Words: Raven's Pelican

Jonathan Blaecstan did the calligraphy and illumination for the Pelican scroll of Brannat Dub, called Raven. As far as he knew, the persona of the recipient is Scots-Gaelic, so I used "The Poet asks an Irish Patron for a Harp", Scottish-Gaelic, c. 1450, from The Poetry of Scotland: Gaelic, Scots and English on my shelf.

Although my original persona was Lowland Scots and I've used Scottish legal documents, this was my first foray into Scottish poetry. Gaelic is also a linguistic nemesis: with this handicap, and with time constraints, I chose in this case to follow content and flavor over meter. There're many parallels between the scroll and source texts: you can see the first in the swapping of the first two lines of each.

SCROLL TEXT Brannat Dub, called Raven Pelican Under the rule of Andreas and Gabriella, wheat flourishes on Eastern plains; each ear of corn carries its full burden on the black-cherried lands of Our gains. The most joyous court of the Eastern realm is its king’s fort, on its green-jewelled leigh: the white castle with its precious stones above the tranquil Eastern sea. Numerous and noble are the members of Our house, numerous Our hunting hawks on the wing; wine is quaffed in that capital of garnered plenty: it is the palace of a noble king. Cows yield sweet milk in milking folds; the East has fallow land rich in grass; Andreas, lord of all, has fierce bloodhounds watered by a lass. We, Andreas, and Our fairest, Gabriella, have come, and good is Our reason, from Our fair lands to war, as is meet: for war and reward each have their season. Even so, at war, We call one to honor: Brannat Dub, O raven-haired one, lass who looks after Our bloodhounds and men and all others who thirst in the warmth of the sun. The account of your works, Brannat, called Raven, has been chronicled in a fair, loving hand; everywhere, the watchful have seen your labors and your careful services are in demand. O Daughter of the East, for your provisioning of water, in this kingdom and afar, your establishment of safe practice, your cleaning, washing, sweeping, ever following your star We decree, at this August’s foreign war, Your inclusion in a loved and famed Order: Pelicans, know her as your Companion From this day on Aethelmearc’s fair border. Thus in Anno Societatis 44 do We bestow upon Brannat Dub, called Raven, Arms by letters patent: Per pale argent and gules, a raven sable and in dexter chief a mullet azure.

SOURCE TEXT “The Poet asks an Irish Patron for a Harp” By Giolla Críost Brúilingeach A poem in Scottish Gaelic from c. 1450 Translation to English by Derick Thomson From “The Poetry of Scotland—Gaelic, Scots and English”, Edited by Roderick Watson, ©1995 English translation: The Author of this is Giolla Críost Brúilingeach Red wheat grows on smooth plains under the rule of Tomaltach, lord of Céis; on the white-hazelled domain of Coll’s descendant each ear of corn carries its full burden. Cows yield sweet milk in milking folds; he has fallow land most rich in grass; both in its smooth demesne and its hilly land it is lovely country bearing a heavy crop. Tomaltach, lord of all, has fierce deerhounds on golden leashes; in early morning there are studs of horses in the proud assembly round the most warm lough of virtue. The most joyous court on the ridge of the world is Mac Diarmada’s fort, with its bright aspect: the white castle with its precious stones above the tranquil lough of Cé. Horns and goblets and fair-wrought cups are there in the thronging court of Lough Cé; wine is quaffed in that capital of garnered plenty: it is the palace of a noble king. Numerous are the members of his household, comely and noble, numerous his gestures and tall steeds; spears and blades and mailcoats, and sedate, large-kneed, stern men. I have come—good is my reason— from Scotland to visit you, as is meet, drawn by your fame, O white-footed son of Connacht, O great handsome Tomaltach. I have come to make a request of you, from Scotland, O golden-haired one, over the stormy sea with its clustering wave-tops, chill and huge, the home of grilse and salmon. A harp in special, in return for my poem, grant me at my request, O king, O countenance like the ripe fruit of the apple-tree, for this is something that you happen to have. O Son of Conchobhar of the Rock’s haven, to pay poet-bands befits you well; the account of your handsomeness is being chronicled; may Ireland be yours for your filling of hands. The daughter of Walter de Burgh of Brega is a famous lady who does not stint store; her hair is deep-trenched, bright-locked, in tresses: she is the choice among Ireland’s fair ladies. Caitilín of the white palms has a long lovely hand decked with rings; red her lips, luscious and noble, gleaming the rosy nails of her hands. Gaelic version from the oral traditions of Argyll and Perthshire, Scotland: Auctor Huius Giolla Críost Brúilingeach Cruithneacht dearg ar maghaibh míne fá Thomaltach chosnas Chéis; bídh ar clár collbhán uí Cholla lomlán a droma ar gach déis. Lacht milis ag buaibh i mbuailtibh, branar fa féaraighe fonn; fá h-árainn mhín is fá monadh tír álainn fá toradh trom. Míolchoin gharga ar iallaibh órdha ag Tomaltach ’s ceann ar cách; sguir go moch san aonach uallach mán loch bhraonach bhuadhach bhláth. An chúirt as aoibhne ar druim domhain dún Mheic Dhiarmada as geal gné i gcaisteal fionn na gcloch mbuadha ós cionn Locha cuanna Cé. Cuirn is cuaich is copáin chumhdaigh i gcúirt líonmhoir Locha Cé; ibhthear fíon san chonnphort chnuasaigh: is longphort ríogh uasail é. Iomdha a theaghlach álainn uasal, a éideadh ’s a eachradh ard; iomdha sleagh is lann is lúireach, agus fear mall glúineach garg. Tánaig mise, maith an t-adhbhar, dot fhios a hAlbain, ó’s cóir, mád teist, a Chonnachtaigh chaisghil, a Thomaltaigh mhaisigh mhór. Cláirseach ar leath dom dhán damhsa tabhair mar iarraim, a rí; ghnúis mar bhláth na h-abhla abaigh, ó’s ní tharla agaibh í. A mheic Chonchobhair chuain Chairrge, cubhaidh riotsa díol na ndámh; tá cuid do sgéimhe dá sgríobhadh; Éire dhuid ar líonadh lámh. Inghean Bháiteir a Búrc Breaghdha, bean nósmhor neamhghann má ní; folt cladhach cúlghlan na gcéibheann: rogha úrbhan Éireann í. Deárna álainn fhada fháinneach ag Caitilín na mbas mbán; dearg a h-imle solta saora, ‘s ingne corcra laomdha a lámh.