Document 1004

Poems from "Stravaigin"

Author(s): Liz Niven

Copyright holder(s): Liz Niven

Stravaigin

Like fitprints
in peat bog,
we've left wir mark.
Even the moon cairries the stamp
o a Borders man.
Strang arms reach roon the globe
sing Auld Lang Syne,

The warld wears a kilt,
nane the waur forrit.
A warp an weft o trevellers.
Wha's like us?
Fit prints like?

***

Exile

Wi'oot leavin yer ain lan
ye can still be an exile
wha watches the lies o
the lan, the leid
aw taen fae within.

A sleekit kinna wey
o kiddin ye wi
veneers o democracy.

At least here in Prague
it wis clear that
oppressors wir in.
An ye kent fir sure
when they left.

***

Tourists at Auschwitz

We'd been telt
nae birds wid sing.

True it wis bit tall trees
shrooded brick wark camps.

Row upon row, they stretcht,
far as the greetin een cuid see.

Hidden fae view,
gas chaumers lay buriet,
unner foondations crummlt,
as butcher builders fleed.

A million an a hauf stanes pave
memorials in monie tungs.
A brick fir ilka deid sowel.
Vyces are low, few picters taen.

Nearhaun,a watter-fillt hollow,
algae covert, still hauds human ash.
A haun-wringin guide tells us mair.
Wirds hing heavy.

Intae sic silence,
a green puddock lowps a perfit bow,
oan the staignant loch.

Information about Document 1004

Poems from "Stravaigin"