By email, a breath of fresh air. Gordon Peters writes to say he has been climbing mountains, chumming a friend attempting his last Munro and he has documented it in verse – Sceptical Scot is free to publish it if we like.

Indeed we do, it’s a rollicking poem with a rhythm to keep you going cheerfully uphill. A trip out of the central belt of Scotland is long overdue and here’s the man to take us.

The Last Munro

From Arnisdale Keith and five more boated out
as Knoydart beckoned, all in with a shout,
on this peninsula so strong and so quiet
where all the senses are put to re-set

First on a path of micaceous shine,
a pee at the bothy then off in a line,
over nardus then bracken, up through trees
to gain Mam Barisdale testing the knees

The arc of the summits seeming so near
but the best way up far from clear,
high col and arête easy enough to see
beyond sphagnum and schist defying degree

Like a lot of the poets I’ve been lucky enough to meet, Gordon has a mischievous glint in his eye. He’s a man of many, many parts: part poet, part politician, part progressive community activist, part international ‘hired hand’ . An allotment gardener, one time taxi driver, and – of all unlikely things – former civil servant. In the 1980s the Scottish-born, much travelled consultant was director of Hackney Social Services department combatting Margaret Thatcher’s attack on the welfare state.

Let’s go further uphill…

Here in Scotland’s wildest place
what hope to tramp in surest grace?
Yet the spoor of deer suggests there is,
but they are only here for rich man’s biz

Note the political glint too. This year, the poet campaigned in pithy prose, standing as Green candidate for Hornsey and Wood Green with the slogan ‘There is no Planet B’. He was beaten by the Labour candidate Catherine West but kept his deposit and speaks well of the new MP.

Carry on climbing…

Onwards and upwards is all very well
yet tormentil and orchid draw the eye on the fell.
At the col further on a decision is made
not enough time for all I’m afraid –

so three carry on to ascend Meall Buidhe

Following Gordon’s progress (politically and poetically) onwards and upwards, I enjoy a memory of his performance at the launch of a book which was surely close to his heart: Woodlanders: New Life in Britain’s Forests (a beautifully illustrated exploration of timber building, ancient craft and contemporary community enterprise). It was a quirkily romantic event in a yurt in St Andrew Square. With a seductive whiff of woodsmoke in the air, woodlanders planted their flag in the urban heart of Edinburgh. And which of his works did the poet (then living in Edinburgh) choose for the occasion?

Ode to the M8 – or ‘a beautiful day in the central belt’

Paraffin Young’s pink slag heaps are sloped in sun-drenched
Unabashment;
the green pyramids rise in a modesty presumed
by Livingston’s angular spread;
magpies cleanse the verges of a motorway becalmed,
and the bold Campsies broadcast
their curving air to Kirk o’ Shotts.
A hoodie crow is showcasing in the pure blue sky
above Coatbridge.
Looking out on Easterhouse, the play’s the thing,
where the Scots no longer pine.

Not such a perverse choice, perhaps, for the geopoet whose many influences include Geddes and Tagore, Freire, Fromm and Fanon, Stevenson and Emerson. Politics, philosophy and poetry are part of the ‘interaction of people, place, and world’ and a continuing commitment to eradicating poverty and tackling social justice: “which I always thought were necessary precursors to a better, more fully human, and more naturally understood world.”

So the climbers complete their attempt on the Last Munro. Well, almost…

Bits and pieces the worse for wear,
thankful to deer whose ghost path we share.
The conquerors tread back higher up
but do come down before the lip

Our Gallic Alpinist goes on ahead
to tell the boat we are a wee bit spread.
Meall Buidhe seen, felt and rounded by some
it conducted three others on score facing Rhum.

Now that was a climb and a breath and a shake
of the kind from which to remind being awake.

For the full poem and many more: visit Gordon Peters blogspot

Ode to the M8 is from By Leaves Entwined

Featured image is Knoydart, Sgurr na Ciche by Rob Bruce.