Harvey Holton 1949 - 2010
Frae the beginnin
the watters rise
named bi nameless fowk
the words prize
oot o peat bog an rock faw
the firths size
in twistin burns tirnin
the coorse lies
letters lie waitin
an the picter cries
I was very sad to hear the news today of the sudden death of my old friend, Scots poet Harvey Holton.
This is a great loss not only to his wife Anne, family and friends, but to the literary community of Scotland.
I had the pleasure of working on several poetry and art collaborations with Harvey, spending many happy times walking, talking and sharing the beauty of the landscape around Corbiehill, his home in North Fife. Collaborating with him not only enriched my art work, but also gave me an understanding of my landscape, and my sense of place .
I have included below ‘Herrin Daith’, one of the collaboration pieces we produced for the River Spirits exhibition which toured around Scotland in the late 90’s.
He will be sadly missed.
Click on this video link to hear Harvey reading from his book ‘Finn’.
Herrin Daith
Hert an tide, oot rush an in rush,
the sauch an the swow o the shoal,
the ae harnpan the current rinnin,
reek in still air gently floatin,
thoosans o bodies soomin an tirnin,
free frae rig shans in derk sea hush,
wie whale crack auld an licht as coal.
Afore the ring net afore the trawls bindin,
the harpoon the grenades bluidy spootin,
siller the darlins wild athoot mindin.
Dauncein amin the wild waves crush,
takan the sichtin frae the north pole,
ooers oan deck yer guts fair churnin,
wife an bairns waitin yer returnin.
Are we fish frae the ocean freein?
January 16th, 2010 at 6:20 pm
I was a friend of Harvey and Anne in the late 70s.
I was shocked and saddened to hear this terrible news of a man who I was privileged to meet and with whom I shared a huge number of great experiences.
Michael Hill
January 16th, 2010 at 11:04 pm
Deeply saddened by the sad news of my uncle, as one of his rug rats I have so many memories of a very special man. My thoughts are with my auntie Anne at this time xx
January 18th, 2010 at 11:38 am
Harvey - will miss you but will remember all the laughs we used to have in Peebleshire, Fife, Dundee and Aberdeen.
Our recently rekindled correspondence has been abruptly curtailed.
January 18th, 2010 at 11:25 pm
aw doug, a lovely thing you’ve done
thank you for that
I’m bereft of my twin
half of my life is gone
remember him with a smile
(and a dram)
brian
January 19th, 2010 at 12:27 am
Brian; I remember one day walking around the woods at Rathilit with Harvey, where he had been working with the foresters, and he was laughing at the idea that people ‘owned’ the land. “People don’t own land’, he told me, “they pass over it!”.
I’m happy to have been lucky enough to have passed over this bonnie land with one of the finest readers of the landscape.
January 19th, 2010 at 6:27 am
Here’s a poem for Harvey:
On Raglan Road
On Raglan Road of an Autumn day
I saw her first and knew,
That her dark hair would weave a snare
That I might someday rue.
I saw the danger and I passed
Along the enchanted way.
And I said,”Let grief be a fallen leaf
At the dawning of the day.”
On Grafton Street in November, we
Tripped lightly along the ledge
Of a deep ravine where can be seen
The worth of passion pledge.
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts
And I not making hay;
Oh, I loved too much and by such and such
Is happiness thrown away.
I gave her gifts of the mind,
I gave her the secret signs,
That’s known to the artists who have known
The true gods of sound and stone.
And her words and tint without stint
I gave her poems to say
With her own name there and her own dark hair
Like clouds over fields of May.
On a quiet street where old ghosts meet
I see her walking now,
And away from me so hurriedly
My reason must allow.
That I had loved, not as I should
A creature made of clay,
When the angel woos the clay, he’ll lose
His wings at the dawn of day.
Patrick Kavanagh
January 19th, 2010 at 10:57 am
Sair and sad tae hear this news. I didna ken Harvey weel but I ken he wis weel-loved by mony. A braw makar whase gentle, wice words remain wi us. My thochts and guid wishes gang tae his faimly and freens.
January 19th, 2010 at 12:27 pm
Dear Anne,
I was so very sad to hear about Harvey’s death. I remember with great fondness our lengthy chats in Barra. I reread some of the poems from Harvey’s Four Fife Poets. There will always be a place for you here in Barra with us, and a pack of playing cards!
January 19th, 2010 at 8:33 pm
Deeply saddened by news of Harvey’s passing. Harvey and Anne were solid friends when I lived a short stagger (and it often was) from their ever-warm cottage and friendship in both Rathillet and at Hazleton. Love to Anne; Harvey…you will be sorely missed. Grant and Fran
January 19th, 2010 at 10:06 pm
We have known Harvey since the late 60s… yes that long. He was a wonderful man who you could talk long into the night with and always come away inspired, never tired.
He will be sadly missed.
January 22nd, 2010 at 2:33 pm
This is a sair dool. Wullie Hershaw, John Brewster and myself are deeply saddened to hear that ane o us ‘fower brigs ti a kinrik’ has been so suddenly taken. We enjoyed his artistic and personal input to the book Four Fife Poets. I would echo those who have remarked on Harvey’s kindness and wisdom. He was a man of great charisma and a sense of fun, a man committed to poetry itself, and with no interest in the hang-ups of the poetry ’scene’.
I find it difficult to take in that the seemingly endless flow of highly musical poetry has come to an end - an end, that is, except for whenever we can take up his words from the publications and recordings which, thankfully. he has left behind for us. As Busoni said of Rilke, he was indeed ‘a musician in words’.
A warm, gentle fellow who was - is - clearly much loved. But let’s celebrate him as well as grieve for him, and there’s much to celebrate beyond this time of grieving.
Tom Hubbard
January 23rd, 2010 at 11:06 am
I was shocked and saddened to hear the news. I have fond memories of long and boozy nights putting the world to rights and also our trips to Barra, Findhorn and Brittany. My thoughs are with you Anne x
January 24th, 2010 at 8:40 pm
When I gave my first poetry reading, promoting the “4 Fife Poets” book, I was so nervous I was shaking with fright. Harvey calmed me down,gave me a drink and encouragement before pushing me on stage.I will always remember his kindness and complete lack of ego. Mary and I are very sorry to hear this sad news and we send our sincere condolences.
January 26th, 2010 at 9:38 pm
I was saddened to hear of Harvey’s death. I stayed with Anne and Harvey a couple of times and he was great company and of course we adjourned to the local pub! He also very kindly looked over my amateurish poetry and gave me encouraging and constructive feedback. My thoughts are with Anne and his family.
February 9th, 2010 at 12:03 pm
I’ve thought about how I could say a few words back to Harvey, how I could express the loss in the spirit that we four fife poets so invoked in the depths of the Novar Bar in Kirkcaldy all those years ago. I send Harvey’s family my family’s condolences, and this wee poem and dedication.
From my website www.writingvoices.com
A POEM FOR FEBRUARY
This poem is dedicated to Harvey Holton, a gifted poet and friend, who passed away last month. The world is the worse, less magical and brave, for the loss of you, dear Harvey.
Love me, love me not
A blue turbulence of sea
sweeps the beach’s hairline
like a long-haired girl’s fretful hand.
The small boy casts stones into the waves,
dripping himself back into the water,
tear by pebble-thrown tear.
February 17th, 2010 at 8:57 am
On reading the book “Four Fife Poets” again, I keep going back to Harvey’s Poem “The Droont Gull” which voices all our fears on mortality:
“It’s aye been in ma mind
That thons the greatest fear
That gars the harns tae birr:
Whaun the tithers death
Is seen an felt bi aa
Then wi maun face wir ain.
In this yird theres nae sayin
Whaun tae gart wirsell tae faa,
But run wie dae frae the ithers skaith
Like the gull droont in the firr
Bi the tirnin o the pleuchshear
Wie taem the field o wir ain kind.”