Cover art by Peter Monsted

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Book of Leinster

Notes

Author: Anonymous

This poem belongs to the rich tradition of early Irish hermit poetry — the díthreabhach or wilderness-dweller — that flourished between the 8th and 10th centuries. This poem turns inward. It is a sustained meditation on solitude, self-denial, and the soul’s longing for God, and it is among the most psychologically intense of all early Irish religious lyrics.

The hermit or anchorite tradition in early Irish Christianity was distinct from the communal monasticism of the great abbeys. The hermit sought radical solitude — óenurán, alone, utterly alone — as the condition in which God could be most purely encountered. This was influenced by the Desert Fathers of Egypt and Syria, whose writings circulated widely in Irish monasteries, but it took on a distinctly Irish character: the wilderness was not the desert but the forest, the cliff edge, the island in the lough, the rocky promontory facing the Atlantic.

The poem moves through the physical conditions of the hermit’s life — the cold bed, the sparse food, the constant tears of penitence — toward something more inward and aching. The final stanzas drop the catalogue of austerities and become nakedly personal: m’óenurán, alone, alone, alone — the word repeated like a pulse. The repetition is not despair but a kind of radical acceptance, even exaltation. Alone he came into the world; alone he will leave it; alone, in that solitude, he finds God.

Several stanzas were relegated to the footnotes by the original editor, suggesting manuscript variants or questions of authenticity. They are restored here in their natural sequence as they form part of the poem’s emotional arc.

The poem is rich in compound words and compressed syntax characteristic of high Old Irish verse. It rewards slow reading. Almost every stanza contains a paradox: cold and joy, harshness and beauty, solitude and presence.

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Translation

1. Alone in my little oratory, no one near me in my dwelling: how beloved would be a pilgrimage before going to meet death.

2. A hidden, secret little hut for the forgiveness of every wrong; a straight, unwavering conscience toward holy heaven.

3. (page break in manuscript)

4. Sanctifying the body with good habits, treading it firmly down, with gentle weeping eyes to quench my desires.

5. Weak, withered desires, renouncing the world here below — pure, living intentions — that has been the prayer to God.

6. Fervent tears with contrition toward the cloudy heaven, sincere, true confession, fierce showers of tears.

7. A cold, fearful bed like the sleep of a doomed man, a short, dangerous sleep, rising early and often.

8. My food, my dwelling — how beloved would be the hardship; my eating, without exception, would not make me guilty.

9. A measure of dry bread — good the face that receives it — the water of a beautiful hillside stream — that would be the drink I would desire.

10. Bitter, simple eating, a mind diligent over books, a hand ready for work and devotion, a conscience clear and smooth.

(page break in manuscript)

11. How beloved would be — truly — a holy, pure soul, thin dry cheeks, a narrow, hide-like skin.

(Stanza restored from editor’s notes, page 179)

12. Steps along the paths of the Gospel, singing psalms at every hour, an end to speech and storytelling, the constant bending of knees.

13. Christ, Son of God, visiting me, my Creator, my King; my mind visiting Him in the kingdom where He dwells.

14. This is the end that would please me, among enclosures and bright places — a beautiful, wisdom-bright little spot, with me there alone.

(Stanza restored from editor’s notes, page 180)

15. Alone in my little oratory, alone as I am now: alone I came into the world; alone I will go from it.

(Stanza restored from editor’s notes, page 180)

16. Alone — if I have taken on any pride of this life here — let my cry of weeping be heard, alone, O God.

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