James Robertson: Voyage of Intent

Looking through James Robertson's new book, Voyage of Intent – Sonnets and Essays from the Scottish Parliament, it is clear the whole idea of creative residencies has shifted. Until recent times, a Writer in Residence was generally to be found in a small, bare room at the end of the University's English Literature corridor, or in a corner of a City Library, behind a pile of manuscripts from local writers. Things are changing, and recently, I noticed an advert for a writer to spend time in areas of Northern Scotland blighted by a high suicide rate among younger men. At first, I was cynical, thinking this was more worthification of the arts, yet if the right person is selected, I am sure they can use their skills to help bring comfort and resolution.

Residencies now take many forms, and are funded both privately and by arts organisations. They range from Stewart Conn's post as Edinburgh's Makar, to Liz Niven's work at Highland airports, to a virtual residency using technology to cover the large rural area of Dumfries and Galloway. I spent six months on and off at the five star St Andrews Bay Hotel, where I wrote a pamphlet of new poems, after 'job shadowing' hotel staff, taking workshops, and exploring local history and landscape.

Last year, James Robertson landed a fascinating role in the first residency at Edinburgh's Scottish Parliament building. The results have now appeared in a handsome, small volume. Robertson - a protean sort who is a poet and fiction writer while also an editor, publisher and literary historian – spent time with Parliament staff and MSPs and offered three short lectures, on Scottish writers and identity, literature and politics, and the many literary links with the Royal Mile area where the Parliament found its home. These talks are breezy, well-turned, and full of choice pickings from Scottish writers. The pieces are interspersed with arty photographs of the building, and architectural sketches.

While in Parliament, Robertson worked up a sequence of eleven sonnets. The pleasure in these pieces comes from the variety of approaches to that oddly malleable, tight poetic form. Some are didactic, some lyrical, while my favourite 'That Shape' is a list poem inspired by architect Enric Miralles' unusual design. And I hope they have found a prominent place within the Parliament building for Robertson's sonnet 'A Manifesto for MSPs', which begins: