Poem by Andrew McCallum, Scotland (Published in Issue 26)
You accompany me by the low road,
brother in stone,
hand in hand,
by Stenness and Brodgar from the yetts of Skara Brae,
passing the ends of perfection you envisaged
as grace threading each crooked aperture,
the faultless line, the perfect circle.
Other kings who have passed
have left remains of their forgotten names,
shards of skeletons,
eulogies graven in stone.
But wherever your throne has set down live blood in mortal veins
you leave us radiant, resplendent.
Even though your tomb is empty,
its darkness is ablaze with the light of your presence.
On the threshold we clink our cups,
as you add a last touch to this face
already dreaming its history.
Andrew McCallum is a Scottish poet who will have no truck with all this talk of ‘Independence’. He is currently Secretary of the Brownsbank Committee, which curates the last home of the Scottish cultural icon and perpetual oppositionist Hugh MacDiarmid. He is currently having a great time, working on a 21st century ‘reboot’ of Robert Burns’ grand tale of brownies and bogles, ‘Tam o Shanter’.