Judged by Beth McDonough, Federation Makar

What were the common themes and threads running through this year's entries? I read a light-filled linguistic richness coming from a distant harem, all the way across to a darkly domestic bath time. There were some painfully sad poems concerning ageing loved ones living in care homes, but I also read of our waters, the moon and the pattern of seasons. Poems came in both stanzaic and freer forms, some rhymed and as many did not; there were taut shapes on the page and there were poems almost uninterrupted by white space. I came across a couple of sonnets and the delight of a Luc Bat in response to a Shakespearean play. That very nearly made my shortlist! In general, however I read very few examples of closed or open poetic forms. That's not a criticism or a wish, just an observation.
 

I witnessed both buoyant humour and deep sorrow. Understandably. Ukraine's terrible year was conveyed in some finely-tuned poetry. The responses to environmental catastrophe were very present, for clear reasons, but interestingly there were few entries which addressed our country's own current political situation. Once again, this is simply an informal review of the subjects which seemed to hold writers. Indeed, there may be a sense that a competition is not the best place to submit the poetry of protest. Certainly there are some excellent publication opportunities specialising in that area, where the response time is usefully rapid, and that may well be a significant factor. One poem, which almost reached my final trio, delivered the very resonant ending: 'once this would have sparked us/to riot'. I couldn't agree more.

If I came away with some spirit of what did draw so many of these entries together, it was a sense that there was a real feeling of what it is to be part of Scotland. Almost all the entries were in some strange way identifiably Scottish. By way of balance, my shortlist included a haunting poem drawn from the literature of the Indian subcontinent, something from Norse waters and a sharply-written ekphrastic poem which considered the devastation of the Californian fires. Our environment, both urban and rural, was hugely significant. Some very biting work was written in Scots, which offered a superb linguistic mouthfeel, and gave an apt texture to the subjects studied. The land's history and artefacts loomed large, and there was a sharing of those personal family histories, which even when conveyed in English, were clearly, quintessentially Scottish. Then there were the lines voiced by an assertive roe deer, which really caught that creature's essence. I only wish I could also offer a place to some of the clever narratives I encountered...that border-crossing poem, the strange rural happenings and the poem which ended its glorious, rolling litany of acute observations with a most-unexpected God. Generally, I have a bit of an aversion to shape poems, I confess, and yet...one of my favourites hung, beautifully built on the page, and I was pleased to have my bias challenged. Hopefully, writers will recognise their work from these swift descriptions, and will know just how close they came to winning.

There were many poems which came with terrific imagery, and cracking lines. Sometimes I felt nagged by that old advice to poets; 'arrive late and leave early', and yes, particularly that suggested early departure. Some of these poems had done such good work already in taking me to a destination, to be let down by a slightly explanatory ending which wrapped up more than perhaps was needed. I'd urge these poets to look again. Your reader wants to work too. Trust your poem. There are some excellent poems amongst the entries which just need a little trimming. I really hope I'll meet many of them again in published form.
I'll move to my final three now, in reverse order.

​

Siding
There's something about those liminal spaces, which are anything but nature's most acceptable face. The poem immediately asks you to 'Crouch here'. It's a dense poem, bristling with 'urine-/drenched comings and goings' and the very nature of its almost (but not quite) over-packed language keeps the reader on high alert. That very beautiful wordplay, with sharpness like the line break on 'blackthorn-/fankled palings' and the elegance of 'Sleek through interstices' kept the poem tensed throughout its twelve lines. It really earned the breathing space of the stanza break after 'pounce'. Quite a closing thought too...that 'edgeland growing feral.' Yes, I think we all need to recognise that.

​

Inhale

By contrast, my second-placed poem offers a reverie, and evokes places, images and painful stories which work stunningly. Though a line short of a sonnet, it has something of that form's feeling. Unlike the tensed drive of Siding, Inhale lives through the spaces offered in its tercets and its final, stand alone line, It's what John Glenday was describing when he suggested that 'silence gets all the best phrases'. What is unsaid here works in tandem with what is said, and it fits so well with the rhythm of the act of smoking. A real sensory and filmic poem. I'm a lifelong non-smoker, but this one could tempt me! I was glad that the poem was able to trust its reader with tantalising fragments, seemingly illuminated by the cigarette's burning tip, without the need to tell too much. 'I exhale, count down the end of the year, more.' Beautiful.

Outside Mod One
My first choice kept surfacing in the final dozen. An arresting title is always a gift to the reader faced with quite an avalanche of poems. Personally, I find titles difficult indeed, and for me they are often the poem's last piece I can fit in place. I think, in the mapping of this poem too, the poet was wise to hold the title's explanation to a footnote. An explanation too close to the title would have had quite a different effect here. It's true that to pull out some of the references in this poem, you'd really need some kind of knowledge of the territory. However, by italicising that first line, the poet asks the reader to read something more into those words. If the reader doesn't take the hint, that's unwise indeed. A first line punching well above its weight. The rest follows in deceptively simple words, and again, there's the naming of Jencks for those who aren't perhaps familiar with what the poet sees. A ten line poem where 'Everything is going to be alright/ is behind me' sets the physical scene and says so much of the unseen territory. Very different from every other poem submitted. Congratulations to a courageous and risk-taking winner.
My thanks go to all who entered. Yes, I'd love to be able to give out more prizes, and certainly, someone else would likely have come out with a different group of winners. Please take your poems back...look them in the eye, and send them out again. They have lives to lead!
 

My thanks too to the FWS committee who have organised this competition, and worked so hard to make it possible.
 

Beth McDonough