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The mild mad dogs of poetry from 'Dàin do Eimhir' XXIX

In that white land beyond time
across the perfected snowfield
I see the faint trails
of poems I have not spoken

Wolves and wolfhounds
their tongues bloody in their muzzles
streak through the forest
pathways, making for the uplands

Their howling fills the rocky
places of my brain, their onslaught
across the sheer mountains
driving confusedly onwards

The mild mad dogs of poetry
in pursuit of the white hind
that thing of serene beauty –
your face, a quest without end

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About the translation:
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Sorley MacLean
Cameron Hawke Smith
Original language:
Series 3 Number 16 - The Dialect of the Tribe

About the author

Cameron Hawke Smith


Cameron Hawke Smith

Cameron Hawke Smith has a degree in Classics and some of his versions of Homer, Pindar, Horace, and also the Gaelic of Sorley...

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