Lament of the lost Books

Ă“rna Loughnane

by Ă“rna Loughnane

Story
Ireland 1800 – 1820

To the harbor of Valentia Island he happened to go, by the beautiful inlet of Darriray, where maritime goods are sailed overseas and far away. In Portmagee he stopped a while, for the sake of education, to be amongst them there, as a school master. Soon, alas, ’twas heard by all; Fair John, the mighty vessel was lost and its contents all, over board. His heart throbbed with pain at the thought of it, of the boat and brave captain, and how much better it would have been, had only they waited a while to set out under more favorable conditions.

His sorrow, mourning and fatigue, made him but a shell of a man, depressed by deep misery, eternally sorry for his own sad situation. To think, all his clothes, scattered now, though tailored and pressed, ready to blossom like the flowers of Érin. They, too, had gone into the sea into the bargain! More of them in a flame, and exhausted he be. Through a cloudy mind, his sorrow was for everyone and everything this morning. Worried, sad and questioning, tormented by the cold without a thread of mercy reaching from the sky.

It’s not that he tried convincing himself otherwise, more that he tormented his mind over again, but wasn’t he was busy with rain every day under the sky! Strong winds from the north and south and too much snow without any time, early fires flaming in the shade of berries. The snow blew with a strong gale for ten hours without a glimpse of the sun. The hard pains of pencil writing filled him too much with disease and restless interest, leaving him bedridden with pain.

If he could walk through Ireland, Scotland, France, Spain and England and if still again, he could tell everyone under the moon that, alas, he couldn’t retrieve all the books of knowledge and usefulness, which, more than anything had shaped his belongings. They are now but lost and gone astray. Woe was him, his agony in that loss. Abandoned was he by that deadly, cursed sea course over which now he grieved. May the curse of God and the church be on those vile and deadly rocks for drowning the boat without a storm, with neither gale nor wind.

There were a vast number of Irish books which he didn’t mention until now; books of the blessed Leinstermen, the finest on this earth, the fine clever, delightful husbandman properly sowing his seed with relish; he bestowed heather and green furze on rugged hills until the time of the bright white hay. He put a stop to the words which afflicted him so very much. Ne’er shall he send anything by sea ever again as long as he lives. Though praise be to the bright King of Angels that he regained his health and was comforted too, that the crew were safely returned from the storm without drowning.


This is the story of The Song of the Books, translated from the poem by Thomás Rua Ă“ SĂşilleabháin (1785-1848), Poet; File. Cuan BhĂ©il Inse, also known as Amhrán na Leabhar. A poem filled with emotion about his beloved books that got lost at sea. It is sung as a slow air in the sean nĂłs tradition of County Kerry. Translated from Munster Gaelic by me, M.O’Sullivan, M.O’Shea and from EilĂ­s Kennedy’s singing on YouTube.

© Órna Loughnane 2024-03-10

Genres
Novels & Stories
Moods
Emotional