Building canon within any literature is a meandering process. It is a conversation opened out in multiple directions, whereby readerships, critics, academics and raconteurs, literary development figures and organisations, prize-givers, the media, educators, civil servants and politicians - in theory at least - all take a role in the process. Rarely, you might think, do poets themselves get a say in the words their community deems worthy, despite the fact that we are the only possessors of insight into the form from both the inside and the outside - as practitioners and readers. The expectation is that we will remain silent, until thankful to be acknowledged. In this way, Gaeldom is special. Our poets really are the true, collective guardians of leabhar nam bà rd (the book of the bards).
This is partly due to the high esteem in which the poet has been held in Gaelic-speaking society, dating right back to the epics of the Dark Ages. This role has shifted and mutated in accordance with the times, not least since the mid-twentieth century, when was welcomed the rise of the poet-academic, previously embodied by figures such as Derick Thomson and Donald MacAulay. This is an occupation which can see such an individual perform various additional functions on top of the traditional role of crafting praise and satire. With the advent of this revered figure within the Gaelic cultural landscape, the bardic role, as originator of verse, has expanded to include other occupations, ranging from translator to editor to critic, and from events programmer to arts administrator - and even, in the case of Thomson, being the guardian of Gaeldom’s primary literary body, Comhairle nan Leabhraichean (The Gaelic Books Council).
Thomson’s legacy within the Gaelic literary tradition cannot ever be discounted. Indeed, as one of the community’s foremost scholars, he was the author of ‘An Introduction to Gaelic Poetry’, published in 1990, which remains the primary critical text critiquing the poetry of the mid-to-late-twentieth century. Within its pages, however, is contained a breach of academic protocol which, perhaps, only a minoritised culture could permit - largely out of necessity. The volume includes Thomson’s criticism of the work of Ruaraidh MacThòmais, referenced as here. Likewise, Thomson’s legacy also encompasses the anthologisation of five key voices of the twentieth-century Gaelic poetry corpus: Sorley Maclean and his counterparts, including Dòmhnall MacAmhlaigh. Edited by MacAulay, ‘Nua-bhà rdachd Ghà idhlig’ also anthologised works by MacThòmais. Those unable to read the Gaelic original may not be immediately cognisant of something already known to Gaels for decades. Dòmhnall MacAmhlaigh and Donald MacAaulay are one and the same. Ruaraidh MacThòmais, was the indigenous name of Derick Thomson, the name with which he continued publishing poetry into the new millennium. This has long raised the question within Gaelic literary studies over just how far any poet-academic can distance themselves from the canon, in order to maintain the necessary distance required, in order to weigh up its worth, within the corpus from which it is selected. This conundrum was, for me, the primary reason why, as a published Gaelic poet, I gave up my own PhD, where my intention had been to consider the early formation of pre-and-post-2000 poetic canon, from the as-yet, largely-nebulous contemporary Gaelic poetic corpus. I was simply too close to it all, and it to me. The following cannot fail to reflect that proximity.
Precedents
Whilst few can agree when a tradition begins, the antebellum Gaelic tradition anticipated by Thomson et. al., continues to renew, carried forward by the likes of Drs. Meg Bateman, Christopher Whyte, Niall O’Gallagher and Peter Mackay. All four writers have been routinely anthologised over the years, with Whyte himself being the editor of ‘An Aghaidh na Sìorraidheachd’, the last significant anthology of Gaelic verse seeking, like ‘Nua-bhà rdachd’ before it, to encapsulate the era in which it was published. ‘Sìorraidheachd’ included various excellent early works by Crìsdean MacIlleBhà in – Christopher Whyte – alongside others by Bateman, Aonghas MacNeacail, Maoilios Caimbeul (Myles Campbell) and Anna Frater (Anee Frater), and did good work in demonstrating that Gaelic poetry could continue to evolve in the wake of those in whose furrow they tread.
But, as is always the case, then, as now, both anthologies were notable for their omissions. The former, for eschewing any writing in the bà rdachd baile – essentially, though probably reductively translated as ‘traditional’ – style but, in addition, in an arguably post-feminist world, it now sits on bookshelves uneasily, because of its exclusion of any women’s writing. ‘Sìorraidheachd’, borne of the era of Kristeva, Butler and Kosofsky Sedgwick, clearly sought to redress the gender balance, though, with an even split of female and male poets included. For the first time, too, the pages were similarly representative of a shift across Gaelic literature, whereby native-speakers and new-speakers were included as equals, with apposite representation of exponents hailing from the Gaelic heartland and the blooming urban centres. This built on the inclusion of new speaker Deòrsa Mac Iain Deòrsa (George Campbell Hay) in 'Nua-bhà rdachd', as one of the so-called 'famous five', despite the omission of Uilleam Nèill (William Neill), notable as one of very few poets to write in all three native languages of Scotland. In addition, for the first time, in 'Sìorraidheachd', a Gaelic poetry anthology included themes of homosexuality and -eroticism, in lovingly crafted works by MacIlleBhà in. It still failed to include two poets, however, contemporary to those included in age – Aonghas Phà draig Caimbeul and Rody Gorman – who have gone on to leave an indelible mark on the Gaelic literary landscape, both post-1980 and continuing post-2000. As with its predecessor, such inclusions, and moreso its exclusions, are not devoid of the agency of the editor. Those works extolled as exemplary are never selected like Scrabble tiles, blind in the bag.
Twenty-first Century Anthologies
In recent years, Gaelic poetic anthologies have sought less to uphold the voices of the age, but to compile works thematically. Two key examples include Kevin MacNeil’s ‘Struileag’, which centred on evocations of the Gaelic diaspora and Mackay and Iain S. MacPherson’s ‘An Leabhar Liath’, a delightfully filthy little volume, full of bawdy verse, with Marcus [sic] Mac an Tuairneir thrilled to be included at the very end. The latest – '100 Dà in as Fheà rr Leinn' – again co-edited by Mackay, this time in collaboration with Gaelic media mogul Jo MacDonald, takes, on the surface at least, a more democratic approach. Instead of handing the responsibility - if not privilege - of consecrating those worthy works to the editorial team alone, publishers Luath Press opened the selection process to Gaelic readerships, who contacted the editorial team in their droves. Mackay and MacDonald were supported by a panel with an unpublished set of criteria. Deemed ‘knowledgeable‘ by the editors, in their introduction, they included exponents of Gaelic poetry, song and members of the Gaelic establishment: Mòrag Anna NicNèill, Eilidh Cormack, Iain MacDonald and Donald Morrison. Gaelic heroes all and native speakers, ranging across the Hebridean archipelago. No Canadians, bar MacPherson, or New-speakers featured in the mix.
The title of the tome in translation does not adequately communicate the meaning of the original Gaelic, however. ‘A hundred poems we prefer’ might be another interpretation. Indeed, the ethos, on the face of it, seems to have been to draw together the poems best loved by Gaeldom. This presents a welcome shift. Instead of allowing our collective worth to be weighed and measured by a Scottish literary establishment, this anthology takes the power out of the hands of those who continue to show scant regard for our literature at all, and lack the linguistic ability to read the original, presented to them more often than not in self-translation, verso-recto. But more of that later.
A New Modus-operandi
Mackay and MacDonald’s role has been, seemingly, to act as editorial arbitrators, ensuring diversity and quality control and in the case of that latter, they have certainly succeeded. The poetry included spans the ages, a timeline beginning almost with the marginalia of the book of Deer and ending with the tweet you read last. I’ll not pull a Thomson / MacThòmais, though. With this essay now free to read on my blog, everyone doing so already knows that I am one of such Gaelic poets, susceptible to as much of the subjectivity and as many of the unconscious biases as any of the poet-academic-editors mentioned above. I’m not going to kid on by publishing this under the name on my birth certificate. So, cognisant as I am that this very essay is itself another step towards canon-building, in my estimation, of the anthology in question, I want to make it clear this is an attentively curated volume. Its creation cannot have been an easy task, and any any such project will always leave some egos bruised. In this, the principle result is that readerships will find something to cherish between the covers, as they enjoy discovering whether their own suggestions made the cut.
It's the 'cut' though, for me, or the intersections, which raise one of the key questions, however. The editors, in their introduction, are pleased to note that the compendium includes a number of rarities and obscurities. Their diligence has clearly included the scouring library catalogues for several out-of-print collections and long-lost periodicals, now the preserve of University archives. In this, this new anthology does much needed work in bringing forgotten, or frankly neglected works, to new readerships. A beautiful thing indeed, but, without being pernicious about the richness contained on the bookshelves of Gaelic-speaking households across Scotland, this still betrays the incongruity of the 'mass appeal' suggested in the title. The issue, here, is access. Indeed, can such gems ever be considered beloved of a community if, indeed, they are so seldom read?
Equalities, Diversity and Inclusion
The unread and the unseen unfolds before me as I turn the pages of ‘100 Dà n’, as it does when I return to ‘Nua-bhà rdachd’ and ‘Sìorraidheachd’. If not simply the question of inclusion, it is that of inclusivity that booms large. It is an echo that reverberates off whitewashed walls. Its first question unanswered hangs on the following: in 2020, should any Scottish readership be expected to welcome a volume which includes no BAME writing whatsoever?
The fault, here, of course, does not lie with the editors, or the public who compiled the long-list. Until extremely recently – this month in fact – there has been no development of BAME writing in Gaelic, whatsoever. The knee-jerk reaction from the uninitiated is probably to respond with another question: whether BAME Gaelic-speakers even exist. But if we go back to the Transactions of the Gaelic Society of Inverness and dive into the academic work of Dr. Michael Newton, for example, we can be assured that black Gaelic-speakers did and do feature within Gaelic communities. So, why no non-white Gaelic poets?
We have scant BAME Gaelic writing, at all, largely because those residing within these concentric circles of identity have not been nurtured as writers by the existing literary infrastructure. Black writers Cassie Ezeji and Naomi Gessesse have written eloquently, outwith the poetic genre, on the feeling of falling between their intersections. However, it has not been until the present moment that any public body such as Creative Scotland, The Scottish Book Trust or the Gaelic Books Council has engaged with BAME writing networks specifically, in order to build that bridge. I welcome the engagement of Gaelic literary champion and ceannard of the Gaelic Books Council, Alison Lang, with the BAME Writers’ Network recent networking event. For this anthology, it is too little too late, however. In tracing my finger down the contents page, I can’t help but wonder what it might have looked like if the likes of Ezeji and Gessesse had ever been inspired to write poetry in what is absolutely their language, too. You only need to watch the annual Mòd coverage to know that Gaelic-speakers from diverse ethnic and cultural backgrounds are part of our communities. Their faces are there in the adult choirs and among the youngers on stage. So, whilst acknowledging Gaeldom’s own journey through post-modernity and post-colonialism, I can’t criticise the editors, panel and publishers for not including what they couldn’t find. However, the absence of BAME voices leaves me acutely aware that it’s those young people, most of all, who need to see their lives and lived experience represented between the pages of anthologies such as the one in focus, here. I know this need because, in other ways, this need is my own.
Voices Unheard
Every writer considers their legacy, as soon as they welcome work in print. As a gay and genderqueer poet, writing and publishing in Scotland, I too was looking for something that might connect to my own rainbow spirit. Out of the six of us, who call both Scotland’s LGBTQ and Gaelic-speaking communities home, only two feature in this new hundred-song, that sits mute beside me on the desk. One, therein, is somewhat hidden. Iain S. MacPherson has contributed some exquisite translations of a number of the works included, but his own intricate, original poetic works do not feature. He who kicked down the Gaelic closet door for us all, though, does, with some exemplary writing from Crìsdean MacIlleBhà in. ‘An Daolag Shìonach’ is among my favorite of his later works, so it was a joy to read it again. But, I would be betraying my own lived experience if I were to say that I was surprised to find that MacIlleBhà in’s selected poem is not one of the many to reference the themes of homosexuality and -eroticism which so inspired me as a Gaelic literature student back in the early 2010s. Writing my MLitt thesis then, it remains the only large-scale critical work to discuss such themes in MacIlleBhà in's, or any Gaelic poet's, oeuvre. Taking a positive approach, the anthology serves well to resist the pigeon-holing of MacIlleBhà in as Gaeldom’s premier gay writer, instead acknowledging the rich seam of internationalism and multiculturalism which runs throughout his poetry. But, still, I am frustrated. Why the gay erasure?
Dr. Niall O’Gallagher, is one of the few poets to emerge post-2000 and to make the cut, in '100 Dà n'. In his closing essay for the collection within which 'An Daolag Shìonach' is the title poem, he notes that on first encountering MacIlleBhà in’s work ‘[he] noticed that there was something new and different about this poetry.’ He continues that ‘other readers’, like myself and, I suspect, any other LGBTQ Gael, ‘noted the love between men, something that was new, as far as they knew, in Scottish Gaelic poetry.’ For O’Gallagher, however, ‘that wasn’t what caught [his] attention as [he] turned the pages’.
Unsurprising then, that heterosexual poet-academic-editors might continue to overlook this key aspect of vast swathes of MacIlleBhà in’s output, despite the fact that he has written several self-reflexive essays on his experience as the gay, Gaelic trailblazer. MacIlleBhà in does not hold back on critiquing the often silent othering he has encountered himself at various junctures in his career. This permeates his poems, to a certain degree, as well. I am always minded of the words of MacAulay who, when encoutering 'Sìorraidheachd', described this addition to the canon as 'not very Gaelic although it is in Gaelic, and [did] not have much connection with the tradition, with Gaelic convention.' So far so nebulous, yet 'the gain is the substantial expansion in words representing new concepts and the freedom with which they are used; the loss is the weakness and disjunction that can be seen.' New concepts indeed. I can confirm that, some thirty years later, lexical choice is also a subject that features in critiques of my own works as an LGBTQ poet, with my Gaelic, attained through formal acquisition, often described as not being nà dara (natural). But then as a queer person, the policing of my words is nothing new. Still a fact of my life, in 2020 - the age of equal marriage, with decriminalisation in the rear-view mirror.
I am certain both O'Gallgher and Mackay have read these essays, but critics must, of course, disentwine the golden thread they find most appealing from a larger tapestry. Perhaps, when faced with that ‘quality control’ task I mentioned earlier, Mackay and MacDonald found the jewels of internationalism outshone the rainbow. But again, this is 2020. I don’t agree that it does any writer justice to downplay one of their key themes, which was a point well made by Whyte himself, when interviewing Edwin Morgan towards the end of the last century. With a publicly-funded project such as this, I would have hoped that Mackay, MacDonald and their team might exercise a little prudence in ensuring that this latest anthology adheres to the ethos of current equalities legislation and policy, which, despite - or indeed because of - its own minoritised status, the Gaelic community is still bound to uphold. Then again, LGBTQ people are a minority, numerically as well as politically and socially. Perhaps it came down to the law of averages dictating the long-list they had to sift through.
Pushed To The Margins
Those who watched BBC Alba’s ‘Bogha-froise’ documentary from its award-winning Trusadh series might get an indication as to why Gaeldom’s own LGBTQ bards might not have won the popular vote, however. Katie Laing’s Hebrides Writer blog got right to the heart of the matter around the time I read at An Lanntair’s inaugural LGBT History Month celebration, which was a historic moment in and of itself. I referred to unconscious bias previously, and I’ll be magnanimous in sticking to that terminology, but it's safe to say that it's likely that Mackay and MacDonald weren’t presented with enough works, from this niche literary sector, to make a selection based on their quality. But then, with six LGBTQ writers currently writing in Gaelic – add Babs MacGregor, Nathaniel Harrington, Maya Evan MacGregor to those already mentioned – I find it extremely difficult to believe that, out of what could number some five-hundred-or-more individual poems which allude to LGBTQ lived experience, not one of them was found worthy enough to stand up alongside those hundred selected. Out of the thirty-or-so poets to emerge post-2000, published in periodicals or in pamphlets and collections, five – MacIlleBhà in was first published in the seventies – is by no means an insignificant proportion of the whole. Nobody can say that LGBTQ writing doesn’t exist, just as we, as LGBTQ people exist. The former, evidences the latter in print.
As one of those LGBTQ poets, I can attempt to evaluate ‘100 Dà n As Fheà rr Leinn’, from a critical, social or even political perspective. I feel I'm destined to fail, though, because I am who I am. My own 'Ainneamhag' was submitted to the panel, and I'm grateful to Mackay for his kindness in writing to me personally to tell me that the panel 'felt more strongly' about other works. Such navel-gazing is relevant here, however, and the irony is not lost on me that this poem in fact describes the very advent of LGBTQ identities in Gaeldom, particularly as expressed via our arts. You win some, you lose some, and in the arts world, never moreso. As per my response, I'll endeavour to write something noteworthy before the new edition. But, if you're looking for LGBTQ representation, you’d be better off reaching for Francis Boutle’s ‘An Ubhal as Àirde’, which, even considering my own unconscious bias, did a better job of representing the richness of Gaelic literature, sum toto. As I see it, ‘100 Dà n’ only manages to reflect a richness of Gaelic poetry, insomuch as current hegemonies and paradigms of 'Gaelicness' permit. I daresay that this is because those compiling, Prof. Wilson McLeod and Dr. Michael Newton, are not creative writers and are thus not actively involved in generating the corpus. Whether we want to admit it or not, they, like I, as new-speakers - neither Hebridean- or even Scottish-born - still require a little negotiation if they are to be regarded as ‘Real Gaels’. This, despite the unparalleled fluency and literacy in the language, and familiarity with its literature, they have achieved and promote. Such notions of so-called authenticity undoubtedly impact how, how often and how much new-speakers are read, their events attended and their cultural products consumed. I suspect, for the editors of 'An Ubhal as Àirde' this negotiation around what it is to be a Gael and / or a Gaelic-speaker, also brings with it an additional detachment from the corpus, and such hegemonies, which facilitated the richness of that anthology.
As an editor myself, I know how selecting a shortlist is so intrinsically subjective but, on one count, Luath did at least the gender balance right, with one female and one male Leòdhasach on the editorial team. This anthology succeeds, as did ‘An Ubhal as Àirde’ in showing equality to the song tradition and contemporary songwriting, within that. It is timely that the MacDonald brothers of Runrig fame are included among Gaeldom’s best bards. If we recognise Bob Dylan in an English-language context, it’s right to do the same, here. Similarly, bà rdachd baile is strongly represented, even in contemporary works such as that, put forward by myself, by panellist Mòrag Anna NicNèill and also Flòraidh NicPhà il, themselves having lifted the baton set down by Muchadh MacPhà rlain, whose 'Cà nan nan Gà idheal' also gets a nod. Here, too, Aonghas Phà draig Caimbeul and Rody Gorman are afforded the deference they were denied in ‘Sìorraidheachd’, which is not before time.
The Other Side of the LGBTQ Coin
Despite all this, as a gay Gael, I do think of the LGBTQ Gaelic readers trying their hardest to engage with the written language, when approaching this anthology. Those hoping to see their own stories in those of others. Those of writers who are caught in a literary double bind. Because, of course, Gaelic’s queer voice is routinely erased within Scottish LGBTQ anthologisation, as per the recent ‘We Were Always Here', for 404 Ink. LGBTQ literary gate-keepers Ryan Vance and Michael Lee Richardson presumably didn’t get the memo about Gaeldom having always been there, too. Zoe Strachan did, with Freight's 'Out There', because I personally rattled the status quo by submitting. But then, again, both Freight and 404 Ink, like numerous publishers before them, assembled an editorial team, tasked with creating anthologies surveying Scottish writing, with no expertise in Scottish Gaelic. So much for the three-tongued literature thing, now jettisoned in favour of a new cosmopolitanism, which aims to reflect the face of contemporary Scotand as we see it. The new critical paradigm utterly fails our minortised Scottish languages - Gaelic, Scots, the GRT Languages and BSL - and their literatures, by failing to understand the specific, acute minortisiation their communities face. In these omissions, we still see the last of these under-developed, unfashionable intersections. Stories that nobody included in ‘100 Dà n’, bar MacIlleBhà in and MacPherson, can ever hope to tell. The unspoken message, received from Mackay and MacDonald et. al., in the silence around LGBTQ is that they – we – are not worthy of inclusion. Or at least, only if we don't write about it.
Literary Cliques
The launch event hosted online by Comhairle nan Leabhraichean was a cosy affair, with a diverse line-up featuring both Lewis-born, native-speaking editors; Lewis-born, native-speaking chairperson Catrìona Mhoireach; and two anthologised poets – Lewis-born, native-speaking Anna Frater and Glasgow-based new-speaker Niall O’Gallagher. What was clear from the online broadcast is that this is an anthology which will enrich the experience of readers in our heartland communities, in both Scotland and Canada, many of whom will find works by poets from their local areas and even their own family members. This was clear in the ‘desert island discs’ selections, featured on the Facebook Live, where MacDonald, noting that each work selected stood on its own literary merit, chose an excellent work with a connection to her own region of Ness. Interestingly, Frater chose another which had a familial connection.
Regarding works of poets, who came to prominence around the turn of the new millennium and who do feature here, MacDonald and the panel were keen make known that one of my own favourites, Pà draig MacAoidh’s ‘An Tiona’ was included. Following in the footsteps of Prof. Derick Thomson, poet Pà draig MacAoidh is also known to the academic and literary establishment as Dr. Peter Mackay, one of the Scottish contemporary era's foremost literary scholars. Among the other three included is Caoimhin MacNèill (Kevin MacNeill), recognised by many as a Gaelic writer, but whose incredibly diverse English-language oeuvre dwarfs his Gaelic-language output. I'd welcome a Gaelic-language collection from MacNeil, as I enjoyed his songwriting collaborations with Willie Campbell. As we delve deeper, the new blood that feature, and those with a personal Gaelic corpus of significant size, we find Niall O’Gallagher, present at the event. As a crtitic, O’Gallagher has also worked fairly extensively with Mackay, notably on a volume of criticism I can thoroughly recommend called ‘Sùil air an t-Saoghal’, which includes excellent internationalist readings of contemporary Gaelic poetry - such as that of his mentor Crìsdean MacIlleBhà in. Also included, both in the volume and in a forthcoming online event, is one of my favourite poets, Vermont-born Deborah Moffatt, who has recently translated some of O’Gallagher’s works into English. Moffatt’s work features regularly in Mackay’s critical work, as a lecturer at St. Andrew’s University, near to where Moffatt resides. Mackay, with a long-standing connection to Scotland's national poetry festival StAnza has done good work for Gaelic representaion, with Moffatt and O'Gallagher featuring on various occasions. O'Gallagher also selected a work by Moffatt as one of the Scottish Poetry Library's 'Best Scottish Poems', last year. In terms of their collective output within the contemporary corpus, Moffatt has had one; O’Gallagher two, with a third forthcoming; and MacAoidh, as of this year, has three collections published. All of them have been widely lauded, not least as recipients of the Wigtown Gaelic Poetry Prize.
To those not part of our nurturing Gaelic poetry fraternity - considering the new kids on the block - it might appear, when it comes to the exponents of other forms at least, that Thomson’s ‘famous five’ of yesteryear has been reduced to an equally self-selected ‘famous three-and-a-half’ for the twenty-first century. At least, from a position of equality and inclusion, we have made some strides, with two New Speakers - one of them a woman representing the international contingent - in the mix. However, the danger I see here, as a writer, reader and critic, as was the case ‘Nua-bhà rdachd’, is that as we observe this upward trajectory. Billowed by a largely monoglot academy and establishment, Gaeldom is again in danger of establishing a poetic hegemony, which excludes voices not readily included. As canon-building goes, in key ways this enforces the mores of previous decades and serves to relegate those already doubly, triply minoritised. Personally, that it’s not something I am prepared to tolerate, for the literary scene I too have a role in safeguarding.
The Gaelic Paradigm
Gaelic identity is so often a box-ticking exercise, but it is on this that notions of authenticity and authority hang:
Highland – good
Hebridean – better
Canadian, Glaswegian – okay
Lowland, international – not really.
Similarly:
Native-speaker – good
Familial pedigree of inter-generational language transmission – better
New Speaker, Gaelic-medium Education – getting better
New Speaker, adult learner – not really.
New Speaker, international - debateable.
The schema here undoubtedly intersects, despite no Gael ever being born with the gift of Gaelic in their mouths. One need only look at the back covers and liner notes to play 'identity marker bingo' and see who is selling what, based on their origins. Biographies can also be selective, but my inference here is categorically not that anyone should deny or diminish who they are - simply that we should all be allowed to take pride in it.
Another point I want to make crystal clear is that it's categorically unfair to reduce any creative to a sum of their identities. Better, to look at what is being written, how and why. Likewise, to accuse Gaelic poets of cultural myopia or adherence to tropes is Gaelophobic and '100 Dà n', like each anthology before it, succeeds entirely in demonstrating this. Unfortunately, though, the heavy reliance on Hebridean writing, the cursory nod to Canada, informed by its multi-generational approach, only gives us a restricted view of what is actually happening on the contemporary Gaelic stage. '100 Dà n' demonstrates that, if poets reside outwith the paradigm, such hegemonies only benefit an ever-shrinking number of individual poets. More importantly, this fails, fundamentally, to benefit readerships, or widen access to the diversity of Gaelic writing. Such vertical canon-building can never represent the books readerships buy and the works they enjoy, and simply evidences those that these poet-academic-editors suggest they should inest in, by their own process of self-selection. As demonstrated here, heterosexual poets don’t need to worry if it’s our LGBTQ writers who could be the first to fall victim to this approach to canonicity. I hope that this might not be the case for emergent BAME Gaelic writers, should Lang’s new approach be indicative of what is yet to come. But, if ‘100 Dà n’ is, nonetheless, to play a role in building canon, it is beleaguered by other titles, such as ‘An Ubhal as Àirde’ and Ronald Black’s ‘An Tuil’, in their success in representing the proliferation of New Speakers and those that call the mainland and other lands home - not just within the contemporary corpus, but going back to the beginning of the twentieth century and beyond.
Looking Forward
In closing the book, and with it this lengthy review, I thought back to Jackie Kay’s recent suggestion that the next Scottish Makar should be a Gaelic poet. This would be timely and, indeed, the first time such a thing were to happen in the history of the appointment. I remain doubtful though. How can any panel be assembled in order to make such an appointment? How could they have any authority whatsoever, unless it is populated solely with Gaelic-speakers, with the literacy and experience required to assess the works? Verso-recto translation, now the norm when it comes to publishing Gaelic poetry, is simply not going to cut it. Likewise, such a panel would struggle to take the lead of critics when, to date, among those still living and writing, only the famous three-and-a-half and the ‘Sìorraidheachd’ generation have succeeded in attaining critical attention. There is an unwillingness to break and elitist cycle as those who benefit and the only ones with the power to break it.
If it does happen, considering the historic and contemporary marginalisation of the Gà idhealtachd, first preference should probably be shown to a native speaking bà rd though this will inevitably mean passing over those cannot claim Gaelic as muttersprache. For this reason, English-born and South Uist-resident poet, and An Comunn Gà idhealach's crowned bà rd, Sandaidh NicDhòmhnall Jones is an appointment I was thrilled to see. Despite not being included in '100 Dà n', Jones is a worthy ambassador of Gaelic poetry and song, working across forms. In this way, An Comunn Gà idhealach demonstrates how Gaeldom can be, and indeed sometimes is, ahead of the inclusivity curve.
The ‘Gaelic Chapter’ continues to be a running joke within Gaelic academic circles, whereby tokenistic name-checking of writers has traditionally taken place, within large-scale literary surveys, leaving little opportunity for adequate analysis. In this regard, co-authored chapters in volumes such as those edited by Carla Sassi - where analysis from Whyte, Mackay and O'Gallgher often features - stand out as welcome beacons of inclusion. But, the fact remains that our academic and literary establishment is populated overwhelmingly by English-speaking monolinguals, who might read, but rarely speak Scots and frankly couldn’t care less about Gaelic. This is patently evident from their modus operandi. Gaelic literature experts are an endangered species, therefore, finding no natural habitat within the Scottish Literature Departments of this country, and more could be done to foster links between these and Celtic departments in the same universities. This has certain impact across the sector and, unless Scottish Literature degree programmes show commitment to integrating Gaelic literature into the curriculum, even via translation, no mainstream Scottish literature critic, development officer, or programmer is ever going to be adequately qualified for this task - unless they have an MA Hons in Gaelic Studies or comparable experience. You need to read it to critique it. Ignorance is far too often used an excuse of exclusion.
In this regard, we’re lucky to have the likes of Mackay, O’Gallagher and Whyte, amongst others, whose criticism, however ghettoised, however selective, stands up besides literary scholarship in any majority language. But, with the likes of the Edwin Morgan Trust actively excluding Gaelic writers from their recent event line-up, something echoed by the Edinburgh Festival in ‘My Light Shines On’, and both series of Damian Barr’s ‘Big [allegedly] Scottish Book Club’ – just three recent examples – it’s clear that the marginalisation of Gaelic within the wider Scottish literary scene, has a trickle-down effect. With its source in the academy it meanders down, via the arts and books quangos, the media and into venues, libraries, retailers and homes, across Scotland. What hope, then, for Gaelic poets who should be legitimately included within the Scottish literary canon?
Even in 2020, programmers, many of them working for Scottish Arts and Books organisations, continue to close the door on Gaelic. What we need is solidarity from the Anglo-Saxon majority, but The Edwin Morgan Trust event, for example, demonstrates that writers – even those such as diversity champions Nadine Aisha Jassat, Harry Josephine Giles and Alycia Pirmohamed – are still prepared take part in such events and in full cognisance of the agency of this anti-Gaelic exclusion. What other conclusions can be drawn, when so many within the sector still appear to consider that Gaelic is the last of Scotland’s plural literatures that it is politically correct to excise? There is no way to sugar-coat the diminishing of opportunity on the grounds of language that is taking place, unchecked.
It is not news to Gaeldom that it is a minoritised community but, amidst a creative landscape post-2005 Gaelic Language Act - whether or not institutions are actually bound by the legislature - it isn’t the sole responsibility of the Gaelic Books Council to do the hard graft in changing hearts and minds on behalf of Gaelic literature. It’s for this reason, the reality in which we Gaelic writers and readers inhabit, that we might expect those tasked with building our own canon to lead by example. For those across the sector to consider, with a more inclusive eye, the minorities within our own marginalised communities. To acknowledge we are here and not to allow us to be pushed into the marginalia.
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