It's great to see Liz Niven in the Backroom. Liz is one of our greatest poets not just in a Dumfries and Galloway context but in a Scottish one. She is, like myself, one of that merry band of Luath poets.
She was born in Glasgow and educated at Glasgow University and Jordanhill College of Education but has lived in Dumfries and Galloway for many years. As a teacher and a poet, she has always had a strong interest in recognising and facilitating the use of Scots language in education. She has been Scots Language Development Officer for Dumfries and Galloway Education Department and has written or edited a range of language resources to support renewed use of Scots.
Liz’s own poetry has been published in most major Scottish magazines, as well as along the River Cree in Galloway, in a commissioned collaboration with sculptors and wood-carvers. Her poetry collections include Cree Lines (2000), Stravaigin (2001), Burning Whins and Other Poems (2004), and The Shard Box (2010).Here she reads a poem called Fern - which symbolises what we’re all thinking off, hope born of darkness.
Liz’s own poetry has been published in most major Scottish magazines, as well as along the River Cree in Galloway, in a commissioned collaboration with sculptors and wood-carvers. Her poetry collections include Cree Lines (2000), Stravaigin (2001), Burning Whins and Other Poems (2004), and The Shard Box (2010).Here she reads a poem called Fern - which symbolises what we’re all thinking off, hope born of darkness.
Website here:
http://www.lizniven.com
Profile on the SPL and more poems
Here https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poet/liz-niven/
Tourists at Auschwitz
We'd been telt
nae birds wid sing.
True it wis bit tall trees
shrooded brick wark camps.
Row upon row, they stretcht,
far as the greetin een cuid see.
Hidden fae view,
gas chaumers lay buriet,
unner foondations crummlt,
as butcher builders fleed.
A million an a hauf stanes pave
memorials in monie tungs.
A brick fir ilka deid sowel.
Vyces are low, few picters taen.
Nearhaun,a watter-fillt hollow,
algae covert, still hauds human ash.
A haun-wringin guide tells us mair.
Wirds hing heavy.
Intae sic silence,
a green puddock lowps a perfit bow,
oan the staignant loch.
Profile on the SPL and more poems
Here https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poet/liz-niven/
Tourists at Auschwitz
We'd been telt
nae birds wid sing.
True it wis bit tall trees
shrooded brick wark camps.
Row upon row, they stretcht,
far as the greetin een cuid see.
Hidden fae view,
gas chaumers lay buriet,
unner foondations crummlt,
as butcher builders fleed.
A million an a hauf stanes pave
memorials in monie tungs.
A brick fir ilka deid sowel.
Vyces are low, few picters taen.
Nearhaun,a watter-fillt hollow,
algae covert, still hauds human ash.
A haun-wringin guide tells us mair.
Wirds hing heavy.
Intae sic silence,
a green puddock lowps a perfit bow,
oan the staignant loch.
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