LEAVING THE NEST
Dorothy Baird
To visit Dorothy Baird's author page, please click here.
A collection of poetry by Dorothy Baird that represents a woman’s journey into adulthood, through childbirth and motherhood and then on, as her children grow up and she passes into menopause and beyond.
Praise for Leaving the Nest:
‘Images, ideas and sounds fill eyes, ears, mouth and mind – and not just occasionally, but constantly. These pieces are the outpouring of a remarkable talent. They inhabit this universe in all its aspects: seasons, elements, animals, birds, land and sea. They are unobtrusively urgent, unashamed, and alive with longing lingering thoughts and feelings, with intensely personal experiences which Dorothy Baird has triumphantly universalised. They are an eloquent meditation on our lives, filled with the rich loam of humanity. In an increasingly ugly and unpredictable world, these poems are a reminder and an example of just how beautiful life can be.’ Christopher Rush
About Dorothy Baird
Dorothy Baird was born in Edinburgh and after travelling widely, including spending a year teaching English in France and the Soviet Union, returned to the city in 1989 to bring up her three children. She has worked in a variety of places including a biscuit factory, a shoe shop, and, briefly, a gentleman’s outfitter’s; taught English in two Steiner Schools and for many years was a tutor of English and Communication Skills for adults with learning disabilities. She now facilitates creative writing groups for adults in mental health centres and in the community, and leads writing workshops for children. She also runs a correspondence course in creative and therapeutic writing and is a Human Givens therapist.
An extract from Leaving the Nest
The Fairy Lochs
Wester Ross
At the end of the Second World War, a plane crashed here carrying American soldiers home. There were no survivors.
Two adults, three children
trudge into hills
through juniper, heather, the clutch
and grasp of mud.
Bog cotton flickers like will-o’-the-wisps
and the fairy lochs watch us
with their soft eyes
where lilies are white prayers
hovering on the threshold
of two worlds.
We see it then: crumpled scraps
scattered on the slopes
like litter from death's pocket.
A propeller points to the sky
with names we read in silence:
a gravestone
where the dark water stirs
like settling memories
in the smirring rain.
We are grateful to the Scottish Arts Council for a grant towards the publication of Leaving the Nest.
