This is a cycle of poems about a man with a singular occupation: in rural (read superstition-riddled) Irish communities, when a person - particularly an unrepentant sinner or one overtaken by sudden deadly calamity and therefore unshriven - dies, a sin-eater is called upon to attend the wake. He is given a bowl of ale, a loaf of bread, and a small payment, in return for which he consumes the ale and the loaf, thereby taking the unconfessed sins of the deceased upon himself and allowing the departed soul a safe passage home. Thomas Lynch has written a verse biography of one such man and of his littoral place in society - both shunned and needed by the community, and reviled by the clergy yet offering redemption where they withhold it. In, "He Posits Certain Mysteries", for example, Argyle, the sin-eater comforts the family of a suicide;
The body of the boy who took his flight
off the cliff at Kilcloher into the sea
was hauled up by the curragh-men, out at first light
fishing mackerel in the estuary.
"No requiem or rosary," said the priest.
...
But Argyle refused their shilling coin
and helped them build a box and dig a grave.
"Your boy's no profligate or prodigal,"
he said, "only a wounded pilgrim like us all.
What say his leaping was a leap of faith,
into his father's beckoning embrace?"
Perhaps I should mention here that, in addition to being a poet and a dextrous and lovely wordsmith in prose, as well, Mr. Lynch is a follower of the dismal trade - a mortician - and is thus conversant with the many attitudes that people adopt when confronted by the dead. This is a touching little book, beautifully illustrated by the author's son Michael Lynch's black and white photographs, taken round about their ancestral Irish home in Moveen.