The Poet in the City

Rain stockaded Glasgow; we paused, changed gears, 
found him solitary but cheerful in
Anniesland, with the cheerfulness you’d win,
we imagined, through schiltrons of banked fears.
The spears had a most sombre glint, as if
the forced ranks had re-closed, but there he wrote
steadily, with a peg for the wet coat
he’d dry and put on soon. Gulls cut the cliff
of these houses, we watched him follow them
intently, see them beat and hear them scream
about the invisible sea they smelt
and fish-white boats they raked from stern to stem
although their freedom was in fact his dream
of freedom with all guilts all fears unfelt. 

(c) Edwin Morgan. Poems appear with kind permission of Carcanet Press and Mariscat Press. Images by kind permission of EdwinMorgan.com. With thanks to Edwin and the Scottish Poetry Library.