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Nothing can beat this marvellous translation of Pangur Ban
Pangur Bán From the ninth-century Irish poem Pangur Bán and I at work, Adepts, equals, cat and clerk: His whole instinct is to hunt, Mine to free the meaning pent. More than loud acclaim, I love Books, silence, thought, my alcove. Happy for me, Pangur Bán Child-plays round some mouse's den. Truth to tell, just ...
Posted to Poems by maggie300 on October 9, 2009
All we need of hell --
This poem is, like ''My Life Closed Twice'' and ''After Great Pain'' a picture of emotional pain endured (if outlived) in a new world of wooden steps, formal feelings, and ''scrupulous exactness.'' The painful event that ''stopped'' the flow of normal human feeling is over, but its debris remains -- a Bomb -- undetinated but ever just below the ...
Posted to Poems by paisleyandplaid on January 28, 2009
Re: A sorry state
Curragh makes a similar point to mine, only better and more concisely, and provokes a longer, more confused reply from jsgilm. One that attempts to refute the charge of jingoistic irrelevance with a fresh dose of, er, jingoistic irrelevance. According to which, literary recognition is but ''a sort of phantom strength'', a poor surrogate for ...
Posted to Culturebox by Nordolf on October 9, 2008