‘…but the choicest of our hard wrought poems…’
by Marie Marshall
On the glass frontage of the Scottish Poetry Library in Edinburgh are the following lines, translated from Gaelic by poet Derick Thomson:
It is not gold or other treasure
that you will get from me in special;
it is not tribute, or gift of cattle,
but the choicest of our hard-wrought poems.
Amongst the ‘hard-wrought poems’ now deposited there is a signed copy of my new collection, I am not a fish, which I have gifted to the Library. It was delivered there today by my literary agent. On the same trip he also deposited a copy of my novel, Lupa, at the National Library of Scotland. Each is a drop in Scotland’s literary ocean, but it feels like a big deal to me.