Thursday 4th April

Six little lambs, gamble and jump on the bank, I watch them from the back bedroom entranced by their sheer energy and wonderment at the world.  Rachel their owner has marked them in blue with letters from the alphabet, Z for Zebedee comes to mind.  See how the hawthorn above them has broken into leaf, the blackthorn is covering the hedgerows with its blossom.
I should choose some Pollyanna poem but cannot though I am intrigued by so called Celtic poetry, someone, I think Kenneth Jackson comes to mind as a translator, but for now it will be Amergin's poem, as translated someone called Michael Burch and not Robert Graves, who wrote 'The White Goddess' when celticism was at a high peak in 1948.

The Song of Amergin II

a more imaginitive translation by Michael R. Burch, after Robert Bridges

I am the stag of the seven tines;

I am the bull of the seven battles;

I am the boar of the seven bristles;

I am the wide flood cresting plains;

I am the wind sweeping deep waters;

I am the salmon swimming in the shallow pool;

I am the dewdrop lit by the sun;

I am the fairest of flowers;

I am the crystalline fountain;

I am the hawk shrieking after its prey;

I am the demon ablaze in the campfire ashes; 

I am the battle-waging spearhead;

I am the vale echoing voices;

I am the sea's roar;

I am the rising sea wave;

I am the meaning of poetry;

I am the God who inspires your prayers;

I am the hope of heaven;

Who else knows the ages of the moon?

Who else knows where the sunset settles?

Who else knows the secrets of the unhewn dolmen?