by Bartholomew Barker

The weather in the Orkney Islands has been lovely, mostly low clouds, sporadic rain every day and a wind to chill a selkie’s bahookie.

But it’s not all good, every evening the sun barges through the clouds and barely sets, leaving no room for the night, just a couple hours of twilight.

I took the bus to Stromness, the home of the great Orcadian poet George Mackay Brown, and walked along its main street which is bounded by stone buildings and is barely wide enough for an automobile. There’s a feeling of age here that is very difficult to find in the United States and what I treasure when I travel to Europe.

At the south end of Stromness there’s a little garden dedicated to Brown which overlooks the bay. It was from there that I began walking off-road, along the coast of Hoy Sound, making my way to Stromness Cemetery by a well-marked trail between old stone walls demarking fields of cows or sheep or those just left fallow.

By the time I made it to the cemetery, the spitting showers had turned into a proper rain which was fogging my glasses so while I wandered around the two older sections, I knew it was possible that I’d missed his grave but I also felt that, since he died in the late 20th century, he probably wasn’t buried there.

The third section seemed most promising and even after what I thought was a thorough walk, I still hadn’t found him. This caused me to reach out to a local gentleman, about my age, who had just pulled up in his car. Unfortunately, he didn’t know where Brown’s grave was either but he pointed out there was a fourth section which I’d missed because the contemporary monuments there were all low to the ground. So I started walking that way and he continued his path but soon thereafter I heard him yawp. I turned and he was pointing at a grave which I obviously missed.

(The Scots I’ve met continue to impress me with their generosity and graciousness. Everyone who doesn’t live here should book this as their next vacation.)

I’d heard of George Mackay Brown before arriving on Orkney but hadn’t read his work. Upon a quick review, I’ll commend the following poems, Beachcomber, which he wrote from personal experience I’m sure having been a lifelong resident of Stromness, The Poet, for its insight into what it is to be a poet, and Hamnavoe, which was early name for Stromness, for its lush imagery & language.

Note the epitaph on his stone, Carve the runes / Then be content with silence. That’s great advice for all us poets.