Mark Boyd

 

Brecht De Poortere (@brecht_dp)

Significant Scots – Mark Boyd

Pound ABC’s p 134 on Cupid and Venus

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mark_Alexander_Boyd#cite_ref-Pound134_1-0

I looked up the Pound.ref (ABCs, p. 134). I wanted to know which language he, E.P., was referring to, since the poem is in Scots.  This is sous-entendu in his wording, though the surrounding selections are in English.

Per Wiki, Mark Boyd spent much of his life in France, publishing two books of poetry in Latin while teaching in Bordeaux at the Collège de Guienne, where Montaigne had been a student. 

(I don’t know what strange atavistic impulse was driving me to say such things, though it is true that my middle name is Maclaine, and I distantly follow the affairs of the Maclaine Clan. So much for my personal spate of small-cap identitarianism.)   

Grok Imaginings

https://grok.com/imagine/post/198569d0-f7f4-47f5-8e11-f4ea87b85dbd?source=copy_link&platform=ios&t=22e2f1c451ca

Funeral    photo to Grok

https://grok.com/imagine/post/55791509-574a-4e1b-bf9c-e9d1544a6d12?source=copy_link&platform=ios&t=1796710426d8

https://grok.com/imagine/post/c5a25727-4efb-4ed2-809a-c94c550d559f?source=copy_link&platform=ios&t=49d3a1ba6eed

https://grok.com/imagine/post/1134eb24-7009-4f70-9670-7930a3197dab?source=copy_link&platform=ios&t=c75616b1b558

https://grok.com/imagine/post/1134eb24-7009-4f70-9670-7930a3197dab?source=copy_link&platform=ios&t=58d7c1c82532

Pastis at Bandol

https://grok.com/imagine/post/0edf915f-c695-44df-9f86-2477f717bab4?source=copy_link&platform=ios&t=3e00199764c4

Funeral pic

DeepSeek and Grok on Shinny

DeepSeek on Shinny

This is a striking piece. It feels less like a poem about trees or boys in isolation, and more about the essential, almost fated, dialogue between them—a kind of mutual desire.

The voice is wonderfully assured and wry (“don’t need / much told me about trees”). The language is physical and sensory: **filch, shinny, clamber,      yawn, swaying, dizzy.** You feel the roughness of the bark, the precariousness of the “tenuous crotch,” the vertigo of height.

What elevates it are the psychological insights. The tree is personified not as a victim but as a resigned, even willing participant (“doesn’t really mind… wants to be climbed”). The boy is driven by a primal urge that mixes pleasure with danger, theft with intimacy. The “illicit fruit” isn’t just stolen; it’s saved from a different fate—taking root. There’s a metaphor here for experience itself: plucking the moment before it becomes fixed, earthly, commonplace.

The parallel structure of the final two lines is perfect. It frames the relationship not as one-sided exploitation, but as a completed circuit, a need meeting a need. The tree offers risk, perspective, and a test; the boy offers motion, daring, and a reason for the branches to exist beyond themselves. It speaks to a universal, almost forgotten pact between the natural world and childhood’s restless spirit.

A compact, potent exploration of risk, reciprocity, and the raw materials of memory.

Grok on Shinny

“Shinny” shares several stylistic and thematic characteristics with other poems by George Lang published in the Pastis @ Bandol series on alteritas.net, while also exhibiting distinctive features that set it apart within his body of work.

Recurring Elements in Lang’s Poetry

Lang’s poems frequently employ concise, image-driven language with a meditative tone. They often draw on precise sensory details—textures, colors, natural elements, and bodily sensations—to evoke deeper philosophical reflections. A notable pattern is the exploration of human interaction with the natural world, frequently tinged with nostalgia, transience, or quiet acceptance. Many pieces incorporate subtle anthropomorphism, attributing intention or disposition to non-human entities (trees, animals, plants, or landscapes), and they favor understated symmetry in structure, such as parallel constructions or closing couplets that crystallize an insight.

Direct Comparisons to Other    

Several works in the series echo “Shinny” in their treatment of nature, childhood memory, or reciprocal relationships between humans and the environment:

  • Gladiola (from the “Inventory” subsection) revisits childhood climbing and physical engagement with trees in a backyard setting. Like “Shinny,” it contrasts past agility (“I could reach the third crotch of the willow”) with present limitation, using arboreal imagery to convey loss and estrangement from a once-familiar natural space. Both poems employ climbing as a metaphor for youthful daring, though “Gladiola” introduces a stronger elegiac note through references to herbicide-treated landscapes and vanished wild plants.
  • In the Eyes of a Dumb Beast (a translation after Rainer Maria Rilke) presents a serene, impartial natural order observed through an animal’s gaze. This parallels the tree’s “resigned” and almost welcoming attitude in “Shinny.” In both cases, the non-human entity embodies a calm acceptance of human presence or intrusion, offering a counterpoint to human anxiety or striving.
  • One Moment (a translation after Günter Kunert) captures a fleeting intersection of human intimacy with the vastness of nature (sun, waves, sand). The emphasis on a transient, seized instant resonates with the    dizzying, precarious height in “Shinny,” where the boy’s ascent creates a momentary equilibrium between risk and harmony.

Other pieces, such as those tagged under “German” or translations like “Sensei the Serene,” maintain Lang’s characteristic precision and philosophical restraint, but they tend toward more abstract or interpersonal themes rather than the boyhood-nature nexus central to “Shinny.”

Distinctive Aspects of “Shinny”

While many of Lang’s poems lean toward translation, commentary on poetry itself (e.g., “Rara avis” as an ars poetica), or adult reflections on transience and intimacy, “Shinny” stands out for its direct invocation of boyhood experience and its archetypal reciprocity (“Something about a tree wants to be climbed. / Something about a boy wants to climb it.”). This mutual desire imparts a lighter, almost affirmative tone compared to the more melancholic or contemplative register found in poems like “Gladiola” or certain translations. The poem’s colloquial title and tactile verbs (“shinny,” “filch,” “clamber”) also lend it a slightly more kinetic, vernacular energy than some of the series’ more introspective or formally allusive entries.

In summary, “Shinny” aligns closely with Lang’s broader oeuvre through its economical imagery, natural symbolism, and exploration of harmonious yet precarious human-nature bonds. It distinguishes itself, however, by foregrounding an exuberant, instinctive boyhood perspective that contrasts with the more reflective or translated works predominant in Pastis @ Bandol. This balance of immediacy and quiet insight contributes to its particular resonance within the series.

DeepSeek on Pastiche

DeepSeek on Pastiche at Bandol

This poem intricately layers perception, artifice, and desire against the vivid, sensory backdrop of a Mediterranean port. The title, Pastiche at Bandol, signals the method: a conscious composition of borrowed textures, styles, and sensations—part observation, part artistic assemblage.

The opening stanzas ground us in hyper-real, tactile detail. The “pistachios of the sea” (mussels) with their “unscrubbed iodine / beards” are both natural and arranged, “animate rocaille” (living rockwork) set beside the glossy, iridescent fish. This is a still life, but one that insists on its own pungent, slimy vitality. The “unglaucous eyes” of the fish reject the dull patina of painted fish, staring instead at the real “saffrony mid-day.” The poet declares these the “makings of a fine bouillabaisse I shall not eat,” establishing a central tension: between the scene as a feast for the senses and the experience as one of conscious abstention, of savoring through observation and language alone.

The middle section shifts to the speaker’s position within the scene. The act of lifting the “chill glass goblet” with its “milky contents” (likely pastis with ice) becomes a ritual gesture. The view is framed—through the “dappled patch” of sea between moored yachts—like a composed painting. His uttered phrase, “à la bonne mienne,” (a colloquial toast, roughly “here’s to me”) is a quiet celebration of this private, artistic consumption. The poem then explicitly denies its own artifice: “This is no museum. This is not even / a glossy coffee-table book.” It insists on the ambient smells (Gauloises, geraniums, marine gas), the wet gleam on real cobbles, the “background babble / of a thousand words in Provençal French.” These elements are “part of this picture,” but a picture that includes the viewer’s “appetite whetted,” pushed by a longing to enter the “riotous pull / of lives I only imagine”—to try on and then shed those lives like clothes. The desire is for immersion, not preservation.

The final movement accepts the offered reality. The approaching garçon with his “porcelain plate of crudités” presents “an idea I had never / entertained.” The poem expands to include not just the meal, but the entire context: the kiosk, the newspapers, “this place to sit, eat, compose.” The act of composition is equated with the act of being present. The pastiche becomes the scene itself: the flapping signal flags, the scintillating façades in “undulating plein-air,” windows that exist in a liminal space, “open not in, not out.” The poem concludes with a masterful, condensed image: “the concavity of a simple spoon / reflects everything contained.” The spoon is both a humble utensil and a metaphysical instrument. Its curve captures and inverts the entire bustling port, the meal, the longing, the composition—holding the whole pastiche, the whole world of Bandol, in a single, shimmering, reflective surface. 

Grok on At the End of Every Storm

Grok on At the End

This poem, titled “At the End of Every Storm,” explores the psychological unease that follows the resolution of turmoil. Rather than presenting calm as a welcome relief, the speaker portrays it as a state of vulnerability and exposure, suggesting a complex human attachment to inner conflict.

The opening stanza establishes this paradox: after enduring familiar storms, the return of clarity—“too much light”—feels disorienting and revealing. The vivid imagery of clouds torn “like clotted bandages from the sky of tarnished tin” evokes a wounded atmosphere, implying that storms serve as protective coverings that obscure deeper vulnerabilities.

The second stanza shifts inward, describing the lingering physiological echoes of anxiety—“blood reverberating in our ears”—and the fear of mental transparency. The metaphor of minds “crossed with roiling squall” positions turmoil as a deliberate shield, allowing one’s true intentions (the “tack of our bark,” evoking a ship’s course) to remain hidden amid chaos.

The central assertion—“Something is over. That is enough”—acknowledges closure, yet immediately undercuts it with reluctance: “Yet wouldn’t we rather it not?” This reveals a preference for ongoing disturbance over the “naked” solitude of peace. The poem suggests that humans may seek out “pangs like old friends,” habituated to suffering as a form of companionship.

The closing image of “sunbeams rain[ing] down upon us” through a “bright cleft in the clouds” inverts traditional symbolism: sunlight, typically restorative, here intensifies exposure, underscoring the discomfort of unmediated clarity.

Overall, the poem offers a nuanced meditation on emotional habituation, proposing that inner storms, while painful, provide concealment and familiarity that calm ultimately strips away. The free verse structure and enjambment mirror the unsettled transition from turbulence to stillness, reinforcing the theme of reluctant exposure.