Hi Ann,
I get a feel for the guy/of the guy in this poem.
I feel two lines cause me problems, tho:
The "dazzled by each grassy blade's silvered metamorphosis" seems to have 
too many words in it. Perhaps I'm also thinking he didn't go in for big 
words as well... The image is great - but I feel it would work just as well 
with simpler words.
And the line: "at Skara Brae," isn't saying enough to stand on its own. 
Every other line does something, this just flows on from the line before 
it... It might start to get better (IMHO) if the lines were altered in the 
stanza:
"I thought I saw him once, not too long ago,
sat (motionless/alone/whatever?) at Scara Brae
beside the sea girt stones..."
And because the night-dasies is such an unusual way of mentioning stars it 
might be worth a footnote - it's such an amazing image, I love it!
As a (grammatical) puzzle - which might be puzzling me because I know who 
GMB is (George Mackay Brown)... the line "I thought I saw him once" need not 
refer to GMB (because I feel it should be "I thought I saw you once") so I 
get a double take here! Both the GMB who the poem is "for" and some 
mysterious charachter that the poem infers could be as old as Skara Brae 
itself. Is that what you intend?
I think I'd also put the whole name, not just GMB, beneath the title. I 
think if anyone saw this and wanted to know more his poem's would then get 
another fan or two! I can't see anyone connected with the guy's estate 
complaining about anything either!
I love the ending. I love the poem!
Bob
PS have you come across his novels?


>From: "V. W." <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: New Sub : Skara Brae
>Date: Thu, 7 Aug 2003 10:16:53 EDT
>
>It can be dodgy laying a name to a poem, it always makes me feel a bit 
>uneasy
>in case the person in question should cringe if they were to read it.
>
>Skara Brae ( for GMB )
>
>…..and was there time for feasting, dances,
>thanksgiving fires on the shore?
>Tales told by torch light of frost and wolves?
>
>Did maids sway in the moon's glitter,
>dazzled by each grassy blade's silvered metamorphosis
>and sleek seals ride on the dark waves?
>
>A coming wedding,
>soon the old ones will sleep.
>A babe will be born, wrapped in the shawl of time,
>
>three thousand years before Rome.
>Each birthing brings him closer,
>the teller of tales, singer of songs,
>
>his voice soft as the waves
>on the grey shale,
>the world in his pocket.
>
>I thought I saw him once, not too long ago,
>sitting beside the sea girt stones
>at Skara Brae,
>
>night daisies round his head.
>Still telling the old tales,
>still singing.
>
>  Ann Stockton

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