Liz Lochhead likes to write poems about other poets. So I am doing the same to her - although mine are not quite as good!
Liz Lochhead's Lanark is lost.
Lost in the land that is lost
For our legends were lies.
Lost is the miner, the hardman, the tinker
as lost as Kier Hardie and metal refined;
lost the piss-takers, myth-makers, bin-rakers
as lost as the foundries and strength of the pound.
Lost are the carter, the weaver and Owen
Coatbridge is New Embra, lost in Brigadoon;
lost are the marchers, the fifers, the drummers
lost is this ghost band, re-treading old ground.
Liz Lochhead's Lanark's not lost
in the generous smile of the aunties
Lanark lives on in Liz Lochhead
new stories carved by old mother Clyde.
May 1 on the Pacific Crest Trail, 35 Years Ago
6 hours ago