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When I have talked for an hour I feel lousy—
Not so when I have danced for an hour:
The dancers inherit the party
While the talkers wear themselves out and
sit in corners alone, and glower.
From Ian Hamilton Finlay: Selections by Ian Finlay. Copyright © 2012 by Ian Finlay. Reprinted with permission of University of California Press. All rights reserved.
Doing what the moon says, he shifts his chair Closer to the stove and stokes it up With the very best fuel, a mixture of dried fish And tobacco he keeps in a bucket with crabs Too small to eat. One raises its pincer As if to seize hold of the crescent moon On the calendar which is almost like a zodiac With inexplicable and pallid blanks.