SC - Fwd: [TY] Irish poem - 12th century

Sun Oct 10 14:17:03 PDT 1999

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    Interesting poem, not to mention useful for documenting various 
foodstuffs to a place we've little knowledge of! ;-)

                    Ldy Diana

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Date: Sun, 10 Oct 1999 16:02:51 -0400
From: Bryan S McDaniel <kestrel at hawk.org>
Subject: [TY] Irish poem - 12th century
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Kestrel's House of Peotry and Song brings you another poem.
This one found in The Portable Medieval Reader.
Pages 497 - 499, 25th printing November 1969.
copyright 1949 by The Viking Press, Inc.
Edited, and with an introduction, by James Bruce Ross and
Mary Martin McLaughlin

The Vision of Viands --- author: Aniar MacConglinne
                               --- Irish, 12th century

In a slumber visional,
Wonders apparitional
   Sudden shone on me:
Was it not a miracle?
Built of lard, a coracle
   Swam a sweet milk sea.

Whith high hearts heroical,
We stepped in it, stoical,
   Braving billow-bounds;
Then we rode so dashingly,
smote the sea so splashingly,
That the surge sent, washingly,
   Honey up for grounds.

Ramparts rose of custard all
Where a castle muster'd all
   Forces o'er the lake;
Butter was the bridge of it,
Wheaten meal the ridge of it,
   Bacon every stake.

Strong it stood, and pleasantly
There I entered presently
   Hying to the hosts;
Dry beef was the door of it,
Bare bread was the floor of it,
   Whey-curds were the posts.

Old cheese-columns happily,
Pork that pillared sappily,
   Raised their heads aloof;
While curd-rafters mellowly
Crossing cream-beams yellowly,
   Held aloft the roof.

Wine in well rose sparklingly,
Beer was rolling darklingly,
   Bragget brimmed the pond.
Lard was oozing heavily,
Merry malt moved wavily,
   Through the floor beyond.

Lake of broth lay spicily,
Fat froze o'er it icily,
   'Tween the wall and shore;
Butter rose in hedges high,
cloaking all it's edges high
   White lard blossomed o'er.

Apple alleys bowering,
Pink-topped orchards flowering,
   Fenced off hill and wind;
Leek-tree forests loftily,
Carrots branching tuftily,
   Guarded it behind.

Ruddy warders rosily
Welcomed us right cosily
   To the fire and rest;
Seven coils of sausages,
Twined in twisting passages,
   Round each brawny breast.

Their chief I discover him,
Suet mantle over him,
   By his lady bland;
Where the cauldron boiled away,
The Dispenser toiled away,
   With his fork in hand.

Good King Cathal, royally,
Surely will enjoy a lay,
   Fair and fine as silk;
>From his heart his woe I call,
When I sing, heroical,
How we rode, so stoical,
   O'er the Sea of Milk.

- ------
trans. G. Sigerson, in Bards of the Gael and Gal??
(London Unwin, 1897)
- ---------------------------------------------------------
Dilestair fid dy hynt, ac ni rusia ddim rhagot.
"May your path be unhindered and may nothing hinder you."

Bryan S. McDaniel      SCA aka Kestrel of Wales
My statements are often my half groat worth.  Any opinions expressed are my own and not necessarily the
opinions of my employer, or any group that I am or have been a member.
http://kestrel.hawk.org        http://kestrelw.webjump.com
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