BurnedThumb

Website of poet Elizabeth Rimmer


August 2022


  • August Roundup

    herb bed at the Meadows Community Garden

    The Edinburgh Festivals are all happening again, and it has been lovely to be out and about. This photo is of the Community Gardens on the Meadows where I had the privilege of giving a creative writing workshop. The gardeners are lovely friendly people, and the work produced was very inspiring and exciting, but it was also wonderful to see the garden I’ve been hearing about so long. There are vegetable beds, fruit bushes, a compost heap, a bug hotel and some deep beds constructed and cared for by a local primary school, seating spaces and a table for shared meals. There are no fences so as to encourage anyone passing to access the space, and even a book swap box.

    a noticeboard backed with a glazed cupboard, books on the shelves behind the doors.

    I’ve been to some book festival events, hearing Ada Limon read from her amazing new collection – she was meant to be there in person, but couldn’t, as at the last minute she had to be sworn in as the new Senate Poet Laureate. I had also been to a discussion about it hosted by fellow Squirrel Sam Tongue, and it was a particular thrill to hear Ada Limon read some of the poems we discussed. And then yesterday I had an editorial meeting with a new poet I will be working with in the next few months.

    I can’t overstate what a delight and joy it was to be able to talk poetry in real life, and I’m very grateful to the people who gave me the opportunities. I’m not sure how they felt about it, though, as I was so excited I overflowed with talk like a shaken lemonade bottle. There needs to be much more of this in my life!

    Over the next week I will be at Moniack Mhor and when I came back I will be at the launch of The Earth Is Our Home, an anthology dealing with questions of the climate crisis, war, migration and other issues affecting human inhabitation of the earth. It is edited by Gerry Loose, and the launch will happen at the CCA on Sauchiehall Street Glasgow at 7pm.

    Otherwise, I’ve been reading Don Paterson’s The Poem, which is a big deep dive into the mechanism of poetry, but full of the kind of linguistics I tried to escape from as soon as possible, working on a revised and annotated translation of The Charm of Nine Herbs, and assembling some new poems, at last. The garden has been in survival mode lately, but next month there will be bulb planting deep mulching and some rethinking of the borders. I am hoping to start newsletters again, not so often, but more regularly, with advance notice of what’s coming up, and some content that is different from this blog, so please sign up via my contact page if you would like to receive it.


  • High Summer on the Hill of Stones

    hawthorn trees in front of a row of houses. A wide strip of long grass in front of that. Bright sunshine

    When I was seven, just before leaving infant school, we were suddenly allowed to play on the field behind the playground, which had been out of bounds for years. The land had been sold for housing and the grass had grown wild easily to chest height for small children. For days we lost ourselves in the grass, exploring, hiding, and laying ambushes for each other, and it was one of the happiest and most unusual memories of that time. The bit of haggard land behind our house in the picture above has been similarly neglected this year, and the grass is lush and seeding. And last Friday, five small boys spent hours there, playing hide and seek and jumping out on each other, just as we did. It was brilliant. Two nights ago, there was a fox barking there, at another fox up in the fields up the hill. It is strange to be able to see and hear things like this when our estate is so relentlessly, predictably suburban, but this bit of Glasgow is like that.

    hogweeds

    It has been – and still is – a very flowery summer. Vetches, honeysuckle, meadowsweet, fireweed, enchanters’ nightshade and all the umbellifers of the roadside have given us their best. Now there are rowan berries, apples forming on the wild tree along the footpath and the first blackberries are ripe. The garden is quieter, but the robins are practising for their winter territory grab, and the goldfinches are investigating the hawthorn trees behind the house. This year’s gulls are trying out their voices – as raw and wobbly as teenaged boys, and the swallows and house martins are stretching their wings before they leave.

    The garden has dried out a lot – I’ve even had to water the lavender – but the betony has found a bit of shade, and I suspect, an underground watercourse

    wood betony in flower, in the dappled shade of a fence

    The borage and marigolds have enjoyed the sun

    marigolds in full sun

    but I’ve had to move the mints into the shade – they were beginning to look quite shell-shocked. The rain forecast for Monday will be more than welcome!

    Already I am thinking about bulbs for next year, and some annuals to sow in the autumn for an early start. The first compost bin has been emptied to mulch the roses. When the children go back to school next week, a new cycle will begin, with three books to edit, some new poems, a new writing project to work on, and a poetry discussion group to plan. With a lot of family changes to navigate, and all the political and economic turbulence to come, it feels good to have a place of stability to work from.



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