Incident
by Norman MacCaig
I look across the table and think
(fiery with love)
Ask me, go on, ask me
to do something impossible,
something freakishly useless,
something unimaginable and inimitable
Like making a finger break into blossom
or walking for half an hour in twenty minutes
or remembering tomorrow.
I will you to ask it.
But all you say is
Will you give me a cigarette?
And I smile and,
returning to the marvelous world
of possibility
I give you one
with a hand that trembles
with a human trembling.
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Toad by Norman MacCaig
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April 6, 2023: Toad, Norman MacCaig
Toad
Norman MacCaig
Stop looking like a purse. How could a purse
squeeze under the rickety door and sit,
full of satisfaction, in a man's house?
You clamber towards me on your four corners -
right hand, left foot, left hand, right foot.
I love you for being a toad,
for crawling like a Japanese wrestler,
and for not being frightened.
I put you in my purse hand, not shutting it,
and set you down outside directly under
every star.
A jewel in your head? Toad,
you've put one in mine,
a tiny radiance in a dark place.
--
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- iPhone photo by Dimpy Bhalotia
Flying boys, Varanasi, India, 2020
With this photo, taken with an IPhone 10, she received the grand prize in the 2020 IPhone Photography Awards. The boys are jumping off a man-made cliff into the Ganges River to beat the heat in the Indian summers.
[Jim Fagiolo]
* * * *
Space opens and from the heart of the matter sheds a descending grace that makes for a moment, that naked thing, Being, a thing to understand.
-Norman MacCaig
[quidnunc]
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Uncle Roderick
Norman MacCaig
Published in The Many Days: Selected Poems of Norman MacCaig (Birlinn, 2013)
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Summer Farm
Norman MacCaig
Straws like tame lightnings lie about the grass
And hang zigzag on hedges. Green as glass
The water in the horse-trough shines.
Nine ducks go wobbling by in two straight lines.
A hen stares at nothing with one eye,
Then picks it up. Out of an empty sky
A swallow falls and, flickering through
The barn, dives up again into the dizzy blue.
I lie, not thinking, in the cool, soft grass,
Afraid of where a thought might take me – as
This grasshopper with plated face
Unfolds his legs and finds himself in space.
Self under self, a pile of selves I stand
Threaded on time, and with metaphysic hand
Lift the farm like a lid and see
Farm within farm, and in the centre, me.
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Edinburgh Park, EH12
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A poem by Norman MacCaig
Between mountain and sea
Honey and salt – land smell and sea smell,
as in the long ago, as in forever.
The days pick me up and carry me off,
half-child, half-prisoner,
on their journey that I’ll share
for a while.
They wound and they bless me
with strange gifts:
the salt of absence,
the honey of memory.
Norman MacCaig
(1910-1996)
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The Root of It -- Norman MacCaig
On the rug by the fire
a stack of vocabulary rose up, confidently
piling adjectives and nouns and
tiny muscular verbs, storey by storey,
till they reached
almost to the ceiling. The word at the bottom
was love.
I rushed from the room. I
did not believe it. Feverishly
I turned over the pages of the dictionary
to find the blank spaces
they had left behind them--and there they were,
terrible as eyesockets.
What am I to do? What
am I to do? For I know
that tall stack would collapse,
every word would fly back and fill
those terrible spaces,
if I could snatch that word
from the bottom of the pile--if
I could learn again
the meaning of love.
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Recipe | Norman MacCaig
You have to be stubborn.
You have to turn away
from meditation, from ideologies,
from the tombstone face
of the Royal Bank of Scotland.
You have to keep stubbornly saying
This is bread, though it’s in a sunset,
this is a sunset with bread in it.
This is a woman, she doesn’t live
In a book or an imagination.
Hello, water, you must say, Hello
Good water.
You have to touch wood, but not for luck.
You have to listen to that matter of pitches and crescendos
without thinking Beethoven is speaking
only for you
And you must learn there are words
with no meaning, words like consolation
words like goodbye.
via @JohnMcCullough
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Woo I wrote another endeavour fic!
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In the meadows and clouds on Tsoodził (Mount Taylor) in the Sierra San Mateo, Cibola Co, NM. Photo: Seth Betterly (Sep 30, 2022) :: [Scott Horton]
* * * *
Space opens and from the heart of the matter
sheds a descending grace that makes
for a moment, that naked thing, Being,
a thing to understand.
-Norman MacCaig
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Toad, Norman MacCaig
Published in The Poems of Norman MacCaig (Birlinn, 2011)
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