Clifftops full of birds are noisy places at the best of times, but Donald S Murray’s amusing scenario, punning on the word “rock”, takes pop-musical anarchy and allusion to new heights. Murray comes from Ness in the isle of Lewis and is a head teacher of English by background. His poetry has been widely anthologised. This poem can be found in the Edinburgh Book of Scottish Poetry (EUP, 2005) and A Year of Scottish Poems (Macmillan, 2018).

LESLEY DUNCAN

 

AN INCOMPLETE HISTORY OF ROCK MUSIC IN THE HEBRIDES

Peewits quiffed like Elvis reel from rocks, their sheen of feathers like blue suede

the breeze buffs in the midday air.

‘He loves ewe. Meah! Meah! Meah!’

bleat a Fat Four of blackface sheep

beneath mop-tops of unshorn hair.

Jagged stalks of thistles strut,

flashing menace in the evening light

before a group of timeworn stones.

Spangled with glitter, starlings soar

and oystercatchers sport red lips

while herons stalk on platform soles.

Each fulmar packs its pistol.

There’s anarchy on cliff-tops

as they reel and spit on rocks below.

Then a riff is played on marram grass,

shells syncopate on shorelines as

night downs its curtains on the show.