The Edwin Morgan Trust
@edmorgantrust.bsky.social
250 followers 140 following 44 posts
Trust of the first Scottish poet laureate, Edwin Morgan.
Posts Media Videos Starter Packs
Reposted by The Edwin Morgan Trust
agrayarchive.bsky.social
📣 TODAY! Don’t miss Of Us & Others – a powerful new film by Maya Rose Edwards 🎬 Screening 12–5pm at Civic House (drop in anytime!). One day only – Sat 4 Oct! AGA’s first visual art commission supported by @creativescots.bsky.social & the Edwin Morgan Trust
Reposted by The Edwin Morgan Trust
asls.org.uk
“The use of Scots, apart from the relative ease of working up the right atmosphere, also helps (though dangerously) because of the verbal freedom it confers on a harassed translator”

—Edwin Morgan on translating Mayakovsky into Scots
#InternationalTranslationDay
asls.org.uk/publications...
Annual Volume 48 (2018)
Edited by John Coyle and James McGonigal Paperback, 424 pages ASLS, April 2020 Price £24.95 ISBN 978-1-906841-40-9 Order from our bookshop “I try to write something every day even though I am not…
asls.org.uk
edmorgantrust.bsky.social
For #InternationalTranslationDay, Edwin Morgan’s translation of ‘Anyám’ by Hungarian poet Attila József (1905–1937)

Published in Collected Translations (Carcanet, 1996)
My Mother 

She would hold the mug in both hands,
one Sunday as evening approached
she smiled in her own peaceful way
and sat a moment in the half dark 

A small saucepan held the super 
she brought home from the fine folks’ house 
we went to bed, and I lay thinking 
how they had a whole pot to devour – 

This was my mother, tiny, early dead,
a washerwoman’s lot is to die early,
her legs shake from the loads she carries,
her head throbs as she bends ironing – 

And her mountains are the dirty washing! 
She has a tranquilizing cloudscape 
of steam, and as for pastures new 
the washerwoman has the attic – 

She pauses with the iron: I see her.
Her brittle body was broken by 
capital, grew thin, grew thinner – 
think about it, proletarians – 

She was bent, you know, bent from washing, 
I never knew how young she was,
she wore a clean apron in her dreams,
and the postman greeted her then –
Reposted by The Edwin Morgan Trust
ginorgym.bsky.social
Second hand book sites discoveries !

Including Edwin Morgan on Edwin Muir in The Review, February 1963

@edmorgantrust.bsky.social

#edwinmuir
#edwinmorgan
#scottishliterature
Reposted by The Edwin Morgan Trust
edmorgantrust.bsky.social
Announcing our new partnership scheme: The Canedolia Collaboration! We welcome applications from orgs in Scotland looking to deliver a 3-year programme focused on poetry and/or translation. Financial and in-kind support available.

⏰ Deadline: 2 Oct @ 5pm

edwinmorgantrust.com/2025/09/04/t...
The Canedolia Collaboration: Applications Open
The Canedolia Collaboration is a new partnership scheme named after Edwin Morgan’s poem ‘Canedolia’, a celebration of language, place and possibility. This initiative builds on the success of The S…
edwinmorgantrust.com
Reposted by The Edwin Morgan Trust
agrayarchive.bsky.social
Of Us & Others is the result of our inaugural visual art Creative Commission with Maya Rose Edwards, supported by @creativescots.bsky.social Open Fund & @edmorgantrust.bsky.social Edward’s new film will screen for one day at Civic House, 04.10.25, from 12–5pm, on a rolling loop so pop in anytime!
edmorgantrust.bsky.social
“As clay in clay you cannot catch my thanks, my steadiness, my lateness, my praise”

— ’John I’ by Edwin Morgan, written in memory of John Scott, his partner for 16 years, who died in September 1978.

Published in Edwin Morgan Twenties: Love (Polygon, 2020)
John I

Nothing will bring him back. I know that, of course I know that. The days 
When I do not think of him are few, but if I turn my gaze
On a phantom, on a plot of earth, on a faded photograph of great times, I raise
Nothing, nearly nothing, no, not nothing, it is the something of a pain that stays 
Ineradicable and only to be mitigated when I breathe the phrase 
I loved you. You must know
It was truly so, although
As clay in clay you cannot catch my thanks, my steadiness, my lateness, my praise.
edmorgantrust.bsky.social
Announcing our new partnership scheme: The Canedolia Collaboration! We welcome applications from orgs in Scotland looking to deliver a 3-year programme focused on poetry and/or translation. Financial and in-kind support available.

⏰ Deadline: 2 Oct @ 5pm

edwinmorgantrust.com/2025/09/04/t...
The Canedolia Collaboration: Applications Open
The Canedolia Collaboration is a new partnership scheme named after Edwin Morgan’s poem ‘Canedolia’, a celebration of language, place and possibility. This initiative builds on the success of The S…
edwinmorgantrust.com
Reposted by The Edwin Morgan Trust
damianbarr.bsky.social
‘“When the facts of our lives can never be fully known there isn’t just room for fiction, there is a moral imperative for it. To write it. To paint it – to light a candle in the dark then pick up your pen or brush. Even, and especially, when the world is ending.”

A wee essay

tinyurl.com/ct6w3ynf
‘They had everything, then nothing’: the prodigies the art world forgot
Robert Colquhoun and Bobby MacBryde were once the golden boys of London’s art scene – photographed in Vogue, filmed by Ken Russell and lauded by Francis Bacon. So why did they vanish into obscurity?
tinyurl.com
edmorgantrust.bsky.social
The summer grows late, cool, ragged, precious.
Clouds like ungainly brooms are sweeping showers across the slates ...

— ‘A Crow’ by #EdwinMorgan, published in Sweeping Out the Dark (Carcanet, 1994)
A Crow 
The summer grows late, cool, ragged, precious. 
Clouds like ungainly brooms are sweeping showers 
across the slates. On a dripping lamp-standard 
a crow hunches, flaps, hunches. The young painter 
with his ring of white sings as he hops in and 
out of the rain. The sun bursts what it has been saving 
so suddenly, so brilliantly, we are smiling. 
It is August still. The leaves hang fast and glisten. 
If there were no seasons, who would be singing? 
If there was no weather, who would be painting? 
If there was no earth turning, we darkly, partly 
think, no crow would have a lawn to stamp on 
or Aristarchus any globe to dandle.
As not to be born is worst – a crow will tell you, 
a worm will tell you – not to be created 
crosses galaxies like a shadow of horror. 
But created they are; born, I and the painter; 
really wet ruffled shiny black half-happy
the feathers of the raucous-hearted clatterer.
edmorgantrust.bsky.social
“Oh I can’t speak
of that eternal break of white, only of
memories crowding in from human kind ...”

Remembering dear Edwin Morgan, who died on this day, fifteen years ago.

—portrait of Edwin Morgan (1980) by Alexander Moffat
—‘100’ from The New Divan, publ. in Collected Poems (Carcanet, 1990)
100
               
The dead climb with us like the living to the edge.
The clouds sail and the air’s washed blue. For you
and me, the life beyond that sages mention
is this life on a crag above
a line of breakers. Oh I can’t speak
of that eternal break of white, only of
memories crowding in from human kind,
stealthily, brazenly, thankfully, stonily
into that other sea-cave
of my head. Down where the breaker was
closes, darkens, rises, foams, closes; crates
drift across, whirl round
in the ghost of a gale; 
a shred of sailcloth
relic of a gale
that really blew slews to the resting-place
the long tide goes out
to leave it, bleaching on its bony rock.
I pick it from the stone,
Hafiz, to bind the leaves of my divan.
Reposted by The Edwin Morgan Trust
byleaveswelive.bsky.social
FLYTE NYTE!

Wed 20 Aug @ EIBF

🥊 Joelle Taylor versus Hannah Lavery 🥊
🥊 Michael Mullen versus Ross McLeary 🥊
🥊 Bee Asha versus Kate Ireland 🥊
🥊 Amelia Baylor versus Darren Connell 🥊

Hosted by Leyla Josephine, Colin Bramwell, Iona Lee.

www.edbookfest.co.uk/the-festival...
edmorgantrust.bsky.social
Tonight! Join us at Edinburgh Book Festival for a very special event, where Colin Bramwell, Ellen McAteer, and Gregory Woods will be joined by Ishbel McFarlane to discuss poetry, queerness, translation, and freedom 💚

www.edbookfest.co.uk/the-festival...
Reposted by The Edwin Morgan Trust
northseapoets.bsky.social
Applications are still open for Studio 2 with Niall Campbell @niallpoetry.bsky.social ✍️

Get all the details: buff.ly/TBILVRi

Only eight places available!

#NorthSeaPoets #PoetryWorkshops #PoetrySky
A description of North Sea Poetry Studios against a light teal background. The North Sea Poets logo is in the bottom left corner. A description of North Sea Poetry Studios against a light teal background. The North Sea Poets logo is in the bottom left corner.
Reposted by The Edwin Morgan Trust
gregchthomas.bsky.social
I've written about IH Finlay, Alexander Trocchi, and George MacDonald Fraser for @booksfromscotland.bsky.social

Three centenaries, three tricky characters. An interesting commission this one....

booksfromscotland.com/2025/07/cent...
Reposted by The Edwin Morgan Trust
Reposted by The Edwin Morgan Trust
Reposted by The Edwin Morgan Trust
byleaveswelive.bsky.social
Big congrats to Glasgow-based poet Michael Mullen for being shortlisted for the 2025 Forward Prizes Best First Collection with his debut Goonie.
#ForwardPrizes #BestFirstCollection #PoetryAwards
forwardprizes.bsky.social
Jerwood Prize for Best First Collection
Introducing the future of poetry ✨Jerwood Prize for Best First Collection shortlist is here!
Bold new voices. Brilliant debuts! #ForwardPrizes 2025
🔗 Full list: buff.ly/SS35YlZ
#JerwoodPrize #BestFirstCollection #PoetryAwards
Reposted by The Edwin Morgan Trust
asls.org.uk
There were never strawberries
like the ones we had
that sultry afternoon
sitting on the step
of the open french window…

—Edwin Morgan, “Strawberries”
published in CENTENARY SELECTED POEMS, @carcanet.bsky.social 2020

Hot #poetry for a hot day 🍓🍓🍓
www.carcanet.co.uk/cgi-bin/inde...
Strawberries
Edwin Morgan

There were never strawberries
like the ones we had
that sultry afternoon
sitting on the step
of the open french window
facing each other
your knees held in mine
the blue plates in our laps
the strawberries glistening
in the hot sunlight
we dipped them in sugar
looking at each other
not hurrying the feast
for one to come
the empty plates

laid on the stone together
with the two forks crossed
and I bent towards you
sweet in that air
in my arms
abandoned like a child
from your eager mouth
the taste of strawberries
in my memory
lean back again
let me love you

let the sun beat
on our forgetfulness
one hour of all
the heat intense
and summer lightning
on the Kilpatrick hills

let the storm wash the plates