There's nothing especially advantageous about being a Scottish poet but it means you can rhyme 'Bach' and 'loch', and 'moors' and 'conifers', so we have one or two advantages.
I listen as recorded Bach
Restates the rhythms of a loch.
Through blends of dusk and dragonflies
A music settles on my eyes
Until I hear the living moors,
Sunk stones and shadowed conifers,
And what I hear is what I see,
A summer night’s divinity.
And I am not administered
Tonight, but feel my life transferred
Beyond the realm of where I am
Into a personal extreme,
As on my wrist, my eager pulse
Counts out the blood of someone else.
Mist-moving trees proclaim a sense
Of sight without intelligence;
The intellects of water teach
A truth that’s physical and rich.
I nourish nothing with the stars,
With minerals, as I disperse,
A scattering of quavered wash
As light against the wind as ash.
First published in St Kilda's Parliament (Faber, 1981), from New Selected Poems 1964-2000 (Faber, 2003) © Douglas Dunn 2003, used by permission of the author c/o United Agents.