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A poem today. In English. This text on cats and poems was written by an unknown Irish monk  in the eight century. He was a student of the monastery of Carinthia, and wrote this poem in Gaelich on a copy of St Pauls Epistles.
It has been beautifully translated by Robin Flower. 

Enjoy!

The Cat and I

I and Pangur Bán, my cat
‘Tis a like task we are at;
Hunting mice is his delight
Hunting words I sit all night.

Better far than praise of men
‘Tis to sit with book and pen;
Pangur bears me no ill will,
He too plies his simple skill.

‘Tis a merry thing to see
At our tasks how glad are we,
When at home we sit and find
Entertainment to our mind.

Oftentimes a mouse will stray
In the hero Pangur’s way:
Oftentimes my keen thought set
Takes a meaning in its net.

‘Gainst the wall he sets his eye
Full and fierce and sharp and sly;
‘Gainst the wall of knowledge I
All my little wisdom try.

When a mouse darts from its den,
O how glad is Pangur then!
O what gladness do I prove
When I solve the doubts I love!

So in peace our tasks we ply,
Pangur Bán, my cat, and I;
In our arts we find our bliss,
I have mine and he has his.

Practice every day has made
Pangur perfect in his trade;
I get wisdom day and night
Turning darkness into light.

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Har ei bok inne til vurdering, men verden kan ikke vente på lesende og ferierende redaktører, så jeg starter på ei ny bok, men den viser seg å ikke være klar til å skrives enda, så jeg hopper over på et helt annet prosjekt, og det får meg til å glemme å spise og trene idag, men det gjør ingenting når man er full av poesi …

Smakebiten her er fra «Hestehåndens innside», en del av den boka jeg nå skriver på.

____________________________

Elskov

Sengestille.
Fliken av ei dyne
klamrer seg til huden.
To ben i vinklet parallell,
en mage med rester av natt.

Munnfullfine
ordfnugg virvler i solen:
God morgen, Mari.

Mari strekker leppene
til smilet fyller rommet.
Han reiser seg på hennes
leppemyke surfebrett
i demringsbølgen.

Hun slynger halen
rundt hans voksne lem,
myrgyngende.

Huldrevrinsk.

*

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