Tom    Scott

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Tom Scott


Born
in Glasgow, Scotland
June 06, 1918

Died
August 07, 1995

Genre

Influences


Tom Scott was a Scottish poet, editor, and prose writer. His writing is closely tied to the New Apocalypse, the New Romantics, and the Scottish Renaissance.

During World War II Scott served in the British Army in Britain and Nigeria. After the war he received an M.A. with Honours in English Literature and a Ph.D. from the University of Edinburgh. His first poems were published in 1941. Scott received an Atlantic Award for Literature in 1950 and traveled in France, Italy, and Sicily. During his travels he became interested in literature in Scots, which shaped the direction of his work for the rest of his life.

He settled in Edinburgh and in 1953 married Heather Fretwell. He died in 1995 aged 77.

Average rating: 3.88 · 17 ratings · 2 reviews · 23 distinct works
The Penguin Book of Scottis...

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3.67 avg rating — 3 ratings2 editions
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Tales of Sir William Wallac...

3.50 avg rating — 2 ratings — published 2000 — 4 editions
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The Tree: An Animal Fable

it was amazing 5.00 avg rating — 1 rating — published 1977
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Tales of King Robert the Br...

really liked it 4.00 avg rating — 1 rating — published 1969 — 4 editions
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The Collected Shorter Poems...

0.00 avg rating — 0 ratings — published 1993 — 3 editions
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Dunbar: A Critical Expositi...

0.00 avg rating — 0 ratings — published 1966
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Pervigilium Scotiae: Etrusc...

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0.00 avg rating — 0 ratings — published 1997
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The Dirty Business

0.00 avg rating — 0 ratings — published 1986
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An Ode til New Jerusalem

0.00 avg rating — 0 ratings — published 1956
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A Possible Solution to the ...

0.00 avg rating — 0 ratings — published 1963
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More books by Tom Scott…
Quotes by Tom Scott  (?)
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“Dylan writes of the heron-priested shore
and his sensation-seekers suitably amaze:
but the heron is no priest to sober eyes
as, like some litter-picker, it slips about
the sea-weed backs of skerries at low tide
(as often I have seen it in St. Andrews)
or stands grey and silent in the burn
like old grey rags hung among the reeds,
its cold eye and old-age pensioner look
(straggles of grey hair sticking out behind)
seemingly as vacant as the sky
till some frog stirs or an eel or trout drifts
near
and the javelin beak on the S neck leaps into
life:
or weary as Methuselah near his end
heavily flaps towards the patient woods
where the raucous heronry outcaws the rooks
and makes the trees a dirty aerial slum.”
Tom Scott, The Tree: An Animal Fable
tags: heron