wake of shamanic seizures that happen, and happen again, only because the poet insists on their ghostly witness. Here are songs of fierce tenderness and subtle cruelty. They sting in salt like a Highland curse. I relish every breath of the fall and crush.' – Iain Sinclair
'Luscious, generous and always terrifyingly wise, MacGillivray's unique poetic intelligence has crafted a work we have all been secretly waiting for. Its voice and the crystal breath between the words awakens histories and futures that are vividly permeable to our memory and longing. A twilight cartomancy born between open heath and midnight cave; sublime in rage, quick in beauty and hopelessly decade to love.' – B. Catling