Their haunting sound calls out to me:
“Come home...come home;” across the sea
to highlands, and to castle keeps,
to lowland lakes with monster deep.
The Shetland Isles, the Hebrides—
I feel them calling out to me.
This ancient land, a mother’s pride;
it’s in her dream that I abide.
I feel the pull deep in my bones—
The pipes, the pipes…they call me home.
© Ginny Brannan 2013
 |
| Map Image, St. Ninian's Isle, Scotland, provided by The Mag |
Poets often write in different “voices” and this is written in the "voice" of my husband. His Scottish heritage hails from his mother's family, with names of Wilson from the Gunn Clan from Caithness; and Gibson from the clan Buchanan— with history dating back to 11th
century origins on the eastern shores of Loch Lomond. We've been to Ireland and hope to visit Scotland someday. Those pipes are calling...
Written for The Mag #186. Image provided by Tess Kincaid. She provides the image, we the story!
Ginny, this touched me ~~ bagpipe music melts my heart. Your poem is lovely beyond words. Thank you for the back story ... very interesting.
ReplyDeletemmm i love the pipes...pretty cool that your hubby knows that much of his history as well...
ReplyDeleteLove this Ginny! I have a bit of Scott in me too, and now I can feel the pipes calling to me too! The rhythm of your words evokes them so well.
ReplyDeleteThe sound of the pipes is captivating. Yes, it can well be a pull back to the old country. From one of the many inherited lineage of your hubby! Beautiful take, Ginny!
ReplyDeleteHank
And well they should! The most haunting and hypnotic of sounds.
ReplyDeletelove the pipes...feel the pull...x
ReplyDeleteI think I hear them, too!
ReplyDeleteI hear them, too...
ReplyDeleteDon’t leave their call unanswered . . . .
ReplyDeleteGinny,
ReplyDeleteWhat an outstanding song. You have such an ear for it! I, myself, hail from Clan Moffat and Clan Sterling. I hope to follow the pipes, too; soon!
Steve
This ancient land, a mother’s pride;
ReplyDeleteit’s in her dream that I abide.
I think this is how all us True Brits feel about our own bit of the UK. Everywhere is so steeped in history and ancient traditions. Your poem catches the emotions exactly. :)
The pipes play the magic of your words :-)
ReplyDeleteThat hinterland that calls us.... Thanks, so finely wrought
ReplyDeleteMagical words - truly lovely.
ReplyDeleteAnna :o]
They're calling me, too. Someday we'll make it back!
ReplyDelete"the eastern shores of Loch Lomond"... if that isn't poetic, I don't know what is. Yes, you go there and I can only imagine what wonderful writing will follow!
ReplyDelete