Pity the poor reviewer tasked with Biddy Jenkinson's Rogha Dβnta - one wary eye on her poem 'Don LΘirmheast≤ir a Ghearβin mo Chuid scatalogical elements' and another on the critics who say she is one of the best poets writing in Irish at present.
She defies easy labels and Rogha Dβnta, a selection from four previous volumes chosen by Prof Seβn ╙ Tuama and Siobhβn N∅ Fhoghl·, will add to her well-established reputation. Jenkinson, who doesn't allow her work to be translated into English, has tapped a source of language and imagination which is uniquely her own.
Writing in a tradition which can too often be literal, her leaps of poetry may not always be followed easily by the casual reader.
Lovers of fast-food fil∅ocht may find they have bitten off more than they can chew. A pity, really, because her work is gourmet eating.
In poems such as '╔iceola∅', Jenkinson's full range of gifts are on display - the fussy neighbour who misunderstands the chaos and diversity of true nature and growth, having her work undone through ecological sabotage.
It's a hymn to alternative values and the ability to look anew pulses throughout this work. Added to that is Jenkinson's quirky humour which lightens the collection to great effect.
Liam ╙ Muirthile's Walking Time agus dβnta eile won Cl≤ Iar-Chonnachta's award for best poetry collection in 1999 and Celia de FrΘine's Faoi Chabβist∅ is R∅onacha was recognised in the same competition.Both are well produced volumes and come with a CD of the poets reading their work - no need to wait for the local literary festival to hear poets reading in this information age.
╙ Muirthile, a columnist with this newspaper, is a profound and studied writer in whichever medium he turns his hand too - novel, drama, journalism or poetry. The title poem, 'Walking Time', shows ╙ Muirthile in full flow - a conversation between father and son in two different languages, a vision of childhood in a Cork of a bygone age, and all imbued with a deep and illuminating humanity.
Lines, as dense as a summer thicket, bind one another with an ease many will envy.
The same elegance of thought and application are to be found in other long poems, such as 'Banaltra'.
Yet ╙ Muirthile can also loose the little lyric - as in 'Lon' - and hit the mark. A collection from a master craftsman.
Celia de FrΘine's first collection is the result of seven years' writing. Her poetry has, according to Bernard O'Donoghue, "the imagistic inventiveness of N∅ Dh≤mhnaill, combined with the enigmatic suggestiveness of McGuckian without her crypticism, and the gender-centred wit of Carol Ann Duffy with a sustained seriousness". (Run that by me again, a chara.)
It seems a lot for a first collection to have to live up to - and so it proves. De FrΘine does not possess the same rich vein of speech N∅ Dh≤mhnaill has made her own. Her language is direct, immediate and with few frills. Similarly, too, the poems.
As a consequence, there is a prosaic quality in many, such as 'Is t· ag brβth orthu . . .' which far from making them enigmatic, make them obvious.
Though the volume was written over many years, it is difficult to discern a strong thematic approach to the subject and, one suspects, the other strings to her artistic bow - she is a successful scriptwriter and dramatist - have not aided her development as a poet.
Odd too that such disparate voices should win prizes in the same competition.
P≤l ╙ Muir∅ is an Irish Times journalist