Andrew Marr - We British - The Poetry of a People

There are the Fair’s great privileges:

trumpets, harps, hollow-throated horns,

Pipers, timpanists unwearied,

poets and meet musicians.

Tales of Find and the Fianna, a matter inexhaustible,

sackings, forays, wooings,

tablets, and books of lore,

satires, keen riddles:

Proverbs, maxims …

… The Chronicle of women, tales of armies, conflicts,

hostels, tabus, captures …

Pipes, fiddles, gleemen,

bone-players and bag-pipers,

a crowd hideous, noisy, profane

shriekers and shouters.

They exert all their efforts

for the king of seething Berba:

the King, noble and honoured,

pays for each art its proper honour.

That’s a translation, of course, by Professor Thomas Owen Clancy of Glasgow University. He makes it sound great fun – like a modern literary festival on acid. Not everybody in the so-called dark ages was having a miserable time.

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