The Poetry Chain
Each month we will be sharing a poem or workshop delivered by a poet across Scotland to inspire and support you create your own poetry.
The Poetry Chain with… Jackie Kay
This month the Scottish Makar herself shares her story of how she became a writer and passes on her wisdom as to the tools you need to become a writer yourself!
Watch the video below:
The Poetry Chain with… Louise Peterkin
Edinburgh-based poet Louise Peterkin shares her poem on the theme of place. ‘FoS’, standing for Fortress of Solitude, which is Superman’s den in the North Pole, focuses on what Superman does when he’s finished saving the world!
Watch the video below:
Sometimes, I just want to hang around in my pants.
Baggy ones. Boxers. Not close fitting red scunners
clutching my crotch over bright blue tights,
like someone pulling clenched fists to their chest –
Yesssss! The world’s been saved. Again.
Lois calls it my man den
which shows a wilfulinability to acknowledge
its staggering beauty: a frozen lotus or a water lily
blasted into icy protrusions, a silvery pyre
of test tubes and broken hearts, cupped
cold candle in the wild’s screaming tundra.
I mean, look at this place. Under microscope
the snowflake has the explicit gleam
of a ninja star. My fortress holds the same
Arctic persuasion. Seen from afar it fells
whole expeditions to their knees, huskies
leaping round them like Mexican tree frogs.
That’s just the facade. Step inside folks,
for a universe of awesome! My frozen parents
look down reproachfully as I hurtle through
the arc of their statues. I got bored
one day, manipulated two of my robot servants
into a Segway. Cape flapping, I thunder past
the scattered scrap, their blinking data
muted to embers. The antechamber splinters
out to forever rooms of Krypton technology,
glaive-like armoury, salient and glassy as science.
But I am the weapon, my laser beam eyes
carve figures from house sized
blocks of ice. Or heat up a nice bowl of ramen.
It’s great in here: I scratch myself often and well,
apply full blast zeal to my…emissions.
There’s so much to do, though as a rule
I avoid the alien zoo with its scuttling noises,
the currency smell of the reptile. Best of all:
my games pavilion with its many consoles. I wield
the controller and in a flurry of thumbs,
my tongue sticking out in concentration
I make the pixelated avatar jump
over impossible chasms, hurl huge boulders
into oncoming villains who shudder and explode
like champagne into a million and one constellations. Louise Peterkin