The following poem captures near perfectly a spirit and feeling I often get when I’m writing my blog entries for Tony’s Book World. The poem was written by an unknown Irish poet in the ninth century. I found this poem in a book called “Lyrics of the Middle Ages” (1959) edited by Hubert Creekmore. So with no further notes or footnotes except to mention ‘Pangur Ban’ is the name of the poet’s cat, here is the poem.
I and Pangur Ban my cat ‘Tis a like task we are at; Hunting mice is his delight, Hunting words I sit all night. Better far than praise of men ‘Tis to sit with book and pen; Pangur bears me no ill will, He too plies his simple skill. Tis a merry thing to see At our tasks how glad are we, When at home we sit and find Entertainment to our mind. Oftentimes a mouse will stray In the hero Pangur’s way; Oftentimes my keen thought set Takes a meaning in its net. ‘Gainst the wall he sets his eye Full and fierce and sharp and sly; ‘Gainst the wall of knowledge I All my little wisdom try. When a mouse darts from its den O how glad is Pangur then! O what gladness do I prove When I solve the doubts I love! So in peace our tasks we ply, Pangur Ban, my cat and I; In our arts we find our bliss, I have mine and he has his. Practice every day has made Pangur perfect in his trade; I get wisdom day and night Turning darkness into light.