Jim was passionate about the creativity of language, what it can do to expand our imaginations and empathies and deepen our most human interactions. He believed that access to cultural wealth and privilege, irrespective of background and income, was a democratic birth right. It was precisely because Jim had transformed himself so much through Higher Read More
While many remember Jim from Dundee, my most precious memories are of our times together in St Andrews, where I lived and he often visited. We talked, shared stories of children, loves, beliefs and literature while drinking coffee and, more often than not, wine. This pen and ink drawing is of the ruined cathedral in Read More
(For Jim, An excerpt) When teatime-hame folk thrang the street And head for pleasures, dark and sweet As learning days are wearing late And full-time students congregate While they sit boozing at the Union Downing wine like last-communion They think na of the puir wee sowels Wha nichtly haunt the Uni’s bowels Heading for their Read More
For Jim As I Slowly Circle You Twice Then out With A Smile, Dummy Out I Say HELLO BOY Tears From You Fall As You Cry Out To Mum “Rosalind’s Forgotten Me” Time Helped Me Remember You And Now Look At Us Out In The Garden Digging With Spoons We Smile For The Camera MY JIMMY And Read More
for Jim V-neck sweater, cord trousers and laced shoes is in Dalhousie, Tower, at a corner of DCA’s Jute Bar, behind that circular table covered by a floral cloth a fruit bowl in centre, in a felt coat and flat cap a rucksack on both shoulders, a maple wood handled umbrella above his head or Read More
for Jim They asked about the man in black; why does he wear the darkness so? I answered; Not the black of dull disguise but dapper coat drawn over clothes, clothes over flesh, flesh over soul. Not the black of a mourner’s hat but a flat cap that holds the lid upon a wise and Read More
For Jim Where the Tay flows wide To meet the tide Of the ocean’s spray That churned the way For many ships to wander free With Dundee’s yarns across the sea You returned To weave your yarns To spin swift tales In colourful bales That held the magic of your charm That kept your listeners Read More
for Jim On a cool, bright March morning, winded climbing Seabraes lane, I watched some blackbirds, hedgerow shy but full of song, digging and flicking, working soil. Upslope two gulls brawled noisily, heads bent low, necks extended, heaving choking calls over last night’s spoils: chips, cold and congealed. Just as quick, an easeful calm restored, two heads sideways turned – curious looks Read More
for Jim Call us common glow worms but we’re bioluminescent beetles. Newborn living lights, not like those old-as-dust stars. They will not return your gaze. They are looking down on Vikings. Step into your garden and watch our earthly constellations. Cradle us in your palm. Look us straight in the eye. © Jacqueline Thompson
This downhill roll pulls far hills close, removes the river between the stub field and the chalked snow light on the Sidlaws. No sense of that labour through narrows, the dark which swills the firth, currents past seal-banks, crossed by a strength of bridge. No sense at all. Sometimes that works. © Beth Mcdonough Ed Read More