Climbing Suilven by Norman MacCaig

I nod and nod to my own shadow and thrust
A mountain down and down.
Between my feet a loch shines in the brown,
It's silver paper crinkled and edged with rust.
My lungs say No;
But down and down this treadmill hill must go.

Parishes dwindle. But my parish is
This stone, that tuft, this stone
And the cramped quarters of my flesh and bone.
I claw that tall horizon down to this;
And suddenly
My shadow jumps huge miles away from me.



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3 comments:

Tom Wiggins said...

Absolutely love this poem. It features in the latest edition of Poetry News with an article on Norman Maccaig.

Unknown said...


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Anonymous said...

This poem is so accurate and descriptive of the push to the top of a beautiful mountain in Scotland. The last lines are so symbolic of why we do it. My memories are constantly refreshed by Norman’s words and I reflect on memories of my school where I was fortunate to meet this lovely, gentle and humble man of creative prose.