#john hewitt

[worldsofzzt]

Source “Virus of ZZT” by John Hewitt (1997) [VIRUSZZT.ZZT] - “!c;LOCKED FILE” Play This World Online

[sitting-on-me-bum]

Right off the road a forest of tall pine trees fell away to reveal the rolling mountains and the morning light peaking over a layer of clouds.

Photographer: John Hewitt

[readingpeacebypiece]

Ossian's Grave in Glenann, Country Antrim, Ireland

This incredible court cairn from the Stone Age is traditionally known as the grave of the warrior poet (awesome job) Ossian, a son of Finn MacCool

John Hewitt, poet of the glens, who is now buried in the same field, wrote a poem about the landmark:

We stood and pondered on the stones whose plan displays their pattern still; the small blunt arc, and, sill by sill, the pockets stripped of shards and bones. The legend has it, Ossian lies beneath this landmark on the hill, asleep till Fionn and Oscar rise to summon his old bardic skill in hosting their last enterprise. This, stricter scholarship denies, declares this megalithic form millennia older than his time - if such lived ever, out of rime - was shaped beneath Sardinian skies, was coasted round the capes of Spain, brought here through black Biscayan storm, to keep men's hearts in mind of home and its tall Sun God, wise and warm, across the walls of toppling foam, against this twilight and the rain. I cannot tell; would ask no proof; let either story stand for true, as heart or head shall rule. Enough that, our long meditation done, as we paced down the broken lane by the dark hillside's holly trees, a great white horse with lifted knees came stepping past us, and we knew his rider was no tinker's son.

[ramblingsthebookblog]

Poetry Review: John Hewitt, selected poems

“This is my country. If my people came 

from England here four centuries ago, 

the only trace that’s left is my name.” 

Fresh from attending the John Hewitt Summer School in Armagh, I finished reading this collection of Hewitt’s poetry. Famous for his political activism as well as his writing, this is a wonderful sample of some of his best work. As Northern Ireland moves into un-chartered, new territory with Brexit Hewitt’s words are just as relevant today as they were when they were first published. 

[sitting-on-me-bum]

This is Bandon Beach on the Oregon coast where the sunset this night was just brilliant.

Photographer: John Hewitt

[j-august]

A good judge of character, [John] Hewitt knew exactly how and when to show an object. He knew that George Ortiz, for instance, liked to rummage around when his back was turned, so he would hide things for George to find and then buy.

James Stourton, Rogues and Scholars: Boom and Bust in the London Art Market, 1945-2000.

[worldsofzzt]

Source “Virus of ZZT” by John Hewitt (1997) [VIRUSZZT.ZZT] - “!c;LOCKED FILE” Play This World Online

[poem-today]

A poem by John Hewitt

THE WATCHERS 

We crouched and waited as the day ebbed off and the close birdsong dwindled point by point, nor daring the indulgence of a cough or the jerked protest of a weary joint; and when our sixty minutes had run by and lost themselves in the declining light we heard the warning snuffle and the sly scuffle of mould, and, instantly, the white long head thrust through the sighing undergrowth, and the grey badger scrambled into view, eager to frolic carelessly, yet loth to trust the air his greedy nostrils drew; awhile debated with each distant sound, then, settling into confidence, began to scratch his tough-haired side, to sniff the ground without the threat of that old monster, man. And as we watched him, gripped in our surprise, that moment suddenly began to mean more than a badger, and a row of eyes, a stony brook, a leafy ditch between. It was as if another nature came close to my knowledge, but could not be known; yet if I tried to call it by its name would start, alarmed, and instantly be gone

John Hewitt (1907-1987)

Seamus Heaney reads the John Hewitt poem