Thursday, 14 April 2022
A poem for the 26th annual American
National Poetry Month. On the same subject as the previous poem, Look At Me Now ....., you'll probably guess that it's a period in Scottish History which preoccupies me at lot. The notion of forced displacement, identity and belonging interests me and features in much of my work. I can only imagine what those brave folk evicted from their farms and homes during the Highland Clearances must have suffered and endured.
Clearances
They arrived in their hundreds
from across the Border, those
English and their sheep.
Loud and arrogant, they flocked
to Scotland, mindlessly like the
sheep they brought;
attracted by the notion of being
kings of the land and getting rich.
Plummy voices spread the news.
Still more came, people and sheep;
Cheviots, they were — the animals,
not the people. Their owners paid good
money to debt-ridden factors who would
one day be wealthy too. None were concerned
for the poor folk they'd evicted from their homes.
Put on ships to Australia and Canada against
their will they would soon be far from the
minds of those who'd treated them so cruelly.
And what of those souls cast away like rubbish?
Some died at sea, some of malnutrition or disease;
a few larboured hard to made their fortune in
a foreign land; some found acceptance, others
only scorn and abuse — all yearned for Scotland
where their hearts, love and loyalty still lay.
They formed small communities and colonies to
celebrate what they had left behind. Named Glasgow,
Aberdeen, Perth and such, the wives baked bannocks,
men drank whisky and wore kilts on feast days. At
Hogmanay they ate haggis and tatties, held ceilidhs
and sang Auld Lang Sine with tears in their eyes.
Scotland would always be home even for those who
never went back. Scotland was vital in their blood,
just as barley and water are essential for the whisky
that makes them feel closer to home
once in a while.
© Carola Huttmann, 14 April 2022
