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Thou Harp of My Music: Love Songs from the Gaelic edited by Alexander Carmichael and C. J. Moore.

Hey look–my reading list is taking over the side menu . . . sort of like my books are threatening to take over my house. 

Right, so, this is one of those books I had to have once I found out it existed.  Carmichael was born in 1832 on a little island in Scotland called Lismore–it’s near Oban, where they make very good single-malt.  He was a traveling civil servant who loved to collect songs and poems.  The title is a bit misleading–only a few of the poems are actually love songs in the modern sense.  The book is divided into actual love songs; waulking songs (my fiber-artist’s heart sings!); curse songs; laments, and invocations of saints/gods, particularly Brigid/St. Brigid aka St. Bride.  Also, "Gaelic" is one of those words that stymies people–unless you’re really into philology or Celtic studies, you probably think "Gaelic" is synonymous with "Irish."  It’s not, unless, ironically enough, you’re speaking Irish ( "i nGaeilge" translates to "In Irish," not to "In Gaelic"  I could explain, but I’m pretty sure I’ve already lost most of you.  Also, my tea is getting cold).  In this instance, the poems were transcribed from singers and tellers who had learned them through the oral tradition in Scotland, Cornwall, and Ireland, and then translated from Cornish, Irish, Scots Gaelic or Broad Scots into English.

The poems, dear reader, are fabu.    I fell so hard for the first one I was hesitant to read the others too quickly–I didn’t want to burn through these little treasures.  But I did, and then just reread them over and over.  Here’s a taste. 

Brigit of the mantles,
Brigit of the peat-heap,
Brigit of the twining hair,
Brigit of the augury.

Brigit of the white feet,
Brigit of calmness,
Brigit of the white palms,
Brigit of the kine.

Brigit, woman-comrade,
Brigit of the peat-heap,
Brigit, woman-helper,
Brigit, woman mild.

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