||[Sep. 23rd, 2014|08:52 am]
8 or so bees in my bonnet
'I am attaching a poem by a man I worked with for 10 years on and off in Edinburgh. He was from Glasgow and had been homeless most of his life. He wrote a fair bit of poetry and I was always impressed by his work but could never encourage him to try and get any of it published - he told me I could publish it after he died.
At the beginning of 2011 he had his bag stolen while sleeping rough and lost all of his poetry as a consequence, and when he died late last year I thought I would not see his work again.
But today, while cleaning out my desk, I found a crumpled piece of paper with a poem he wrote soon after we started working together in 2003. While deeply ambivalent about having anything about himself being recognised by others, I am happy to act on his statement of trying to publish his work after his death.'
Adam Burley, consultant clinical psycologist, The Access Point, Edinburgh
I remember a photograph.
Black and white spools
Before Hybrid days.
We sat together then,
Wide eyed and fearful.
We smiled through selfish teeth.
We did not approach.
It was dangerous.
Wide eyes turned soulless,
Flash trapped in an instant,
- Richard McLaughlin
from the big issue, aug 12-18 2013