#robin robertson

[the-hearth-and-the-wild]

Of Muthadh / Mutability

This book is for the taken: for all those feart of the glamour, the skaith of the evil eye - weird-set, ill-minted or only wildering - their bodies in motion, flowing or full-flown, rapt with heart-hunger.

Grass twists up through my hair now and my mouth is full of stones. Tell my mother and father I am coming, tell them I have not grown old.

Robin Robertson, from Grimoire

[aboutbirds]

If only we could charm her with music; but those old composers were such fools: they wrote melodies only for the happy times — festivals, grand banquets, celebrations. None of them thought to make a music for real life, music that would salve our wounds and soothe our bitter griefs. Didn’t they see these wounds and griefs destroy us, and a music that healed such sorrow would be precious? What is the point of music and song at a feast? People are happy when they’re full. We need a tune when there’s no food there to eat.

Euripides’ Medea 189-207, translated by Robin Robertson

[gatheredinamber]

From this afternoon's Kings Place book launch with Robin Robertson, we learned that the span of the collected lyrics - 1994 to 2024 - is identical to the time between Alasdair's first and last driving tests (he passed the latter). He has never bought an acoustic guitar in his life, just inherited his father Alan's.

Robertson's question to Alasdair, "When did you feel you settled on folk music?" was answered, "I'm not sure I have settled on folk music." Robertson said that what first drew him to Alasdair's writing on the Farewell Sorrow album was its lack of humour, which led to the two swapping gentle barbs about whether any of this toxic humour stuff could be found in their respective work.

The songs in the book are arranged in chronological order, as they were in the setlist:

Autumn 

Tangled Hair 

Cyclone’s Vernal Retreat

Farewell Sorrow

Waxwing

Unyoked Oxen Turn

Song composed

Scarce of Fishing

A Keen

Hymn of Welcome

The book has three appendices, including the unrecorded Ruby in the Hawthorn that was played live a couple of times in 2011, and possibly earlier. Long term followers of this site may wish there were thirty such appendices.

[noleavestoblow]

Only you: dark bullet barreled from the depths, carrying only your one wound, but resurgent, always renewed, locked into the current, fins fletched like wings in the torrent, in the coursing of the underwater dark, like a grieving arrow, sea-javelin, a nerveless oiled harpoon.

-Pablo Neruda (translated by Robin Robertson)

[girlmixedupwithstreet]

Washing glasses in the sink and the first thing she knew was this dull click, like a tongue, under the soap-suds. The foam pinked. Now she could see blood smoking from the flap of skin, and it was over, clearly, out in the open: holding water, feeling nothing.

Robin Robertson, Break

[poem-today]

A poem by Robin Robertson

Glass of Water and Coffee Pot

after Chardin

These rooms of wood, of tongue-and-groove, open out on a garden of white-washed walls and a maple tree, a new Spring bright among the weathered stone and brick. We find things that are old and used, well-made, well worn and beautiful because of this. The balance intimate between that glass of water’s clarity and light and the pot’s grave darkness: an order so luminous and fine you needn’t measure it with a rule, just look. The papery whiteness of the garlic heads is the same light held in the water glass, the same light lifting a gleam from the blackened coffee pot that’s somehow managed to make it through, to find harmony here on this stone shelf, happiness of the hand and heart, to keep its heat and still pour clean and true.

Robin Robertson

Listen to Robin Robertson read his poem.

[gbhbl]

Horror Movie Review: The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires (1973)

Professor Van Helsing heads off to China on a lecture tour, only to join forces with a local family when he gets caught up in a battle between good and evil after a gang of sword-wielding vampires rise from the grave.

The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires (Chinese: 七金屍) is a 1974 martial arts horror film directed by Roy Ward Baker. The final movie in the Dracula series. In Transylvania in 1804, a lone figure makes his way through the countryside. He enters the towering Castle Dracula, where he summons Count Dracula. The figure announces, in his own language, that his name is Kah, a Taoist monk. And the high…

[e--q]

Robin Hood and his Merrie Men 

(Handmade Soft Toys inspired by the 1952 Walt Disney Film with Richard Todd as Robin Hood, James Hayter as Friar Tuck, James Robertson Justice as Little John and Anthony Forwood as Will Scarlet) 

~ Happy Birthday Richard Todd ~

[sebengineer101]

Morning Report [30/07/1987]

[soracities]

Tomas Tranströmer, from “Black Postcards″, The Deleted World: Poems (versions by Robin Robertson, bilingual ed.) [transcript in ALT]

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader[1.8k] prompt: patching up and raising a hand to kiss

“Babe, you gotta sit still.”

You squirmed, lips twisted into a pout as you tried to shy away from Steve’s hand. The boy sighed, disgruntled to say the least, his other hand coming up to cup the back of your neck.

“Baby."

“Steve,” you replied, with just as much emphasis. You were sulking, perched on the boy’s kitchen counter and feeling far too sorry for yourself. “It stings.”

You weren’t really sure what possessed you to punch Cindy Robertson in the face an hour earlier. Sure, you knew why you did it… you were just surprised you actually did it. Your hand was sore, knuckles swollen, one split and bleeding and you had a nasty scratch running down your right cheek, courtesy of Cindy’s fresh manicure.

You’d never gotten into a fight in your entire life.

“Yeah no shit it stings, Rocky,” Steve told you, coaxing your face back to the cotton ball he was trying to soothe over your cheek. “But you gotta let me clean it.”

The antiseptic nipped and burned and you whined, a little pathetically you were sure, but the small noise seemed to soften something in the boy and he tutted, sighed one more time and rubbed his thumb over your unscathed cheek.

“Baby,” he said again, more gently, less admonishing.

You leaned into his touch, hand wrapped around his wrist and you tried not to look guilty, like a kid who knew they were going to get in trouble.

But Steve moved closer, dropping the blood stained cotton into the sink and tapped at your knee. You obeyed immediately, spreading your thighs so the boy could move into the space between them, his thumb and finger catching your chin.

He was still taller than you, even as you sat on the countertop, your legs wrapped around his waist in an attempt to be even closer - maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the words that Cindy had baited you with, but god, you were desperate to feel him.

Robin had called Steve from a pay phone by the mall exit, much to your despair. You’d been too busy cradling your sore hand and scowling at your reflection in the toilet mirror to notice. And when you walked back to meet your friend, Steve was already there, clambering out of his car with a look on his face that couldn’t discern from worry or annoyance.

You really hoped he wasn’t annoyed with you.

“Are you mad at me?” You asked and your voice came out quieter than you would’ve liked.

Steve’s eyes softened, lips parting, the set of his jaw relaxing as he pushed his thumb to your bottom lip. The touch was all fond, the hand on your chin tilting your face so he could take another look at your cheek and then he was pushing his lips to your forehead.

A kiss. Finally.

“M’not mad, baby.” Steve tucked your hair behind your ear, pushed a hand back to your good cheek until it squished softly under his touch. He smiled at the sight, his eyes dripping with affection and concern. “Just not like you to start throwing punches in the mall bathroom.”

He was right, of course. But you shrugged, embarrassment taking form over your cheeks in a warm flush and instead of responding, you let yourself drop into his frame, face pushed to the crook of his neck, your scratched cheek protesting at your carelessness. You let your good hand wind around his waist, fisting at the the cotton of his shirt, greedy as you pushed it out of your way so your palm could smooth over the slope of his back.

Your other hand lay cradled in your lap, bruised, sore and more aware than ever of its own strength.

Steve didn’t push you away, in fact, he dropped his hands to your hips and pulled you closer, chests flush, his lips brushing over the baby hairs on your temple as he spoke. He was careful with his words, voice soft, quiet.

“Why’d you hit Cindy, huh?”

The kitchen was silent except for the drip drip drip of the tap. You shrugged, tired and lazy, body feeling slack now that the rush of adrenaline had worn off and Steve was against you.

You pushed your nose to the collar of his shirt, breathing in mint and cedar and Steve. He patted at your hip, leaned back from your embrace, just enough that he could fit a hand back underneath your chin again, encouraging you to look at him.

“Robin said she was saying stuff to you.”

There it was.

That hot prick of tears at the corners of your eyes, the overwhelming upset at what had transpired in the first place. Water gathered at your lash line and you blinked furiously, willing them away before Steve could see but then he was swiping his thumbs underneath, catching them before they could fall.

“She’s just a bitch,” you mumbled, eyes downcast, your fingers twisting around Steve’s belt loop. “She’s always been a bitch.”

Steve pondered your statement for a second or two before deciding he really couldn’t argue with it. He’d dated the other girl at the beginning of high school, only for a few weeks, a month maybe.

So he hummed instead, hating the way tears were still making your eyes glassy and you winced when you sniffed, the motion making your cheek scrunch up and god, that scratch was nasty.

“What’d she say to you?”

You refused to look at him when you spoke, eyes on the kitchen tiles at Steve’s feet, your fingers still working furiously at anything you could attach yourself too, anything that could be used as a distraction. The belt loops, the hem of Steve’s t-shirt, his fingers when he pulled at yours to stop working yourself up.

“That you’d get bored of me,” you mumbled, voice thick with the emotion you were trying so hard to keep in. “That you’d move onto someone else soon.”

A tear spilled over, past your wet lashes, onto your cheek, stinging at the cut, salt and blood and an overwhelmingly upset.

“No, baby, no,” Steve was hushing you, all soft voice and softer hands, petting over your jaw, the length of your neck, thumb pressed to the spot between your jaw and your ear. “Don’t cry, please.”

You only sniffed more, an ugly lump in your throat, a burning behind your eyes that you hated. You weren’t even that sad, you didn’t really believe the girl and her horrible words, not really. Not anymore, not with the boy between your legs and his hands lovely on your face. But you were still angry.

Angry at Cindy and her pitying stare, her callous words dressed up in a simpering, sticky sweet tone of voice. Angry that for just one second, you thought she could’ve been right. And then you were angry at yourself, for ignoring Robin, pushing away her hand that clasped your wrist in warning.

Punching someone in the face seemed to hurt you just as much as it hurt them, you'd learned. Or maybe you weren’t doing it right. You'd have to ask Nancy. Your knuckles stung when they hit against Cindy’s nose, a white hot burn that ricocheted through your hand and up your arm.

You couldn’t deny that the ugly crunch felt satisfying. Especially after what she’d said to you as she cornered you against the bathroom sinks, cruel remarks bouncing off of the baby blue tiles.

“You said it yourself, sweetheart,” Steve murmured to you, lips at your cheek, the corner of your mouth, pressing to the tip of your nose as he tried to kiss away each tear that rolled down your face. “She was just being a bitch.”

You shrugged, breath catching in your chest before you winced at the throb in your hand, the knuckles cracked and nipping. Steve tsked, taking your palm soft in his and he raised it for a kiss, lips pressed warm to the inside as he tried his hardest to keep his fingers gentle around your own.

But then he was trailing his mouth over your wrist, a whisper of a kiss into the sensitive skin on the inside of your elbow, loving on you until his face was pressed into your neck and his arms were back around your waist.

“You know that it’s not true, right? What she said?”

“I know.” You still sounded sad, petulant almost, feeling too sorry for yourself and the pain in your hand was a throbbing reminder.

“Tell me?” Steve pulled back, squished at your poor cheeks again with finger and thumb, gentle but enough to make your lips push out into a pout. “Lemme hear you say it, hmm? Little slugger.”

“I know it’s not true,” you mumbled, words a little clumsy from his touch but it made the boy go all fond, eyes soft, the lips that fell onto your own even softer.

There was a little heat behind his kiss, one that was a slow build, a simmer that lingered on your lips, that told you exactly how the boy wanted to make you feel better. But then he was pulling back, lashes fluttering, lips glossy and parted.

He sighed again, eyes on your scratch, your sore hand but the sound was much softer than before.

“Can I please clean you up, babe?” Another kiss, a soft push over your lips, your chin, your jaw. “I’ll be gentle, promise.”

You nodded, clinging to him still, eyes still wet but not crying. You watched the boy as he methodically dabbed at your cuts, cleaned up your knuckles and kissed each one better. He kept true to his word, softer than ever with you, letting you melt into him until he was cradling your bad hand between your chests so he could see each cut.

When he was done, he produced a Band-Aid with a flourish, a bright pink thing with dinosaurs on it and you were rolling your eyes when he stuck it over your cheek, lips pushed into a pout that he promptly kissed away.

“Look at you,” he cooed, voice sticky with sweetness and maybe even a little pride. “My little badass.”

The purple and pink dinosaur on your face seemed to suggest otherwise but you flushed anyway, groaning and pushing your face into his solid chest when he laughed.

“I definitely won,” you mumbled.

Steve let out a snort, pressed kiss after kiss into your hair and pulled you off of the counter, groaning dramatically as you kept hold of him. He tucked his arms under your legs, carried you without complaint out of the kitchen and towards the stairs.

“Oh I don’t doubt that, baby. But Christ, no more brawling. Hopper will have to lock you up.”

You huffed out a laugh, tried to look downtrodden and sorry for yourself still, but Steve's hands moved to your ass and patted, eyebrow's raised until you smiled and he kissed you sweet once more before he started to climb the stairs with you.

"Love you, you little delinquent."

[smolandweirdwriter]

Fuck yeah

(Euripides Medea, translated by Robin Robertson)

[girlmixedupwithstreet]

BREAK  |  ROBIN ROBERTSON

Washing glasses in the sink and the first thing she knew was this dull click, like a tongue, under the soap-suds. The foam pinked. Now she could see blood smoking from the flap of skin, and it was over, clearly, out in the open: holding water, feeling nothing.

[dalekofchaos]

Life Is Strange fancast(new)

Already did a LIS fancast before, but since some of them were too old, I think it's time to do a new one

my other LIS fancasts

LIS BTS fancast

LIS 2 fancast

LIS TC Fancast

Thomasin McKenzie as Max Caulfield

Sophie Thatcher as Chloe Price

Kristine Froseth as Rachel Amber

Elle Fanning as Kate Marsh

Wyatt Oleff as Warren Graham

Reneé Rap as Victoria Chase

Austin Abrams as Nathan Prescott

Aaron Eckhart as William Price

Robin Wright as Joyce Price

Ving Rhames as Principal Raymond Wells

Yvette Nicole Brown as Michelle Grant

Douglas M. Griffin as Samuel Taylor

David Harbour as David Madsen

Norman Reedus as Frank Bowers

Bryan Cranston as Sean Prescott

Dewon Sawa as Mark Jefferson

Kaitlyn Dever as Steph Gingrich

Shameik Moore as Drew North

Miles Brown as Mikey North

Jon Hamm as James Amber

Neve Campbell as Rose Amber

Rosamund Pike as Sera Gearhardt

Jon Bernthal as Damon Merrick

Barbie Ferreira as Alyssa Anderson

Brianne Tju as Brooke Scott

Jacob Batalon as Daniel DeCosta

Ryan Potter as Evan Harris

Jenna Ortega as Stella Hill

Jolie Vanier as Dana Ward

Kelli Berglund as Juliet Watson

Because of tumblr's new layout with the 30 picture limit, I cannot add more pictures, so here's the rest.

Ross Lynch as Luke Parker

Charlie Rowe as Justin Williams

Noah Centineo as Trevor Yard

Stefanie Scott as Taylor Christensen

Tiffany Espensen as Courtney Wagner

Mason Gooding as Hayden Jones

Justin Prentice as Zachary Riggs

Dylan Minnette as Logan Robertson

Angourie Rice as Samantha Myers

Mischa Collins as Skip Matthews

Mark Hamill as Travis Keaton

[billboard-hotties-tourney]

The Round Two Contenders

Hello, all! As we go into round two, I'll be accepting propaganda for only the following nominees:

Sting

Glenn Gould

Link Wray

Curtis Mayfield

Bob Seger

Oscar Peterson

Eric Stewart

Klaus Voormann

Paul McCartney

Gene Autry

Rod Argent

Fang

Freddie Mercury

John Paul Jones

Sly Stone

Tom Scholz

Justin Hayward

Roger Hodgson

Bo Diddley

Rick Wright

Gram Parsons

Geddy Lee

Ray Manzarek

Sam Cooke

Jimi Hendrix

David Gilmour

Noel Redding

Fats Domino

Eric Burdon

Jim Morrison

Bjorn Ulvaeus

Smokey Robinson

Nat King Cole

Dave Davies

Ray Brown

Ron Mael

Ian Curtis

Arlo Guthrie

Micky Dolenz

Syd Barrett

Chuck Berry

Renato Zero

Bruce Springsteen

Al Green

Miles Davis

Bill Bruford

Charles Brown

Mickey Finn

Bob Marley

Eric Dolphy

Neil Peart

Alan Parsons

Brian May

Neil Diamond

Mick Taylor

Robin Zander

Billy Preston

Mik Kaminski

Tony Bennett

Mick Ronson

Steve Miller

Tony Levin

Johnny Cash

Stevie Wonder

Gordon Lightfoot

Frank Zappa

Ernie Ford

David Coverdale

Marvin Gaye

Buddy Holly

Marc Bolan

Rory Gallagher

Todd Rundgren

Willie Dixon

Joe Strummer

Carl Palmer

David Bowie

Alvin Lee

Rick Danko

Clyde McPhatter

Cab Calloway

John Oates

Kenny Loggins

Roy Orbison

John Fogerty

Richie Havens

Ricky Nelson

Denny Laine

Otis Redding

Dave Vanian

John Coltrane

Elton John

BB King

Dean Martin

Rob Grill

Don Henley

Russell Mael

Jimmy Page

Cat Stevens

Tommy Shaw

Robbie Robertson

Phil Ochs

David Byrne

Steve Winwood

Donald Fagen

Carlos Santana

Peter Hammill

Tom Jones

Bev Bevan

Clarence Clemons

Sammy Davis Jr

Robert Lamm

Bobby Darin

Johnny Mathis

Tony Banks

Robert Plant

Brian Eno

Benny Andersson

Barry Gibb

John Deacon

Pete Seeger

Phil Lynott

Andy Gibb

George Harrison

Mickey Hart

Prince

Jack Bruce

Keith Moon

Those in bold have lots of propaganda already, so they're low priority. Rules for submitting propaganda are in the FAQ. If there are multiple people in the photo, please tell me which one the propaganda's for. Good luck to the round two musicians!