Friday, July 11, 2008

An Ulster Myth written in The Hamely Tongue by my alter-ego obeedúid~

...A taste of what I will be reading at the Rabbie Burns Statuary on Saturday. Have No fear, if you persevere down the page you will find a translated all be it not so poetically correct English translation provided.

I found this artwork of Cuchullain on Wiki and cropped it for my own purposes. The artist was noted as unknown. My actual insperation came from "The Story of the Irish Race" by Seumas MacManus. There is a nice synopses of the event and the history of Irish Poets on this Patrick O'Brien Message Board.

Cúchulainn in battle, from T. W. Rolleston,

Myths and Legends of the Celtic Race, 1911

(illustrator unknown)

Thon Greedy Pohets jist-deserts:

Quhan Conor reygne yn auld lang syne

an Pohetes roum tha laan

quhiles cum tae caal a mon o rhyme

yit wus thair wye tae commaun

an honour pryce for prais bestowe

apon tha Kang at haun.

Cuchullain, Kang Conor's Fostir-sinn

an heidyin o renoun

posseyd tha Spere o Vyctory

quhan he assumand tha Croun.

Thon Spere wus myghic-gifit

an lethall quhan twer thrawn.

Sae by an by Cuchullain quhan he wus restin

at heez ingle as yit bleezed

thon Pohet Redg apperyd afore hime

chantin Poyemes o prais

an frae hiz mouthe cwm platitudes

wi ivery tern o phrais.

Quhan he wur don Redg di' demaun

foir hiz pryce o honour

thon thang Cuchullain moost di' priz

an Ullister caad o woner

Tha Spere o Vyctory

frae tha heir o Kang Conor.

Twer Cuchullain's unfrien’s

quha plann tha Pohet's deceptioun

thon Spere's repute

wus sur tha Pohete's intentioun

foir the wus jelous,

o tha Ullister Cheften.

Noo quhan tha Campioun Kang

di' affer Redg astead

Gowd an Siller, Shep an Angus

iver thing he bred

thon conspirin Pohet

wodnau iven affer a tred!

Desparit o hiz honour

Cuchullain cud no abyde

pairtin wi hiz Vyctory

nor pairtin wi hiz pryde

he thrist hiz Spere

an at Redg he oot-cryd:

"Tak yer heresme!

Yae da-dilly conspiren mon!

Ga'aff an ga bak,

quhaur twer iver ye bagon!

Ye'll niver gie tha best o mae

nor ony o yer clan!"

Anso, tha Pohet laucht unto

Vyctory wi hiz heid

a wee bit supprissit,

bot havin daen sae sed:

"Tis indee' o pow'ful giff

alas bot noo, A'm deid…"




The Greedy Poets just-desserts:

When Conor reined in old long times

and Poets roamed the land

when sometimes came to call a man of rhyme

it was their way to command

an honor price for praise bestowed

upon the King at hand.

Cuchullain, King Conor's Foster-son

an High-One of renown

possessed the Spear of Victory

when he assumed the Crown.

That Spear was magic-gifted

an lethal when it were thrown.

So by an by Cuchullain when he was resting

at his fireside as it blazed

that Poet Redg appeared before him

chanting Poems of praise

and from his mouth came platitudes

with every turn of phrase.

When he was done Redg did demand

for his price of honor

that thing Cuchullain most did prize

and Ulster called a wonder

The Spear of Victory

from the heir of King Conor.

It were Cuchullain's enemy's

who planned the Poet's deception

that Spear's repute

was sure the Poet's intention

for they were jealous,

of the Ulster Chieftain.

Now when the Champion King

did offer Redg instead

Gold an Silver, Sheep an Cattle

every thing he bred

that conspiring Poet

would not even offer a trade!

Despaired of his honor

Cuchullain could not abide

parting with his Victory

or parting with his pride

he thrust his Spear

and at Redg he out- cried:

"Take your winnings!

You foolish conspiring man!

Go off and go back,

where ever it were you began!

You'll never get the best of me

not any of your clan!"

And so, the Poet caught

Victory with his head

a little bit surprised,

but having done so said:

"It is indeed a powerful gift

alas but now, I'm dead…"