Pangur Bán, the pet cat of a Iona Monk that inspired poetry!
From the ninth-century Irish poem
Pangur Bán and I at work,
Adepts, equals, cat and clerk:
His whole instinct is to hunt,
Mine to free the meaning pent.
More than loud acclaim, I love
Books, silence, thought, my alcove.
Happy for me, Pangur Bán
Child-plays round some mouse's den.
Truth to tell, just being here,
Housed alone, housed together,
Adds up to its own reward:
Concentration, stealthy art.
Next thing an unwary mouse
Bares his flank: Pangur pounces.
Next thing lines that held and held
Meaning back begin to yield.
All the while, his round bright eye
Fixes on the wall, while I
Focus my less piercing gaze
On the challenge of the page.
With his unsheathed, perfect nails
Pangur springs, exults and kills.
When the longed-for, difficult
Answers come, I too exult.
So it goes. To each his own.
No vying. No vexation.
Taking pleasure, taking pains,
Kindred spirits, veterans.
Day and night, soft purr, soft pad,
Pangur Bán has learned his trade.
Day and night, my own hard work
Solves the cruxes, makes a mark.
.webp?h=11 "Nuzzles, pounces on you, UwU, you're so warm!..")
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Oh, poor sad angry little poodle yapping away its aggression on the internet. How bloody typical. If I were a better person I'd pity you. It is, however, not my fault that you are uneducated and have to fall back on silly childish insults. As it is you have provided amusement my little ankle-biter. Looking at the nonsense it seems that you are in one heck of a lot more misery than I will ever be my angry little brat. You should thank me for letting you get your anger out in a safe place. I thank you for the giggle.
Snapshots:
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/48267/pangur-ban:
ghostarchive.org
archive.org
archive.ph (click to archive)
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