|
[ On re-reading the Táin ] As far back as our words reach Drawn on vellum, beaten on metal: Our earliest voices tell of The frenzied shedding of blood. Heads in helmets, bodies in armour Drawn swords, upright spears Gave the setting for the greatest names: Cú Chulainn, Beowulf, Siegfried. Tales of lives spent waiting for battle Futile feuds leading to no end Formed the nation's narrative. Was their no other story to tell? Is there nothing else we can Look back to than hatred that Engendered more hatred, Force that unleashed more force. All the senseless deaths on The red-stained pages of Our barren books. |
