Robert Crawford (Scottish poet)

"Ghetto-makars, tae the knackirs' Wi aw yir schemes, yir smug dour dreams O yir ain feet. Yi're beat By yon new Scoatlan loupin tae yir street..."

"Throw all your stagey chandeliers in wheel-barrows and move them north To celebrate my mother's sewing-machine And her beneath an eighty-watt bulb, pedalling Iambs on an antique metal footplate."

"Semiconductor country, land crammed with intimate expanses, Your cities are superlattices, heterojunctive Graphed from the air, your cropmarked farmlands Are epitaxies of tweed."

"Among circuitboard crowsteps To be miniaturised is not small-minded. To love you needs more details than the Book of Kells — Your harbours, your photography, your democratic intellect Still boundless, chip of a nation."

"Thinking of Helensburgh, J. G. Frazer Revises flayings and human sacrifice; Abo of the Celtic Twilight, St Andrew Lang Posts him a ten-page note on totemism And a coloured fairy book."

"James Murray combs the dialect from his beard And files slips for his massive Dictionary."

"... Listen — Not to dour centuries of trudging, Marching, and taking orders; Today I have heard the feet of my country Breaking into a run."