Images: colour and monochrome. Text: English and/or Scots.
Get a grip with the bread.No stupid little loaves,discounted by penniesbecause they’re aboutto go offand you thinkyou’ll be able tothrow them in the freezer.No, no cryogenic crustinessof frozen grainsfor the time to come.No. The Scots language/the Scots leid:Screw the heid wi the breid.Nae stippit wee laifsat’s a triffle doon o the priceacause they’r likentae gae … Continue reading Screw the Heid
I am trying to be sophisticated.Trying to be profound.So please don’t think I’m constipatedwhen I fail to make a sound.
Don’t mock Mr Spock.Don’t mock his talk.No mockstrous mockish mockosity, please.He is no rock in a sock,just because he’s got his feelingsbehind a lock.And don’t knockthe shock of his ears.But where is Spock?What is his clock?
Tibbie: How long have you been supervisor?Robert: About three years. I’ve worked in the mailroom ten years in all.Tibbie: So what’s your favourite part of the job?Robert: Probably getting the mail out to the different departments on time. We like to keep the customers happy!Tibbie: Happy customers and no complaints. I’ll bet some of the … Continue reading A Chat in the Canteen, 1998
Trains and noses have run through the nightand a mortal man has run through a sea-cave jailof dreaming. But now there are waves of morningtraffic crashing onto our dirty doubleglazing, though muffled, filtered and streamedby our own little shell.
Tibbie: Oh God.Kate looks round.Tibbie: Sorry, it’s freezing.Kate smiles.Tibbie: They should install central heating in these shelters. Or have a hot-water-bottle dispenser.Kate: Yeah, they should.Tibbie: You just want to stay at home and watch TV. Watch a movie or something.Kate: That would be nice.Tibbie: Any films you would recommend? Anything good you’ve seen lately?Kate: No, … Continue reading Tibbie and Kate at the Bus Stop
The premises are, we think,the conclusion.But the reasoning is circularas the wheels on the bikesgo round and round.And the currency and chicken wingsare circulating through the bodypolitic as we keep on delving into, andpulling out of, the mirror wherethe future was falling out of the dust and the rainand onto the scaly and the hairy.
The girl was thumping our piano –for we had no bible handy. And no witch’s hatcould possibly have kepther hair from flying round herface, this broad who seemed to thinkshe had a steeple for a megaphone thatGod Himself was bawling lightningdown into our little lounge,as there we waited – she seemed to believe –for departure … Continue reading Shy Girl’s Gospel
Calm rushingand brushingagainstthe spacious clocksof youth. The Scots language/the Scots leid: Caum stourinan scriffinthe spawcious knockso youthheid.
We were in the pub, me and Ingridand Fred and Margaret, whowas up at the bar. And I said to Ingrid,out of the blue, thatshe was my dear chum, andthat made her laugh, and I looked atFred and he gave me a wink.So Ingrid suddenly gets up,and she sits on my lap – she’s very … Continue reading Caledonian Road
As a matter of fact, I was looking over whenthe old marine had to make a decisionbefore the opportunity had passed.His wife and he had mashed potatoes sufficientto whisk their thoughts away from anypainful foot or such. All heights andhollows of white to cloud their griefsfor a while. All right, he says to her, I’ll … Continue reading Champit Tatties
They won’t keep still, the littleblack dots. He thought they’d be easier.He thought he could grip them there inthe middle ground between his hungerfor strokes and his need for viewing themas pepper on the back of a stranger’shand. A spice for everyoneand everyone in their space, makes shrinking themeach to a safe size ascience or … Continue reading Reduction to Dots
I look but she has pushed her gazebeyond the glass and so, it seems,there will be no surrender climbingout from either plated heart. That afternoon we’d gone amongthe grass that sweeps around the lakeand talked of this and that, but nowshe points her eyes at walls and fences.
He’s ready to go but she’s doingher utmost to scratch at his thoughts,like false nails through the mist.Will she come into his creeping dreams?She cannot wait till the man whobelieves he’s her man gets homewith a bouquet and wine in his weighty hands. The Scots language/the Scots leid: He’s ready tae gang but she’s daeinhir … Continue reading Late-Night Words
The cute little Cyclopssquatting on what in olden timeshad been a hilltop bare.A whitewashed bungalow,excreting safety,makes a blind link in thelong chain of a legendof happiness, keptwarm in boxes. Itsbiggest bedroom liesbehind the cosy dormerwhere curtains, without warning,are drawn, and the two of usare heading apart once more.
Half an egg timer?Nothing gets throughto its flattened bottom.A silver lady?Well, some golden wine or othersits suspended over a mossy low wall,all confetti and sipping abandoned.Just pigeons and passers-byto witness a guy who’s trailinga plastic sack as he walks downthe path with a brush at his side.
Hae a braw Chrissenmas an yer belt tae the Yule-hole. English/Southron:Have a great Christmas and your belt buckle adjusted after feasting.
The hulking aluminium cutBulging and green from the blackBy a massive doze ofElectromagnetic radiationAs punters wait in line andBanter, some loving their tobacco,And many expecting their frozen day toBe transformed into raging laughter. Perhaps a portion of the queueHad been over the riverThat afternoon, gathered aroundThe pitch, like those who hadSat around the priceless flames,Or … Continue reading Saturday Night and Hulking Aluminium
These leaves belong to a different tree?The wrong gale sticking to theWrong road, right along to a spotYou’d forget was ever there.Nature does not shudderAt how such odds and ends,Brown from this blue planet, neverGrew off any branch round here.So, come in close to the foot of the tree,And pay no heedTo the top of … Continue reading These Leaves Belong to a Different Tree?
I imagine he’s leaptOff his ancestors,Ice-cream cone in his hand,Truly certain of his rightTo a dunghill-peakThat he’s dug straightOut of his very ownLight-footed boasting. But he cannot but ride onThe flat caps and yarnsAnd sows and ploughs inThe nooks and cranniesOf his soul. The treesAnd the dogs and songsWhich did melt long agoRight into the … Continue reading Pokey Hat
Not sparking its way to the red planetIn the age of Zeppelins.But, in a flash, you mightBelieve that you can smellThe salt and the vinegarOf a merciless Friday nightIn a chilling cosmos,Where the stars are notOur interplanetary streetlights,And a fish has notBeen orbiting a plantedTiny garden for usAnd for us alone.
She’s no ruler butShe might command an audienceOf little viewers who gaze uponThe symmetry of her black hair,Bracketing simultaneously herOvaloid face and its subsetsOf spectacle frames, leadingInward to her pupils. And now she has markedA white sheet with an angle,And says goodbye, and the parallelLines of credits roll over thisLady, a star that skirted kids … Continue reading The Object of a West German Schools Programme
The king of aloofers? He isBeing interestingWell above and beyondTheir static chatter and, apparently,Projecting from allThat pale, blue wallpaper. No balcony below him, though,But there is a pattern ofBehaviour. I mean, it’s as if he’s royally screwedThere, as pretty as a portrait. Hanging.So come ahead, then, fellow guests, andDive deep.
He’s not such a bigBoy for his age,For all that he’s striving toTo lift his headOff the pick and mixOf resprayed philosophy.He’s let the sunshine inTo the lubricants that work forThe engine of his soul.The monks hereaboutsDon’t hideBeneath hoods but there’s justNo short sweet roadOf thirsty wisdom. The Scots language/the Scots leid: He’s no sic … Continue reading Another Hippie in Kathmandu
Today was a rainbow surprise.The way they processed chanting.Now and then and forever,They hoped, one of themWould twirl a littleOn a death-defying axis,Like the shoppersThey passWho also mustThrust what living coloursThey can between the hands or sticksAnd the drum that beats and beats.
Eh?What?Oh no.Oh dear!Oh my god!Oh well.Never mind.
The Kibble Palace started off as a conservatory at John Kibble’s house in Cove, Dunbartonshire, around 1865. In 1871 it was floated down Loch Long and then up the Rivers Clyde an Kelvin to its new home in the Botanic Gardens in Glasgow’s West End. Popular with both tourists and Glaswegians, you can see all … Continue reading The Kibble Palace
The Scots language/the Scots leid:Pairtick Corse, Glesca.
The Scots language/the Scots leid:Up an ower an doon.
On my way home from the Chain of Freedom, I encountered this demonstration outside the BBC Scotland HQ at Pacific Quay, Glasgow. One of the protestors told me they were objecting to what they claimed was BBC bias in its coverage of the situation in Gaza and Israel.
The Chain of Freedom was a demonstration in support of Scottish independence and took place on the 14th of October 2023. The section of the human chain in the photographs below came together beside the Forth and Clyde Canal at Maryhill in north-west Glasgow.
The Scots language/the Scots leid:Biggin an brigs.
The Scots language/the Scots leid:Hame-farin or takkin the gate.
… on the Empire Exhibition Monument in Bellahouston Park, Glasgow. The Exhibition took place in 1938, and featured, among many other attractions, the pavilions of Canada, Southern Rhodesia and Scotland. The granite memorial in the photograph, along with the Peace Cairn and the Palace of Art, are the only remnants in the park of one … Continue reading The Sun Sets …
The Summer of Love comes late to Glasgow.
Dry the towels and they’ll dry you back.
Rally in George Square, Glasgow, on the 16th of September 2023. You can see more photos of this event in the Gallery.
The Scots language/the Scots leid:Ower the riggins.
The Scots language/the Scots leid:The throu-gaun.
The Scots language/the Scots leid:Hyne awa, the Mossies.
The Scots language/the Scots leid:Roadit an aye tae lippen till.
The Scots language/the Scots leid:A wee mindin.
The Scots language/the Scots leid:Wull an wale.
The Scots language/the Scots leid:Clud an biggin.
Glasgow Central Mosque.
The Scots language/the Scots leid:Lum i the winnock.
The Scots language/the Scots leid:Faur north.
The Scots language/the Scots leid:Aweers o fleein.
Built 1960-63. Modern architecture from sixty years ago.The Scots language/the Scots leid:Fleemin Hoose, Glesca. Biggit 1960-63. Modren architectur frae saxtie year syne.
Gregor MacMinto 