A’ Chiad Litir (The First Letter), celebrates the life of 16th-century poet and ‘Scottish Sappho’ Marie Maitland, through new music and song presented by folk singer, songwriter, and composer Josie Duncan and a specially formed band.
A’ Chiad Litir (The First Letter) takes place on Monday, 4 May, at the Traverse Theatre
Marie Maitland wrote of love with such clarity and courage in a time that offered her so little space. When you first encountered her words, what was the moment or line that felt like a spark for this work?
When I first encountered Marie’s work it was her lines of poetry that could be written in this day and age that really drew me in, for example in Poem 72 she writes ‘Quite simply I resign as hostage in your hand’. I also liked one particular line in Poem 49 which Ashley Douglas will read at the concert, as it stood out as being quite undeniable: ‘there is mair constancy in our sex than ever among men has been’. I really loved both of these lines and also her biblical imagery used to show how vast her love was for other women.
A’ Chiad Litir weaves together history, music and voice. How did you approach translating something so intimate and centuries old into sound that feels alive and immediate today?
For me the Gaelic language is my way of connecting to the past. So, when I am writing about the past, it feels really natural for me to write in Gaelic. Some of the songs I have written are from my own perspective in 2026 as an outsider to Marie’s life, and some are from her perspective. At the concert I will sing mostly in Gaelic, but I also use some English and some Scots.
There is something deeply communal about waulking songs, rooted in women’s shared labour and rhythm. What drew you to that form in telling Marie’s story, and what does it carry emotionally within the piece?
I was drawn to waulking songs because they are traditionally songs of women’s labour and songs with a great deal of purpose, just like Marie’s and the work of poets such as Sappho. Waulking songs also feel very feminine and strong at the same time. They are performed to be shared and the refrains in these songs are simple to encourage others to join in. I believe that music is for everyone and should be a vessel for telling stories.
Marie speaks of a love that could not be fully realised, yet refuses to diminish it. How did you hold that tension between longing and devotion in your compositions?
I didn’t want the music to resolve these feelings too neatly. I think the power of Marie’s perspective is in her refusal to let go of something which is incomplete and hanging over her, so I leaned into suspension rather than resolution both harmonically and structurally, and I tried to ground the music in an intimate place.
You work across English and Scots Gaelic, both languages rich with texture and memory. How did language shape the emotional landscape of this piece?
Marie’s poetry had been translated into modern Scots by writer and historian Ashley Douglas, and that makes it accessible to me and to people in 2026. Using these translations, I was able to really understand Marie’s voice, and I took a lot of inspiration from the translations of her work. Personally, I also feel that I have almost two instruments when I sing in different languages, and going between the languages almost creates an emotional layering for me. I think these ancient languages, alongside songs in English, show the difference between modern and ancient songs, because Scots and Gaelic are tied to community and oral tradition.
This work challenges the idea that queerness is modern. As a performer bringing Marie’s voice back into the present, what does it mean to you to stand in that lineage and let her be heard again?
This work challenges the idea that queerness is modern. As a performer bringing Marie’s voice back into the present, what does it mean to you to stand in that lineage and let her be heard again? Standing in that lineage doesn’t feel like any sort of invention but rather recognition, as queer stories, art, and voices have always been present, even when they have been hidden. As a performer, there is definitely a huge sense of responsibility in bringing Marie’s voice back into the present, because I’m not interpreting a character; I’m interpreting a real person that I am unable to communicate with. Although sometimes when connecting with someone’s art you feel that you are communicating with them. It also feels a bit defiant because so many people have tried to explain Marie’s feelings away and claim that her work was written by a man, and I feel like Ashley has discovered her and I have taken inspiration from her work, and hopefully together with this work we can create a dialogue across time. I guess also as a member of LGBTQI+, bringing Marie’s voice back is an act of acknowledging our history and inheritance.