ROBIN Robertson offers some memorable perspectives on the capital city in this poem, first printed in A Painted Field (Picador, 1997) and also included in The Edinburgh Book of Twentieth-Century Scottish Poetry (EUP, 2005).

FLAGS OF AUTUMN from CAMERA OBSCURA

Thorn grows flat against the flank of Calton Hill,

wind grooming the close wall

has disinclined the snappers

in the tour-coach below; they stay inside.

The empty lanyards slap against the poles.

To the south, the castle, Arthur’s Seat:

basalt wedges, door-stops

holding open history.

Skeins of the tour-guide’s commentary

ravel past the rock

In snatches; the lone piper

tugs on a cigarette

and marches back to his car:

gonfalons of Gold Leaf

fray and separate behind.

To the north, the bright regalia

of the panel-beaten Firth.

A squall lifts the gorse

at the brink of the sea-fall:

The sky’s film turned to fast-forward

as clouds bloom

like milk in water.

The rabbits scud and veer

through the flattening grass

and disappear with summer.

Put up like kites in the pulling rain, gulls

skirl their greeting over the stones.

And where we sat, stunned, that day,

those months ago: crows strut. Their black flags

flare and gutter in the gale.

Desire becomes sorrow

just as night follows day

and today becomes tomorrow.