His translation of Buile Shuibhne (Sweeney Astray, 1983) has been a favourite of mine these past 30 years. He revisited the theme the following year in his collection Station Island with the mighty 'Sweeney Redivivus' which features this: The First Kingdom The royal roads were cow paths. The queen mother hunkered on a stool and played the harpstrings of milk into a wooden pail. With seasoned sticks the nobles lorded it over the hindquarters of cattle. Units of measurement were pondered by the cartful, barrowful and bucketful. Time was a backward rote of names and mishaps, bad harvests, fires, unfair settlements, deaths in floods, murders and miscarriages. And if my right to it all came only by their acclamation, what was it worth? I blew hot and blew cold. They were two-faced and accommodating. And seed, breed and generation still they are holding on, every bit as pious and exacting and demeaned.
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