IF PATRICK Kavanagh had been a geologist rather than a poet, he might have made money out of his black hills - the ones that had never seen the sun rising, because "eternally they look north towards Armagh", writes Frank McNally.
Even as it was, he seemed to be on to something. "My hills hoard the bright shillings of March/ While the sun searches in every pocket," he wrote. At school we were always taught that this was a metaphor for droplets of rain glistening on the grass after spring showers.
Now we know that the poet's Shancoduff, being part of the "Longford-Down massif", may have been hoarding something more valuable than water. It's true that his hills were somewhat south of the "target anomaly" (whatever than means) identified by Clontibret's gold prospectors. But at least they were pointing in the right direction.
Of course, Kavanagh's most famous description of his native terrain does not even hint at the precious metals that we now know were underneath. It does, however, demonstrate the often-doubted power of poetry.
If Monaghan people had a euro for every time someone responded to news of their origins with the words "stony", "grey", and "soil", in that order - well, they could all afford shares in Conroy Diamonds now. Come to think of it, they still can: the shares are only 4p each, at time of writing, even after Tuesday's announcement. Which does rather put the Clontibret discovery into perspective.
Like so many things, gold strikes are not what they used to be. Take the Klondike rush, for example, which was a much more personal affair. It was started by an Indian called "Skookum Jim" Mason, who had gone to the area looking for his sister Kate (she was salmon-fishing with her husband George) and found gold deposits at a place called "Rabbit Creek", soon renamed "Bonanza Creek".
Then compare it with the Clontibret find, which was announced to the London Stock Exchange. And consider the words with which Prof Richard Conroy explained its significance. "The revised cut-off grade brings us in line with our peer group and gives the company a sound basis for pre-feasibility studies," he said. Be still, my beating heart.
This is the problem of living in a small country that has been populated for a long time. The easily accessible gold has all been discovered - or maybe our ancestors just imported it - and most of it is on display at the National Museum. If you do happen to discover a new piece in the ground somewhere, chances are it will already have been turned into a priceless brooch.
All in all, the prospect of Co Monaghan becoming "a major gold-mining region", as our report put it, is probably on a par with its chance of becoming a major Gaelic football power.
It's not impossible, in other words. But (in both cases) it may require the discovery of further resources, which are deep under the ground at the moment and would be very difficult and costly to extract. In the meantime, shares in Monaghan football have fallen sharply on the back of second-quarter results. If you're an optimistic investor, now is a good time to buy.
An interesting footnote on Clontibret, incidentally, is that while the streets of the village may never be paved with gold (and on a technical point, there's only one street), they have at least been paved with more than good intentions.
Well, the car parks anyway. Because not long ago, amid an intense lack of publicity, the local Orange lodge joined forces with the local community development group to upgrade (or in the case of the Orange hall, provide) parking facilities. It was another small instalment of the peace dividend, and unremarkable in itself.
But the most notable part of it was the joint opening ceremony, which included something you don't hear about every day: an ecumenical service at an Orange hall. The opening of a gold mine would be a small thing by comparison.
SOME thought-provoking stuff on the Letters page recently. First there was Paul Egan (Tuesday) writing about the indestructible grapes he bought over two months ago that have since refused to rot, even when left for 10 days in the boot of his car. I too have bought fruit like that - although any time I left it in the boot of the car for two weeks was an accident.
Then there was Geoff Scargill's letter (Wednesday) evoking the Old Testament, particularly Pharaoh's dream (Genesis 41), in which seven fat cattle emerge from the river Nile and are devoured by seven thin ones. Interpreted by Joseph, the dream warned that seven years' prosperity in Egypt would be followed by a similar period of want.
The modern reader could also see it as a parable about mad cow disease, and the dangers of livestock departing from a herbivorous diet. But at any rate, the Pharaoh stocked up on Joseph's advice, and a famine was avoided. "Why has the wisdom that existed 4,000 years ago evaporated from our Government today?" asked Geoff.
This is indeed a pertinent question now that the Irish economy appears to be up the creek (and not Rabbit Creek, either) without a paddle. But it may not be too late to stock the granaries, even now. As a public confidence-building measure, I suggest the Government should find out where Paul Egan's supermarket is, and buy all the grapes.