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Seabirds-and-Seals
with Jonathan Wills in 2008
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LOGANAIR

 

In October Gannets are still fishing within a few miles of Noss

Since 1992, we have introduced more than 22,000 people to the wonders of Noss and Bressay. Quite a few of them have been inspired to write about the experience. Here we reprint four poems written by our passengers.

Dunter by Helen Kidd
The Comogues by Helen Kidd
Roond da wirld by Christine de Luca
(in the Shetland dialect)
At Noss by Gordon Dargie
Snapshots from a boat by Robert Sim

Inspired by her first trip to Noss, Oxford poet Helen Kidd wrote this in 1998

Dunter
by Helen Kidd (1998)

Water breathes cool in sun-gilded
harbour skin. We budge and putter,
"Keep back you Bonxies!"seaming it slowly, then a swing
to north and we butt round
where roman-nosed bull seals
snoop on the off-chance, bob and
vanish under the fish factory pier.

And we're out and off skirting small
skerries, where the folk of the sea loll
and flipper, eyeing us warily, or roll
bullet and glide slip-easy through shoals.

Into the nudge and skim of wave backs
..gannets..dapper in Zoro masksthe thwack of the prow flying smacks
athwart ridged and furrowed folds, spume laces
round Rules Ness, the swamping and
singing salt of flung spray, a glittering
air-cut-with-curtains-of-wet of a day.

We dither and swerve by rock teeth for creels
and then off where peninsular keels
carve the sky's surf, nattering cliffs
where gannets clack and call; dapper in Zorro masks, swoop, skim and
soar - circle, climb, stand then the dart-flight fold and fall, bursting the brim
and glint of swelling scrim, these amphibious arrows.
"Where the folk of the sea loll and flipper, eyeing us warily" - Picture by Georges DifLight-dusted shore-side a scree flank
daunts and beckons and we lift and dip
through the Bardastrom's breath-soaking douse
and plankton-starred caves. A cormorant
periscopes past, black guillemots whicker
"Keep back you Bonxies!"

Back home I hanker for this cold vast cradling.
Born with a water-noose round the heart
I starve, city-bound, for wide wild.
And the sea's eye is the deepest eye
Two bonxies follow in our wakedarkest eye
brightest eye.
Ocean's eye is the oldest eye
the fickle spell-binding
imperative
 dangerous eye.

------------------------------------

The Comogues
by Helen Kidd (written after seeing the Shetland kelp forest with our underwater camera)

Sometimes we meet the restored sailing smack 'Swan' on our cruises round ShetlandInto the invisible, the shift,
the glass sub goes to ogle shoals
of beroe cucumis…gargling fish,
whistling fish, and neon helcion
pellucidum; lightbulb squirts;
guillemots that loop and swoop
under the silk ceiling drift-a troupe
of aerialists flip in a flypast -
aurelia aurita corps
de ballet on the polyp set;
dynamena pumilla -
(the fans go wild)
Fog clears over the great cliff of the Ord of Bressaybolinopsis (pas de bas
                petits pas)
                he's a star-
infundibulum. It's all
shuggle, whizz and glide…
slip-stream silvery, bubble-wrap glide,
big-eyed sillocks, piltocks. Noup's
kelp, cuvie forests synchronised
in Busby Berkeley symmetry;
pelagic surge and urge and fret
                   down through
honeyweed
                 holdfast
The Common Seal, Phoca vitulina                             maidenhair…
the dabberlocks and furbellows, a continuo
that orchestrates the flow; urchins graze
and tentacle, all touchy taste, fizzy
fig sponges
                             sea mats
                             sea slugs
tubularia
                             sea gooseberries
hydromedusa's hot cross bun
                             wobble and spoot
phyto or zoo
                             plankton pirouette
in swarms of scilliae             fidget
                    frantic              fibrillate…


Out Stack - the full stop at the northern tip of BritainThe great marine stew teems, gyrates -
the Black Deeps, the Merry Men of May,
                                     Duncansby Bore -
Out beyond the land, Da Shuggi
                                  (up to his shoulders)
out beyond the shore, they ride,
the small, the many, the life soup
                                the life support
                                water life
of every song and dance
into the big Wide…

------------------------------------

Roond da wirld
by Christine de Luca

Roond da wirld as peerie bairns
wis roond da rods o Bressa:
da kent wirld circumnavigated
A sparkling morning just north of Noss Soundin tricycles an prams. Takkin
Da Dunter roond Noss an Bressa
is still a vaege apon a wirld scale.
Aert history lockit up in rocks:
deserts rear as saandston banks.
Dey tell der tale: foo dey aedged
fae a tropic an her dulskit airms
tae an arctic skurt; foo shö wrat
her ticht history on dem wi wave
an wind an ice.

Swall lifts wis in a cave.
A stour o Eden's plankton shaas
in a blinkie's licht, an da green-
black sheen o scarfs. Ledged high,
dey dicht der wings, stretch dem
ta dry. Dey live da quiet life, yet
aye riggit for a foy.

Oot on da banks, a high-rise life:
up, up, ledge apo ledge o solan,
maalies, a mafia o swaabies.
A callyshang: fast maet
an faerdie-maet;
Kittiwakes and chicka constant harangue.

At da nort end o Bressa
a raft o dunters bobs; selkies wait
fur a silent tide ta turn.
Anidder history is bön written here:
o cleared laand, vod hooses, fat sheep;
o young men press-ganged.

But still dere's change: new hooses,
laand wrocht again. Bressa's
on da move, stane bi stane.


At Noss
'Charlie's Holm', Noss - Picture by Georges Difby Gordon Dargie, September 2007 

The setting is the desert sandstone cliffs 

that face the mathematics of the waves 

where we float with our weight of narratives 

each needed to account for this one place 

below fine ledges on the layers of time 

where gannets make their ritual displays 

Midsummer sunrise at Noup's Brongie, Nossfor exits and returns.  We know not to 

project our feelings onto birds, prefer 

not to make up stories,  but gestures 

are made to be read,  whatever we may 

think we mean or not think, and we defer 

to one another for unobstructed views,

a natural history of narrative 

in the time when the tide came to the cliffs.

 

Snapshots from a boat
by Robert Sim, March 2008

     i

 

our world

moves

each second

 

upon a

grey seal's

back.

 

 

      ii

 

drifting past

jellyfish drifting

past larvae

 

 

     iii

 

we lower our underwater camera

and yellow-coated

 

figures lean

right and left

 

to catch the best view

of the undulating kelp

  

 

     iv

 

Abandoned in 1811

the croft of da Veng

was never reached by road

or telephone or mail

but was a des-res in its day,

 

partly because it was close

to the Bressay haaf.

And under the surface now

we see a forest as rich

 

as any rain-forest.

And that is where our oxygen

is made by tiny creatures

such as the ones we hold

 

in our huge palms

on the dripping

sloping

sliding

deck

 

 

     v

 

There is a balance here we

cannot see. We pass a lone kayaker

 

clinging to the grey skin

of the water, like a skier

 

upon drab snow, or a gnat

on an elephant's back.


Glossary______________________
da: the; peerie: little; wis: was, us; rods: roads; vaege: journey; apon, apo: on; aert: earth; lockit: locked; banks: sea cliffs; dey: they; der: their; foo: how; aedged: edged; dulskit: sluggish, torpid; airms: arms; tae, ta: to; skurt: bosom; shö: she; wrat: wrote; dem: them; swall: sea swell; stour: dust; shaas: shows; blinkie: torch; scarfs: shags; riggit: dressed; foy: celebration; solan: gannets; maalies: fulmers; swaabies: great black-backed gulls; callyshang: noisy dispute; maet: food; faerdie-maet: food for a journey; nort: north; dunters: eider ducks; selkies: seals; anidder: another; is bön: has been; vod: unoccupied.

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