A Terrible Beauty Is Born, Y'all.

In honor of Ireland on this day, I've translated one of my favorite poems by one of my favorite Irish poets into Redneck:

Look at that buzzard up yonder. Goin' up and up in circles like 'at, and acts like he's deaf as a dang post.

I tell you, things is fallin' all to hell. The dang center's completely busted, and good luck tryin’ to get parts for it. Plus, there’s blood all over ever’where, and it’s plumb pitiful they way they done the ceremony of innocence, drownin’ it like ‘at.

Can’t get the good folks to stir themselves to strike a lick at a snake, and the bad folks is runnin’ around like their shoes is on fire and their asses is catchin.

I tell you, somethin’s gettin’ ready to bust wide open. I’m thinkin’ maybe it’s even the Second Coming.

Whoa nelly! Minute that word’s out o’ my mouth, it’s like I'se havin’ one o’them hallucinations.

I’m seein’ a desert and a big, whadyyacallit, Sphinx kinda goomer, shuffling along through the sand like is feet are hurtin, with birds all around ‘im, and let me tell you, they ain’t happy one bit.

Wow. Now it’s gone. That was kinda freaky, y’all.

I got a real bad feelin’ about this. Somethin’s been snoozin’ for twenty-odd centuries, but now it’s awake, and I think it’s a little pissed off.

Somebody get on the cell phone and call Bethlehem.

Thanks to Cary writer Joan Conwell for the inspiration.