It is no exaggeration to say that when the poet Michael Davitt publishes a new volume the bar of excellence is raised higher for all practitioners of the art. He is one of the finest poets writing at the moment and Freacnairc Mhearcair/The Oomph of Quicksilver, a new bilingual collection of selected poems, allows the reader to (re)acquaint himself with that excellence.
The issue of translation is a thorny one for writers in Irish. Davitt has already had one bilingual collection published in 1987. Just 13 year later seems a short time for a second one; yet it is to be welcomed. The language of translation, as much as the language of composition, changes. In addition, there are poems from Davitt's latest collection, Scuais (1998), included here, providing an opportunity for that collection to breath anew.
On the evidence of the translations, the collaboration between Davitt and his editor, the poet Louis de Paor (who also provides a fine introduction to the man, his work and his lingos) has been close and fruitful. While there are star turns - John Montague, Paul Muldoon and Brendan Kennelly, to name but three - de Paor and Davitt have ensured that it is the living Davitt who speaks from these pages in Irish and English and not an anaemic ghost.
Most poets probably, secretly, really, know in their hearts that they may only write a handful of seminal poems (if even that). To review Davitt's work is to realise that he has produced a corpus which will survive.
There is a unique mixture of humanity and horror to be found in many poems; not the least being Do Bhobby Sands an La Sular Eag, An Scathan, O mo Bheirt Phailistineach and An Sceimhlitheoir. The known individual, such as his father in An Scathan, and the unknown massacre victims of O mo Bheirt Phailistineach, all figure in Davitt's consciousness and conscience with the same unbidden intensity.
Which is not to say that it is all doom and gloom. Davitt has a wicked sense of humour which shines through in (Positively) Sraid Fhearchair: "O come all ye Irish speakers/whether native or beginner,/whether east coast west coast north or south/whether Saint or Scholar or Sinner./When roving out for a bottle of stout/to the Club of the Gaelic League,/if verbally attacked don't answer back:/it's all for the cause, you see!"
Pol O Muiri is an author and an Irish Times journalist