The Weaver Of Grass (Angus Mc Phee,1916-1997) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

He grew up weaving harness from the muirineach
Singing and tending horses on South Uist

War plucked him, like a berry from the Gaeltachd
It crushed, and spat him out at *Craig Dunain

Silence became his shadow, Grass, his healer
With it he knitted jackets, pouches, hats
Hid them by tree and bush well out of sight

Sheep wool, beech leaves, all assumed new mysteries
Shaped by his gnarled hands, his crippled mind
Impenetrable as the haar
That hugs the drizzling coastal Hebrides

Now, his ruined croft at Eochar
Bares the ribs of its roof to the wild skies
The skies that range beyond all normal boundaries


*psychiatric hospital