Writing Poetry

I’ve been reading a lot of Irish mythology in the last little while.  Looking at the English translations of the Old Irish (Gaelic), it is easy to see that many of these stories were once oral poems (probably originally translated from Proto-Celtic by the Christian monks).  That got me to thinking about poetry …

The ancient Irish bards, or filidh, were poets, singers, musicians, artists and storytellers – highly skilled people who used their knowledge and creative abilities to inspire, enthrall, entertain, and charm.  Irish poetry began as an oral tradition that relied upon rhyme to assist the memory.

There were many different Irish poetical forms, each with its own rules regarding the number of lines, length of lines, and rhyme and rhythm patterns.  These ancient Irish poetical patterns depended heavily on alliteration (the occurrence of the same letter or sound at the beginning of adjacent or closely connected words), consonance (the recurrence of similar sounds, especially consonants, in close proximity) and assonance (the repetition of vowel sounds in words that are close together in a sentence or verse) to create a harmony of sound.  Cadences (rhythms in the tones of voice) were also included in the rhyme pattern.  Their poetry often had end rhymes that consisted of 2 or 3 syllables.  Another defining feature of ancient Irish poetry was dunadh – beginning and ending the poem with the same syllable, word or line.  This brought the poem full circle.

Unfortunately, much of the vocal beauty in the ancient Irish poetry is lost when it is translated into English … the translator must either try to retain the meaning of the poem, or it’s musical qualities, but is seldom able to capture both.

It is possible to write poetry in English using the Irish poetical forms.  As a bit of a personal challenge, I wrote two poems using the Irish Deachnadh Mor form.

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AwakeningCreeping thaw, awakes the sleeping.

Ice breaks, comes Spring leaping.

Snowdrop lifts its head, quick peeping.

Warmth spreading, stop weeping.

 

Greening grass grows fast, not waiting.

Cold past, birds sing, sweeping

wings swat air so nigh to mating

Swift flying, not creeping.**********

Born of GoddessSinging rill, sweet creek fast rushing.

Bright streak, you spring ringing

out from Goddess Earth full gushing.

Fresh birthing, come singing.