Everything that's been going on recently with Different, Better has made me want to reread Brendan Kennelly's The Book of Judas. Kennelly is an Irish poet whom I discovered about nine months after I wrote the first draft of the story, and he's influenced my thinking about it ever since. The Book of Judas is almost 400 pages of poems, most of which are from Judas' perspective, but also which get into the hearts and minds of modern people, many of them Irish, many of them Dubliners. What's amazing about the book (aside from the poetry itself, which is wow) is that Kennelly essentially claims Judas for Ireland. He claims Judas for Ireland: he takes that which is, by the world, perhaps most feared and loathed and he asks it to step inside and make itself at home. He's not making excuses, but he's not afraid to sympathize, even empathize with it. How cool is that?

I'm reminded of Seamus Heaney's introduction to his translation of Beowulf, in which he does basically the same thing, likening the Irish to Grendel prowling around in the dark, watching the light and the heat of Heorot Hall, but never able to go inside. I'm reminded of countless U2 lyrics: I stand with the sons of Cain. And I'm sure there are other examples.

I love the Irish. I love that they feel this need to sympathize with history's hated. This is one of those times when I think, yeah, this may be the country for me.

Anyway, I had to return The Book of Judas to the library yesterday, but before I did, I copied down my favorite poem, which now I'll share with you. whiskeypants, you especially should look into reading this book. It's hard to find in the U.S., but our library does have a copy. (Points to UCB!)

So here's my favorite poem. Don't tell me this doesn't give you chills.

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