As part of my forthcoming piece on Form I often recall reading these lines:
A poem of close-knit skill,
I have walked all Munster with it
from market cross to cross
for a year, and I’m no better off.
Gé dán sin go snadhmadh bhfis,
gach margadh ó chrois go crois
do shiobhail mé an Mhumhain leis -
ní breis é a-nuraidh ná a-nois.
Ó hIfearnáin, Mathghamhain (Mahon O'Heffernan) (fl. 1585–1624), prominent Munster bardic poet.
--
I ask, who will buy a poem?
It holds right thoughts of scholars.
Who needs it? Will anyone take it?
A fine poem to make him immortal.
A poem of close-knit skill,
I have walked all Munster with it
from market cross to cross
for a year, and I’m no better off.
Not a man or a woman would give me
down-payment, no tiniest groat.
And no one would tell me why
—ignored by Gael and stranger.
What use is a craft like this,
a shame though it has to die?
Making combs would earn more honour.
Why would anyone take to verse.
Corc of Cashel is dead, and Cian,
who horded no cattle or cash,
men happy to pay their poets.
So goodbye to the seed of Éibhear.
They kept the palm for giving
until Cobhthach was lost, and Tál.
Many I leave unmentioned
that I might have made poems for still.
I’m a ship with a ruined cargo
now the famous Fitzgeralds are gone.
No answer. A terrible case.
It is all in vain that I ask.
--
Sources:
English version - The New Oxford book of Irish verse
by Kinsella, Thomas
Irish version - the stanza in Irish is from the MacMorris Project - Maynooth university
https://macmorris.maynoothuniversity.ie/what-is-bardic-poetry
(I would totally appreciate a full version if anyone might ever have time to send it to me)
https://macmorris.maynoothuniversity.ie/map
https://macmorris.maynoothuniversity.ie/map?id=135
