Scotland’s fishing industry has taken a beating in recent decades. George Bruce, born and bought up in Fraserburgh, was well placed to record the dignity of the men who pursued this most traditional, and sometimes hazardous, of working-life in the north-east.

The portrait comes from Today Tomorrow, Bruce’s Collected Poems, 1933-2000 (Polygon, £14.99, paperback).

THE FISHERMAN

As he comes from one of those small houses

Set within the curve of the low cliff

For a moment he pauses

Foot on step at the low lintel

Before fronting wind and sun.

He carries out from within something of the dark

Concealed by heavy curtain,

Or held within the ship under hatches.

~

Yet with what assurance

The compact body moves,

Head pressed to wind,

His being at an angle

As to anticipate the lurch of earth.

~

Who is he to contain night

And still walk stubborn

Holding the ground with light feet

And with a careless gait?

Perhaps a cataract of light floods,
Perhaps the apostolic flame.

Whatever it may be

The road takes him from us.

Now the pier is his, now the tide.