Poem introduction

I wrote a collection called The Resurrection of the Body which contains a lot of biblical material and a lot of mythical material; and a poem about a cat, called Pangur Bàn, who belonged to one of the famous Irish scribes. The poem is in three parts.

Pangur Ban

Pangur Bàn

Jerome has his enormous dozy lion.
Myself, I have a cat, my Pangur Bàn.

What did Jerome feed up his lion with?
Always he's fat and fleecy, always sleeping

As if after a meal. Perhaps a Christian?
Perhaps a lamb, or a fish, or a loaf of bread.

His lion's always smiling, chin on paw,
What looks like purring rippling his face

And there on Jerome's escritoire by the quill and ink pot
The long black thorn he drew from the lion's paw.

Look, Pangur, at the picture of the lion –
Not a mouser like you, not lean, not ever

Chasing a quill as it flutters over parchment
Leaving its trail that is the word of God.

Pangur, you are so trim beside the lion.
- Unlike Jerome in the mouth of his desert cave

Wrapped in a wardrobe of robes despite the heat,
I in this Irish winter, Pangur Bàn,

Am cold, without so much as your pillow case
Of fur, white, with ginger tips on ears and tail.

My name is neither here nor there, I am employed
By Colum Cille who will be a saint

Because of me and how I have set down
The word of God. He pays. He goes to heaven.

I stay on earth, in this cell with the high empty window,
The long light in summer, the winter stars.

I work with my quill and colours, bent and blinder
Each season, colder, but the pages fill.

Just when I started work the cat arrived
Sleek and sharp at my elbow, out of nowhere;

I dipped my pen. He settled in with me.
He listened and replied. He kept my counsel.

Here in the margin, Pangur, I inscribe you.
Almost Amen. Prowl out of now and go down

Into time's garden, wary with your tip-toe hearing.
You'll live well enough on mice and shrews till you find

The next scriptorium, a bowl of milk. Some scribe
Will recognise you, Pangur Bàn, and feed you;

You’ll find your way to him as you did to me
From nowhere (but you sniffed out your Jerome).

Stay by him, too, until his Gospel's done.
(I linger over John, the closing verses,

You're restless, won’t be touched. I'm old. The solstice.)
Amen, dear Pangur Bàn. Amen. Be sly.

from Collected Poems (Smith/Doorstop, 2009), © Michael Schmidt 2009, used by permission of the author and the publisher.


Michael Schmidt

Michael Schmidt Reading from his Poems


2Words (after Hofmannsthal)

3The English Lesson (after Pasternak)

4Natalya's Dream

5The Freeze

6A Dream

7The Brother

8A Carol



11from A Change of Affairs


13Here and There

14Choosing a Guest

15The Road

16from The Love of Strangers

17'His father was a baker...'

18Pangur Bàn

19Iberian Clichés

20Don Juan

21The Resurrection of the Body

22Furniture for a Ballad


24Not Yet

25Third Persons

26John Gilpin Eludes the Hunt

Books by Michael Schmidt