dublinka

2007 sees the release of Gabriel Rosenstock's beautiful Bliain an Bhandé or Year of the Goddess. The poems are presented in Gaelige (Irish)/English and The Goddess in question for Rosenstock, it seems, is Dar Óma, a Celtic goddess (daughter of OGHMA), who is reputed to have given the gift of writing to the Celts. Or at least in one sense. For in reading the poems, we find that Rosenstock has also struck out on a path similiar to that earlier taken, by poet and theosopist, George William Russell. That is to say, Rosenstock, like Russell, seems possessed of an urge to worship the divine. And, to be precise, Rosenstock's work is characterized by an Indian devotional tradition known as Bhakit, which is remembered for the writings of its poet-saints, many of whom were female, and who extolled passionate devotional love for the Divine. This could come in two forms, namely verses extolling God with attributes or form, namely, “saguna” bhaktas, and, those extolling God without and beyond all attributes or form, “nirguna.”

This all leads to the following kind of poem, Ise/She, in which bold type or simultaneous utterances (Ise) from a second reader if reading aloud -or an internal voice perhaps if reading quietly, give us chants, whispers, or poems within poems.

Ise

Ise
Mise
Mise
Fuist!

She

She
me
me
Shhhh!

As you can see, sometimes these murmers are found only in the Irish. But then again sometimes they are found only in the English. Bilinguals of course, will benefit most, as they have the best of both worlds. But here's one, which stays silent in the Irish but murmers 'now our verse', in English.

Snow on the foothills.

When the snow of the foothills vanishes
Your brightness stays
Neither inside nor outside are You
But in all the universe
And expanses not yet known

Of course sometimes you get both poems speaking their internal thoughts, and both though translations of each other, are actually saying other things separately.

For example Colúr Marbh reads
áí
Dhein duine éigin
Tú a chlúdach le páipéar donn
Is Tú i Do luí ar an gcosán
Ach ní mór dúinn Do bhás laethúil a fheiscint
Is Tú ag filleadh ar neamhní

which translate as

Dead Pigeon

Someone covered You
With brown paper
As You lay on the footpath
But we must see Your daily death
as You return to nothingness

It's not all flowers though; there is an uncompromising polemic against science, which seems to get in the way of the divine - I would have thought that eolaíocht is afterall as much of the divine as anything else - and certain lines like I am Amergin collapse without mercy, in their leap for profundity. Yet overall, this work is an intriguing collection of poems, and there are sufficient poetic twists and turns to ensure this unceasing worship of the divine doesn't turn into divine boredom. I have a suspicion this will be one of the best Irish collections in 2007. You'll find yourself drawn into bhakti, and it will bring a little part of you home.