91Èȱ¬

Good morning. I recently spent a morning exploring the papers of the Scottish poet, Norman MacCaig, in the Centre for Research Collections at Edinburgh University Library. In particular I was keen to see the papers which related to his friendship with the Irish poet, Seamus Heaney. There were some letters from Heaney to MacCaig, and some volumes of Heaney’s poetry, with warm and heartfelt inscriptions to MacCaig. These men obviously respected each other and valued the other’s work. But they also formed a bond of friendship which was real and deep, and often celebrated over the odd dram or several. A copy of Heaney’s 1987 volume, The Haw Lantern, had the usual personal inscription. I noted it down, and then flicked through the pages, enjoying the poems I knew. And then I came across a folded piece of paper, undisturbed and undiscovered until that very moment. It was a letter from Seamus to Norman, including a poem, and a shared joke. The whiff of tobacco was strong, even through my face-mask, although impossible to tell if it was Heaney’s or MacCaig’s.

I enjoyed the moment for a bit before taking the letter to the librarian at the desk, who passed it back to the archivist to be catalogued, her delight almost as obvious as mine. The letter adds very little to our understanding of either poet in terms of research. But the joy of the unexpected discovery connected me to their work and their lives in a way which still makes me smile. It was a gift which reminded me, in the words of MacCaig, we are ‘one with immortal landscapes’.

Living God who holds all souls in life, open our hearts and minds to the wisdom of those who have gone before us, and to sweet moments of unexpected revelation. Amen.

Ìý