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The Dancers Inherit the Party
- GenresPoetry
48 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1960
12 people want to read
About the author
Ian Hamilton Finlay
246 books15 followersIan Hamilton Finlay was a Scottish poet, writer, artist and gardener. He was educated at Dollar Academy and joined the British Army in 1942.
At the end of the war, Finlay worked as a shepherd, before beginning to write short stories and poems, while living on Rousay, in Orkney. He published his first book, The Sea Bed and Other Stories in 1958 with some of his plays broadcast on the BBC, and some stories featured in The Glasgow Herald.
His first collection of poetry, The Dancers Inherit the Party was published in 1960 by Migrant Press with a second edition published in 1962. In 1963, Finlay published Rapel, his first collection of concrete poetry (poetry in which the layout and typography of the words contributes to its overall effect), and it was as a concrete poet that he first gained wide renown. Much of this work was issued through his own Wild Hawthorn Press, in his magazine Poor.Old.Tired.Horse'.
Later, Finlay began to compose poems to be inscribed into stone, incorporating these sculptures into the natural environment. This kind of 'poem-object' features in the garden Little Sparta that he and Sue Finlay created together in the Pentland Hills near Edinburgh.
At the end of the war, Finlay worked as a shepherd, before beginning to write short stories and poems, while living on Rousay, in Orkney. He published his first book, The Sea Bed and Other Stories in 1958 with some of his plays broadcast on the BBC, and some stories featured in The Glasgow Herald.
His first collection of poetry, The Dancers Inherit the Party was published in 1960 by Migrant Press with a second edition published in 1962. In 1963, Finlay published Rapel, his first collection of concrete poetry (poetry in which the layout and typography of the words contributes to its overall effect), and it was as a concrete poet that he first gained wide renown. Much of this work was issued through his own Wild Hawthorn Press, in his magazine Poor.Old.Tired.Horse'.
Later, Finlay began to compose poems to be inscribed into stone, incorporating these sculptures into the natural environment. This kind of 'poem-object' features in the garden Little Sparta that he and Sue Finlay created together in the Pentland Hills near Edinburgh.
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Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews
January 22, 2022
The Dancers Inherit the Party
When I have talked for an hour I feel lousy -
Not so when I have danced for an hour:
The dancers inherit the party
While the talkers wear themselves out and
*
Love Poem
A word was in my head,
O, it was across my sun.
What was the word?
It was what no one said.
No one, no ones.
A simple word like bread.
A simple word like bread
Sweetly baked of wheat
That ripens in the sun
I could not see because
Of what was missing -
O, I was incomplete.
O, I was incomplete,
I was the only one,
One and one and one,
Unsweet, with what a burning
Word spoken
In my head; but then I said -
What she said, and I had my sun.
*
Don't Know
Who has hair the colour of toast?
Who is the Found among the Lost?
Who is sweetest when she is most
My Mary?
*
Ah, So That Is Why
O why do the fishermen wear dark woolly jerserys?
It is to wipe their pens on, my dear.
*
Bedtime
So put your nightdress on
It is so white and long
And your sweet night-face
Put it on also please
It is the candle-flame
It is the flame above
Whose sweet shy shame
My love, I love, I love.
*
Name Poem
J is for Jessie, wee and tall
E xtravagant dark in silence as
S orrow for all things pass, maternal
S ad for blackbird, bluebells, grass.
I do such a kind girl call
E , yes, exceptional.
*
Frank the Bear Writes his Deb Friend
It is to me, a prisoned pleb
She writes - most thoughtful of a deb.
The problem now ari
-Ses as to frame her a reply.
For frankly I do not
Remember all that I was taught,
Only around the comma
There lingers an aroma
Whose principle I option is
When writing such a letter
The more you have of them the better,
And so it reads like this:
My, dear I hope you're, fine and
Enjoying a kinder, fate
Than I am, here, incarcerated
By, Capitalists. To, hand
Your letter tells me, Hugh
Has joined the Salvation, Army
A thing I never, thought, he'd do
I think he must be, balmy
To chuck it and nelist
My, dear I almost can't
Believe it I'm a, Militant
Anarchist and a, Pacifist
Myself I must stop, there
Hoping that this finds, you
As it leaves, me your old, and, true
Friend, Frank, the, Bear , , ,
*
French Poem
La vie, la vie
Beaucoup de parapluies.
*
Authorised translation:
O life, what a lot of
Umbrellas.
*
Celtic Poem, for Derry MacDiarmid
Lovely the stars whine over Galway
Where I go walking with thee, with thee.
Then take me back and my harp along with me -
I am your forever, wee Bonnie Dundee!
*
Glasgow Poem
Airship poet Guillaume (Angel) Apollinaire
Wrote poetry something rer.
It was back in the Future. What the Sotch
He called the 'sun airplane'. It would drive
*
Milk Bottles
Tell a man's true state by how
He deals with his milk bottles. I remember
Once I was having a good time
And I had none at all, while now
(Lodged here August - mid-December)
The milk firm's missing 159.
*
The Writer and Beauty
The best a writer writes is Beautiful.
He should ignore the Mad and Dutiful.
Meanwhile, of course, the Lie is there,
The posh Lie struts in the social air
ANd writers write it, and it is
Part of the analyst's neurosis.
Well, a writer should defy
It. A writer writes of sky
And other things quite sad and Beautiful.
He should ignore the Mad and Dutiful.
See how lame and blind he goes.
See how he dances on his toes!
*
Problems of an Orkney Housewife
What with the dirty weather
And all, you really can't
Keep a clean moon these days.
We have to polish ours THREE times a week.
*
Bi-Lingual Poem
Christmas, how your cold sad face
Leans on the city where everything glows.
Far in the fields stands the gentle animal.
Quel a pity il so seldom snows.
*
Angels
When we are dead we will all be angels
And we will see how many of us can balance on a pin.
I think we may manage seven or eight of us
Angelically balanced, if we all squeeze in.
*
Jess
I like Jess
The more because
She furs my ears,
She shines my paws.
Strange that dark
Can be so fair.
Animals
Have also hair.
*
Orkney Lyrics
1. Peedie Mary Considers the Sun
The peedie sun is not so tall
He walks on golden stilts
Across, across, across the water
But I have darker hair.
2. The English Colonel Explains an Orkney Boat
The boat swims full of air.
You see, it has a point at both
Ends, sir, somewhat
As lemons. I'm explaining
The hollowness is amazing. That's
The way a boat
floats.
3. Mansie Considers Peedie Mary
Peedie Alice Mary is
My cousin, so we cannot kiss.
And yet I love my cousin fair:
She wear her seaboots with such an air.
'Peedie' is the Orkney word for 'wee'. Many Orkney girls have two Christian names, and many Orkney men are called 'Mansie', which is the diminutive of 'Magnus'.
4. Mansie Considers the Sea in the Manner of Hugh Macdiarmid
The sea, I think, is lazy,
It just obeys the moon
- All the same I remember what Engels said:
'Freedom is the consciousness of necessity'.
5. Folk Song for Poor Peedie Mary
Peedie Mary
Bought a posh
Big machine
To do her wash.
Peedie Mary
Stands and greets,
Where dost thoo
Put in the peats?
Silly peedie
Mary thoo
Puts the peats
Below, baloo.
Peedie Mary
Greets the more,
What did the posh paint
Come off for?
6. John Sharkey is Pleased to be in Sourin at Evening
How beautiful, how beautiful, the mill
-Wheel is not turning though the waters spill
Their single trees. The whole old mill
Leans to the West, the breast.
*
Twice
(Once)
It is a little pond
And it is frail and round
And it is in the wood
A doleful mood
Of birches (white) and stale
Very old thin rain grown pale.
(Twice)
It is little pond
And it is brown; around
It (like the eye
Of a cow) soft emerald
Grasses and things
Grow up. The tall white harlequins
Sway again
And again, in the bright new clean rain.
*
Scene
The fir tree stands quite still and angles
On the hill, for green Triangles.
Stewing in its billy there
The tea is strong, and brown, and Square.
The rain is Slant. Soaked fishers sup
Sad Ellipses from a cup.
*
Poet
At night, when I cannot sleep,
I count the islands
And I sigh when I come to Rousay
- My dear black sheep.
*
The One-Horse Town
A little one-horse town . . . I asked, "Where
is this?' The Sheriff told me, 'Dobbin.'
The evening sun went down.
*
The Tug
Where the fishers wait for bites
Toots the little tug - in tights!
Round each river bend and loop
TOOT - like through a circus-hoop.
The Towns say Tut, that boat's not black,
It's far more like a Union Jack!
The Steadings never even peep
Because they are all fast asleep!
So on and on, for hours and hours . . .
The sky is blue, each bank's all flowers.
And when for Tea the Captain whistles
The crew sit down to spangled rissoles!
When I have talked for an hour I feel lousy -
Not so when I have danced for an hour:
The dancers inherit the party
While the talkers wear themselves out and
sit in corners alone, and glower.
*
Love Poem
A word was in my head,
O, it was across my sun.
What was the word?
It was what no one said.
No one, no ones.
A simple word like bread.
A simple word like bread
Sweetly baked of wheat
That ripens in the sun
I could not see because
Of what was missing -
O, I was incomplete.
O, I was incomplete,
I was the only one,
One and one and one,
Unsweet, with what a burning
Word spoken
In my head; but then I said -
What she said, and I had my sun.
*
Don't Know
Who has hair the colour of toast?
Who is the Found among the Lost?
Who is sweetest when she is most
My Mary?
*
Ah, So That Is Why
O why do the fishermen wear dark woolly jerserys?
It is to wipe their pens on, my dear.
*
Bedtime
So put your nightdress on
It is so white and long
And your sweet night-face
Put it on also please
It is the candle-flame
It is the flame above
Whose sweet shy shame
My love, I love, I love.
*
Name Poem
J is for Jessie, wee and tall
E xtravagant dark in silence as
S orrow for all things pass, maternal
S ad for blackbird, bluebells, grass.
I do such a kind girl call
E , yes, exceptional.
*
Frank the Bear Writes his Deb Friend
It is to me, a prisoned pleb
She writes - most thoughtful of a deb.
The problem now ari
-Ses as to frame her a reply.
For frankly I do not
Remember all that I was taught,
Only around the comma
There lingers an aroma
Whose principle I option is
When writing such a letter
The more you have of them the better,
And so it reads like this:
My, dear I hope you're, fine and
Enjoying a kinder, fate
Than I am, here, incarcerated
By, Capitalists. To, hand
Your letter tells me, Hugh
Has joined the Salvation, Army
A thing I never, thought, he'd do
I think he must be, balmy
To chuck it and nelist
My, dear I almost can't
Believe it I'm a, Militant
Anarchist and a, Pacifist
Myself I must stop, there
Hoping that this finds, you
As it leaves, me your old, and, true
Friend, Frank, the, Bear , , ,
*
French Poem
La vie, la vie
Beaucoup de parapluies.
*
Authorised translation:
O life, what a lot of
Umbrellas.
*
Celtic Poem, for Derry MacDiarmid
Lovely the stars whine over Galway
Where I go walking with thee, with thee.
Then take me back and my harp along with me -
I am your forever, wee Bonnie Dundee!
*
Glasgow Poem
Airship poet Guillaume (Angel) Apollinaire
Wrote poetry something rer.
It was back in the Future. What the Sotch
call 'auld Sol'
He called the 'sun airplane'. It would drive
you up the wall.
*
Milk Bottles
Tell a man's true state by how
He deals with his milk bottles. I remember
Once I was having a good time
And I had none at all, while now
(Lodged here August - mid-December)
The milk firm's missing 159.
*
The Writer and Beauty
The best a writer writes is Beautiful.
He should ignore the Mad and Dutiful.
Meanwhile, of course, the Lie is there,
The posh Lie struts in the social air
ANd writers write it, and it is
Part of the analyst's neurosis.
Well, a writer should defy
It. A writer writes of sky
And other things quite sad and Beautiful.
He should ignore the Mad and Dutiful.
See how lame and blind he goes.
See how he dances on his toes!
*
Problems of an Orkney Housewife
What with the dirty weather
And all, you really can't
Keep a clean moon these days.
We have to polish ours THREE times a week.
*
Bi-Lingual Poem
Christmas, how your cold sad face
Leans on the city where everything glows.
Far in the fields stands the gentle animal.
Quel a pity il so seldom snows.
*
Angels
When we are dead we will all be angels
And we will see how many of us can balance on a pin.
I think we may manage seven or eight of us
Angelically balanced, if we all squeeze in.
*
Jess
I like Jess
The more because
She furs my ears,
She shines my paws.
Strange that dark
Can be so fair.
Animals
Have also hair.
*
Orkney Lyrics
1. Peedie Mary Considers the Sun
The peedie sun is not so tall
He walks on golden stilts
Across, across, across the water
But I have darker hair.
2. The English Colonel Explains an Orkney Boat
The boat swims full of air.
You see, it has a point at both
Ends, sir, somewhat
As lemons. I'm explaining
The hollowness is amazing. That's
The way a boat
floats.
3. Mansie Considers Peedie Mary
Peedie Alice Mary is
My cousin, so we cannot kiss.
And yet I love my cousin fair:
She wear her seaboots with such an air.
'Peedie' is the Orkney word for 'wee'. Many Orkney girls have two Christian names, and many Orkney men are called 'Mansie', which is the diminutive of 'Magnus'.
4. Mansie Considers the Sea in the Manner of Hugh Macdiarmid
The sea, I think, is lazy,
It just obeys the moon
- All the same I remember what Engels said:
'Freedom is the consciousness of necessity'.
5. Folk Song for Poor Peedie Mary
Peedie Mary
Bought a posh
Big machine
To do her wash.
Peedie Mary
Stands and greets,
Where dost thoo
Put in the peats?
Silly peedie
Mary thoo
Puts the peats
Below, baloo.
Peedie Mary
Greets the more,
What did the posh paint
Come off for?
6. John Sharkey is Pleased to be in Sourin at Evening
How beautiful, how beautiful, the mill
-Wheel is not turning though the waters spill
Their single trees. The whole old mill
Leans to the West, the breast.
*
Twice
(Once)
It is a little pond
And it is frail and round
And it is in the wood
A doleful mood
Of birches (white) and stale
Very old thin rain grown pale.
(Twice)
It is little pond
And it is brown; around
It (like the eye
Of a cow) soft emerald
Grasses and things
Grow up. The tall white harlequins
Sway again
And again, in the bright new clean rain.
*
Scene
The fir tree stands quite still and angles
On the hill, for green Triangles.
Stewing in its billy there
The tea is strong, and brown, and Square.
The rain is Slant. Soaked fishers sup
Sad Ellipses from a cup.
*
Poet
At night, when I cannot sleep,
I count the islands
And I sigh when I come to Rousay
- My dear black sheep.
*
The One-Horse Town
A little one-horse town . . . I asked, "Where
is this?' The Sheriff told me, 'Dobbin.'
The evening sun went down.
*
The Tug
Where the fishers wait for bites
Toots the little tug - in tights!
Round each river bend and loop
TOOT - like through a circus-hoop.
The Towns say Tut, that boat's not black,
It's far more like a Union Jack!
The Steadings never even peep
Because they are all fast asleep!
So on and on, for hours and hours . . .
The sky is blue, each bank's all flowers.
And when for Tea the Captain whistles
The crew sit down to spangled rissoles!
June 17, 2008
Mostly noted as a concrete poet, Finlay published this collection when he was fairly young, in his 30s, I think. Wry, funny, sharp, intelligent. Worth seeking out.
April 4, 2021
I purchased the New Editions 20 annual that prints this collection in full due to the title being repurposed by British Sea Power for their 2017 album. Deciding to be all completionist with the band's literary references has proven surprisingly imbalanced re: quality & relative obscurity.
I really didn't find much to enjoy or inspire in this brief cluster, other than the charming description of "...hair the color of toast".
I really didn't find much to enjoy or inspire in this brief cluster, other than the charming description of "...hair the color of toast".
February 25, 2018
The title poem was my favourite by some distance
The dancers inherit the party
When I have talked for an hour I feel lousy -
Not so when I have danced for an hour:
The dancers inherit the party
While the talkers wear themselves out and
sit in the corners alone, and glower.
The dancers inherit the party
When I have talked for an hour I feel lousy -
Not so when I have danced for an hour:
The dancers inherit the party
While the talkers wear themselves out and
sit in the corners alone, and glower.
October 28, 2016
Finlay is a creative genius= sculptor, landscape architect, gardener, poet and great short story writer. This one mixes his use of Glaswegian language, post modern phrasing, diamonds of his time after the war and evokes a melancholy song. The book was given to me by another poet with a note read Scottish Beats. My cover art is no the above blank goodreads - can't seem to find how to load the original cover art for you I'm giving it a 3 for now but will re=read when I'm not coming from such a dark place
Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews