Kathleen Jamie: Influential Scottish Poet and Writer

Her poetry is strongly influenced by the natural and linguistic environment in which she lives Hence her use of Scots not only for critique but mainly to create harmonies between tone, idiom, sound and natural image Readers typically take delight in the harmonious rhythms and smoothly flowing images of her poems

Born in the west of Scotland, Kathleen Jamie studied philosophy at Edinburgh University At 19 she won the prestigious Eric Gregory Award, which enabled her to explore the Himalayas, and at 20 she published her first poetry collection, Black Spiders (1982) Jamie resists being identified solely as a Scottish poet, a woman writer, or a nature poet Instead, she aims for her poetry to provide a sort of connective tissue Jamie writes musical poems that attend to the intersection of landscape, history, gender, and language She often engages Scots speech in her poetry, enjoying the feel of it and the texture of it in the mouth

She is the author of numerous collections of poetry, including The Bonniest Company (2015), Waterlight (2007), and The Tree House (2004), which won the Forward Prize for best poetry collection of the year, and a Scottish Arts Council Book of the Year Award Travel and observation inform Jamie s poetry, and she has written several creative nonfiction books, including The Golden Peak: Travels in North Pakistan (1992) She collaborated on The Autonomous Region: Poems and Photographs from Tibet (1993) with photographer Sean Mayne Smith

I am a poet and a writer of non-fiction. I began writing poetry in my teens and published a first booklet at the age of 20. Since then, writing has remained the touchstone of my life. It s where I do my best thinking, and where I rub up against the world. I was raised in Currie, Midlothian, the child of an ordinary, non- literary Scottish background. Writing poetry was an odd thing to do. I don t know why it began, but it was secretive and liberating and real. In my younger days travel informed my work. Visits to the mountains of the Eastern Karakoram (Northern Pakistan) produced my travel book Among Muslims. I have what Robert Louis Stevenson called a strong Scots accent of the mind and my constellation of interests seem to include the natural world, archaeology, medical humanities, and art. To produce work I ve walked and sailed many miles, and benefitted from the company and expertise of visual artists, pathologists, curators, ornithologists, and from encounters with other species too, especially birds and whales.

Reviews and occasional writings appear in such journals as The Guardian, the London Review of Books and Orion (USA). I love the intimacy of radio, and have written for BBC Radio 3 and 4. My poems have appeared on the Underground systems of London, New York and Shanghai This all sounds very grand, but the muse comes and she goes. There are times of intense writing, and times of silence. I ve been publishing now for above 30 years, and still feel that it s all provisional. I never can tell what will happen next

Moon Last night, when the moon slipped into my attic room as an oblong of light, I sensed she d come to commiserate. It was August. She travelled with a small valise of darkness, and the first few stars returning to the northern sky, and my room, it seemed, had missed her. She pretended an interest in the bookcase while other objects stirred, as in a rock pool, with unexpected life: strings of beads in their green bowl gleamed, the paper-crowded desk; the books, too, appeared inclined to open and confess. Being sure the moon harbored some intention,

I waited; watched for an age her cool gaze shift first toward a flower sketch pinned on the far wall then glide down to recline along the pinewood floor, before I d had enough. Moon, I said, We re both scarred now. Are they quite beyond you, the simple words of love? Say them. You are not my mother; with my mother, I waited unto death

The Study Moon, what do you mean, entering my study like a curiosity shop, stroking in mild concern the telescope mounted on its tripod, the books, the attic stair? You who rise by night, who draw the inescapable world closer, a touch, to your gaze why query me? What s mine is yours; but you ve no more need of those implements than a deer has, browsing in a glade. Moon, your work- worn face bright outside unnerves me. Please, be on your way.

The Dipper It was winter, near freezing, I'd walked through a forest of firs when I saw issue out of the waterfall a solitary bird. It lit on a damp rock, and, as water swept stupidly on, wrung from its own throat supple, undammable song. It isn't mine to give. I can't coax this bird to my hand that knows the depth of the river yet sings of it on land.

Describe the ways in which Jamie creates the sense of natural harmony in her texts. How does she achieve the effect of familiarity and intimacy with her subjects in terms of form? Find and analyse parallels between motherhood and moonlight in Moon . Try to interpret The Study within the framework of a dialogue between the speaker and the moon. Find examples of the interplay of senses in The Dipper and relate them to the overall atmosphere of the poem.