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Sure amn't I tellin yiz this long time that Tennyson writ 'The Splendour Falls' afther a thrip to the county Kerry, but did I know he'd writ this sthurrin payse o' paddywhackery too? Divil a bit I did!

Drinking from the fount of resipiscence in the very last thing that Ruskin wrote.

A church group asked to me give them a talk on Scottish religious poetry, and here are my closing remarks on Edwin Muir’s ‘One Foot in Eden’, a poem I have long loved.

Skull, stinkhorn and deadly nightshade before the mist of a Cairngorms wildfire suddenly descended.

Having known Justin Quinn’s father, Jack, I am terribly moved by this essay of Justin’s in the new Dublin Review.

A poem by my fellow Paterian (as I like to think of him) Alex Wong, from the first issue of Arderyth House, a new poetry journal based in… doesn’t actually say.

I think death by pseudo-Scotticizing these days can be safely reserved for people who mispronounce the names of single malts.

As I approach the age at which MacNeice died, I find I have much catching up to do with that poet’s startling epiphanies of death lying in wait for us amid the everyday. One thing at least I can tick off the to-do list, though, is middle-aged pseudo-Scottisizing (this is from ‘Ten Burnt Offerings’).

He was not above a spot of neo-tonal dabbling himself, as in the Iron Brigade of 1916. I also heartily commend Webern's settings of Schubert's German Dances to you. www.youtube.com/watch?v=B88P...

Air leith toilichte seo fhaicinn/delighted to see this. press.princeton.edu/books/hardco...

John Ruskin and the fine art of the invited lecture.

I am haunted by this review of Edward Thomas’s in which he declares that the poems of Ernest Dowson are the ‘comic, terrible cry of the superfluous man.’

A long-ago photograph of the British Extracting Company on the river Hull.

Right out of our skins we jumped watching this curled shot of Kevin Keegan’s. www.youtube.com/watch?v=P9yR... #KevinKeegan #footballhaiku

I often store texts of poems with rejected lines stuck on at the end, in case I might ever want to revisit them. Today I was sent a proof of a poem with a wagging tail of rejected lines at the bottom of the page, whose presence there I had forgotten. Should I now just leave them in?!

Ashes, ashes, wet swill, dry swill, bones. (Near Darlington.)

A swallows’ nest on an old fusebox.

And not forgetting this chap:

Del Boyish flourish on local mansion here in the village (near Rutland).

Do you take reFUGE in a book by Scotus ErIUGena or maintain a scholastic deMEANour reading Scotus EriuGENa?