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Nov 27, 2024 | 
thetablet.co.uk | John Burnside
What if my mother walked home in the greyof morning, one last dayof berry season, warm dust on a bedroomRegister for free to read this article in fullSubscribe for unlimited access Complete access to all Tablet website content including all premium content. The full weekly edition in print and digital including our 179 years archive. PDF version to view on iPad, iPhone or computer. Already a subscriber?
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Oct 16, 2024 | 
lrb.co.uk | John Burnside
God Bless the ChildOf fathering, so little can be saidthat carries weight in this, or any world:the firstborn in his caulof ravensdown,the second, a capella from the realmof mole and sphagnum. Later, they repent and come to heelso gladly that the whole house swells with pride,a gown for her,a morning coat for him,lambswool and satin, midnight blueand gold,an ounce of civetstitched through every seam.
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Jul 25, 2024 | 
newstatesman.com | John Burnside
Even before I heard it, I knew it was there, a new resonance that seemed to come, not from the Links, where the Highland Games were just about to begin, but from somewhere in myself: soft, at first, then harder, but still not quite audible, a pure rhythm that felt deeper than sound, building in the pit of my stomach until, finally, I heard it.
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Jun 26, 2024 | 
lrb.co.uk | John Burnside
Notes towards a Devotio ModernaIAs if there was a sky where we couldpause a while, like medievalpilgrims, we are patient to the lastand have no thought of After, or the godsthat might have been: the green amidst the black,the changelings, or the newly resurrected.
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Jun 22, 2024 | 
poetryfoundation.org | John Burnside
About this Poet Poet and novelist John Burnside was born in Dunfermline, Scotland. He attended Cambridgeshire College of Arts and Technology, where he studied English and European languages. A computer analyst and software engineer for many years, Burnside began publishing poetry in the 1980s. He is a prolific... More About this Poet
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Jun 12, 2024 | 
lrb.co.uk | John Burnside
Out in the field where, once,we played Dead Man’s Fall,the others are being calledthrough the evening dusk– Kenny and Marek, the Corrigans, Alex McClure –mothers and sisters calling them home for teafrom kitchens fogged with steam and buttered toast,broth on the hot plate, ham hough and yellow lentils. Barely a wave, then they’re gone, till no one is left,and the dark from the woods closes in on myself alone,the animals watching, the older godscouched in the shadows.
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May 8, 2024 | 
newstatesman.com | John Burnside
First hard frost. The old gods gone to groundin dry-stane walls and siltedditchworks, sleetin squalls along the ridge,then nothing: silence;grey on grey on grey. I walk out to the far edge of the yardand stare into the distance, almostsure that I am seenby all I know is therebut cannot see:echoed, in a line of stunted gorsealong the roadside; noticed, then dismissedas not quite animal enoughto hunt, or fear.
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May 1, 2024 | 
newstatesman.com | John Burnside
Recent scenes of two panicked Household Cavalry horses galloping through the London streets were eerily poignant, for several reasons. First, the sight of a white horse covered in fresh, bright blood was in itself a terrible but powerfully evocative image (echoes of Picasso, or Géricault, immediately came to mind). The elegant dark horse running by its side reminded me of Black Jack, the riderless horse from John F Kennedy’s funeral parade.
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Apr 25, 2024 | 
booksfromscotland.com | John Burnside |Brewster’s Yard |Ida Tarczynska
‘The heart is not intact. It never was. It founders in the provinces of Thou’John Burnside is the winner of the David Cohen Prize for Literature. Ruin, Blossom is a remarkable new collection exploring ageing, mortality and environmental destruction. We’re delighted to share four poems from this striking new collection here at BooksfromScotland.
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Apr 3, 2024 | 
newstatesman.com | John Burnside
Until recently, I didn’t watch much television. I would tune in to sports events, or the odd documentary, but most TV seemed fairly tedious – which is another way of saying that there aren’t many programmes on offer for my demographic. With the arrival of my grandson, however, I find myself glued to the screen for all kinds of children’s shows, from reruns of In the Night Garden to winsome cartoons about talking vegetables.
