Jim McGonigal left Dumfries and was educated in his senior phase in Glasgow. His parents were both catholic, teachers from working class backgrounds. He himself taught English in secondary schools and retired as Professor of English in Education in the University of Glasgow. He is very modest about his poetry, saying in his website that it has been published mainly "in small-press editions or ‘fugitive’ journals, often difficult to track down." He has had four collections published by that excellent little press Mariscat, however, the last being the 'Camphill Wren' and two collections from the up and coming Red Squirrel Press, the latest of which 'In Good Time' is out right now, so buy them from the link below. His poetry has also been published in a squad of excellent magazines over the last thirty years. He also won the Michael Marks Awards for Poetry Pamphlets with 'Cloud Pibroch' (Mariscat Press), in 2010, no mean feat.
He is well known too for his award winning biography of Edwin Morgan, Jim building on a long association with the poet to write a comprehensive and compelling narrative of the poet's life. 'Beyond the Last Dragon: A Life of Edwin Morgan' (2010 hardback, then 2012 in paperback) was based on the poet’s extensive collection papers, letters and manuscripts which he had donated to the Department of Special Collections in Glasgow University Library.
Here Jim is pondering our legacy in the planet, through trees, firstly reading the final part of 'Dendachronic Recall' and then 'I Wonder Which School'.
http://jamesmcgonigal.com/?LMCL=bNksoR
Four poems and SPL Profile here:
https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poet/james-mcgonigal/
Three poems from Glasgow Review of Books here:
https://glasgowreviewofbooks.com/2015/03/06/new-poetry-by-james-mcgonigal/
https://www.redsquirrelpress.com/catalogue
Release of Prisoners (From 'Cloud Pibroch', Mariscat Press)
How could we have held clouds in both hands
and wrung them out like dishcloths? Our children
woke with snowflakes on their brows.
Can I return to the main point of this illness,
the immediate wound, after some attempts
to stop its tongue of blood?
Starlight must have blessed the skin
and broken it—or voices just outside the tent
have sung us wide awake.
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