None of us get out at all now, but even before lockdown I didn’t emerge too much from the hills into the white hot crucible that is Scotlit. One such occasion though recently was a visit to Edinburgh to a 'Poetry and Cake' event organised by Henry Marsh at Henderson’s Vegetarian Cafe in Edinburgh. I approached this with some trepidation partly because I feel that poetry and cake, despite what some might say, does not have the same satisfying cosmic resonance as poetry and beer and partly because my previous jaunts there had been with my ex-mother in law, but the event was a huge success, a crowded and warm audience, many book sales and other readers that were entertaining. It was the first time I’d heard Finola Scott read more than one poem, and I was taken by both the poetry and the performance. Listening to poets read is such an important thing- that’s really part of the justification of this project. What did Socrates say to Phidias? 'A bunch of words is just a bunch of words, you can't interrogate them further'. Readings give you a door into particular poems and Finola Scott is a very accomplished reader.
Finola Scott writes in Scots and English. In 2018 she won the Uist poetry Competition, was a winner of the Blue Nib Chapbook competition, the winner of the Dundee Law Competition and runner up in Coast to Coast's pamphlet competition. Her poetry is widely published, appearing in The Ofi Press, Ink Sweat & Tears, Gutter and Firth ,as well as many other magazines and anthologies. In February 2020 ‘Much Left Unsaid’ was published by Red Squirrel Press.
Watch Finola doing some Wild Swimming:
A Review of ‘Much Left Unsaid’ published by Red Squirrel Press in February 2020 with some poems from it here:
https://www.google.co.uk/amp/s/atriumpoetry.com/2020/02/02/featured-publication-much-left-unsaid-by-finola-scott/amp/
The weight of rock
between head and larks.
The hole in the clog
to set drip-water free.
The tease of sparkle
along ebony faults.
The wrench of oxide
from miser stone.
The chill of geology
scraping at skin.
The stench of tallow
crowding the space.
The scramble when short
straw is pulled.
The laughter at bait,
the suck on clay pipe.
The bargains we strike
with bosses, pals and God.
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