- published: 17 Nov 2015
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An immram (/ˈɪmrəm/; plural immrama; Irish: iomramh, IPA: [ˈʊmˠɾˠəw], voyage) is a class of Old Irish tales concerning a hero's sea journey to the Otherworld (see Tír na nÓg and Mag Mell). Written in the Christian era and essentially Christian in aspect, they preserve elements of Irish mythology.
The immrama are identifiable by their focus on the exploits of the heroes during their search for the Otherworld, located in these cases in the islands far to the west of Ireland. The hero sets out on his voyage for the sake of adventure or to fulfill his destiny, and generally stops on other fantastic islands before reaching his destination. He may or may not be able to return home again.
The immrama are generally confused with a similar Irish genre, the echtrae or "adventure". Both types of story involve a hero's journey to an "otherworld", whether a Christian paradise, a fairyland, the land of the gods or a utopia. They are distinguished by date; echtrai are older, dating from the 7th century, while the earliest immram dates only to the 8th century.David Dumville argues that the immrama include more Christian thinking than the more pagan genre of echtrae and that, whereas the purpose of the echtrai is to enhance understanding of the old gods and the land in which they live, in an immram these pagan elements occur as a challenge to the hero's faith. In an echtrae the protagonist only ever goes to one location and may arrive in the otherworld with no explanation of the journey, whereas in an immram the hero always has multiple adventures on several islands.
Upon the waves the ancient's graves
Thru tempest, thirst and plague
Beneath the sky of the maters eye
So grey, we sail for Eire
Blind, embarking in purple twilight
Westward, through the night
A shore to be reached
A batle beseached inside
In darkness the fearful sat beside themselves without a pride
A greater power guide, challenged, guarded the thresholds of their minds
And then an island came in sight
A weary crews heart filled with light
Until a scent of death blew east
Bones strewn for a raven's feast
Our ship was thrown into the rocks
Impaling three on boney docks
Perhaps our fate was to be late
A grave at sea, merciful would be
Fire...reigning from the sky
Water...endless brime
Air...parching, hot and dry
For earth we search and pray to find
Scorn...hungry and bleeding and left for dead
Hopeless...could we trust our minds?
Desperation...forced to feed upon the dead
Surely hell is on this earth!!
Staggering we reached the western shore
Dying we faced our every fear
Regret then was meaningless
Salvation! A three skinned boat appeared!
Now we flee the west, having passed our test
The horrors beckoned, 'join us' forever would we rest
But nay, to our land we shall return to pass the stories on,