Tag: story

Amergin’s song

I am a Stag: of seven tines
I am a Flood: across a plain
I am a Wind: upon the waves
I am a Tear: the sun lets fall
I am a Hawk: above the cliff
I am a Thorn: beneath the nail
I am a Wonder: among flowers
I am a Wizard: who but I
sets the cool head aflame?

I am a Spear: that roars for blood
I am a Salmon: in a pool
I am a Lure: from Paradise
I am a Hill: where poets walk
I am a Boar: ruthless and red
I am a Breaker: threatening doom
I am a Tide: that drags to death
I am an Infant: who but I
peeps from the unhewn dolman arch?

I am the Womb: of every holt
I am the Blaze: on every hill
I am the Queen: of every hive
I am the Shield: for every head
I am the tomb: of every hope

John Barleycorn: A Ballad

There was three kings into the east,
Three kings both great and high,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn should die.

They took a plough and plough’d him down,
Put clods upon his head,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn was dead.

But the cheerful Spring came kindly on,
And show’rs began to fall;
John Barleycorn got up again,
And sore surpris’d them all.

The sultry suns of Summer came,
And he grew thick and strong;
His head weel arm’d wi’ pointed spears,
That no one should him wrong.

The sober Autumn enter’d mild,
When he grew wan and pale;
His bending joints and drooping head
Show’d he began to fail.

His colour sicken’d more and more,
He faded into age;
And then his enemies began
To show their deadly rage.

They’ve taen a weapon, long and sharp,
And cut him by the knee;
Then tied him fast upon a cart,
Like a rogue for forgerie.

They laid him down upon his back,
And cudgell’d him full sore;
They hung him up before the storm,
And turned him o’er and o’er.

They filled up a darksome pit
With water to the brim;
They heaved in John Barleycorn,
There let him sink or swim.

They laid him out upon the floor,
To work him farther woe;
And still, as signs of life appear’d,
They toss’d him to and fro.

They wasted, o’er a scorching flame,
The marrow of his bones;
But a miller us’d him worst of all,
For he crush’d him between two stones.

And they hae taen his very heart’s blood,
And drank it round and round;
And still the more and more they drank,
Their joy did more abound.

John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise;
For if you do but taste his blood,
‘Twill make your courage rise.

‘Twill make a man forget his woe;
‘Twill heighten all his joy;
‘Twill make the widow’s heart to sing,
Tho’ the tear were in her eye.

Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
Each man a glass in hand;
And may his great posterity
Ne’er fail in old Scotland!

Robert Burns, 1782

We all come from the One God

We all come from the Goddess
And to her we shall return
Like a drop of rain
Flowing to the ocean….

We all come from the Sun God
And to him we return
Like a spark of flame
Rising to the heavens.

Deena Metzger, Magnus McBride, Z. Budapest, Leonard D. Rosenburg

The Battle of the Trees

I have been in many shapes,
Before I attained a congenial form.
I have been a narrow blade of a sword.
(I will believe it when it appears.)
I have been a drop in the air.
I have been a shining Star.
I have been a word in a book.
I have been a book originally.
I have been a light in a lantern.
A year and a half.
I have been a bridge for passing over
Three-score rivers.
I have journeyed as an eagle.
I have been a boat on the sea.
I have been a director in battle.
I have been the string of a child’s swaddling clout.
I have been a sword in the hand.
I have been a shield in the fight.
I have been the string of a harp,
Enchanted for a year
In the foam of water.
I have been a poker in the fire.
I have been a tree in a covert.
There is nothing in which I have not been.
I have fought, though small,
In the Battle of Goddeu Brig,
Before the Ruler of Britain,
Abounding in fleets.
Indifferent bards pretend,
They pretend a monstrous beast,
With a hundred heads,
And a grievous combat
At the root of the tongue.
And another fight there is
At the back of the head.
A toad having on his thighs
A hundred claws,
A spotted crested snake,
For punishing in their flesh
A hundred souls on account of their sins.
I was in Caer efynedd,
Thither were hastening grasses and trees.
Wayfarers perceive them,
Warriors are astonished
At a renewal of the conflicts
Such as Gwydion made.
There is calling on Heaven,
And on Christ that he would effect
Their deliverance,
The all-powerful Lord.
If the Lord had answered,
Through charms and magic skill,
Assume the forms of the principal trees,
With you in array
Restrain the people
Inexperienced in battle.
When the trees were enchanted
There was hope for the trees,
That they should frustrate the intention
Of the surrounding fires….
Better are three in unison,
And enjoying themselves in, a circle,
And one of them relating
The story of the deluge,
And of the cross of Christ,
And of the Day of judgement near at hand.
The alder-trees in the first line,
They made the commencement.
Willow and quicken tree,
They were slow in their array.
The plum is a tree
Not beloved of men;
The medlar of a like nature,
Over coming severe toil.
The bean bearing in its shade
And army of phantoms.
The raspberry makes
Not the best of food.
In shelter live,
The privet and the woodbine,
And the ivy in its season.
Great is the gorse in battle.
The cherry-tree had been reproached.
The birch, though very magnanimous,
Was late in arraying himself;
It was not through cowardice,
But on account of his great size.
The appearance of the …
Is that of a foreigner and a savage.
The pine-tree in the court,
Strong in battle,
By me greatly exalted
In the presence of kings,
The elm-trees are his subjects.
He turns not aside the measure of a foot,
But strikes right in the middle,
And at the farthest end.
The hazel is the judge,
His berries are thy dowry.
The privet is blessed.
Strong chiefs in war
And the … and the mulberry.
Prosperous the beech-tree.
The holly dark green,
He was very courageous:
Defended with spikes on every side,
Wounding the hands.
The long-enduring poplars
Very much broken in fight.
The plundered fern;
The brooms with their offspring:
The furze was not well behaved
Until he was tamed
The heath was giving consolation,
Comforting the people –
The black cherry-tree was pursuing.
The oak-tree swiftly moving,
Before him tremble heaven and earth,
Stout doorkeeper against the foe
Is his name in all lands.
The corn-cockle bound together,
Was given to be burnt.
Others were rejected
On account of the holes made
By great violence
In the field of battle.
Very wrathful the …
Cruel the gloomy ash.
Bashful the chestnut-tree,
Retreating from happiness.
There shall be a black darkness,
There shall be a shaking of the mountain,
There shall be a purifying furnace,
There shall first be a great wave,
And when the shout shall be heard,
Putting forth new leaves are the tops of the beech,
Changing form and being renewed from a withered state;
Entangled are the tops of the oak.
From the Gorchan of Maelderw.
Smiling at the side of the rock
(Was) the pear-tree not of an ardent nature.
Neither of mother or father,
When I was made,
Was my blood or body;
Of nine kinds of faculties,
Of fruit of fruits,
Of fruit God made me,
Of the blossom of the mountain primrose,
Of the buds of trees and shrubs,
Of earth of earthly kind.
When I was made
Of the blossoms of the nettle,
Of the water of the ninth wave,
I was spell-bound by Math
Before I became immortal.
I was spell-bound by Gwydion,
Great enchanter of the Britons,
Of Eurys, of Eurwn,
Of Euron, of Medron,
In myriads of secrets,
I am as learned as Math….
I know about the Emperor
When he was half burnt.
I know the star-knowledge
Of stars before the earth (was made),
Whence I was born,
How many worlds there are.
It is the custom of accomplished bards
To recite the praise of their country.
I have played in Lloughor,
I have slept in purple.
Was I not in the enclosure
With Dylan Ail Mor,
On a couch in the centre
Between the two knees of the prince
Upon two blunt spears?
When from heaven came
The torrents into the deep,
Rushing with violent impulse.
(I know) four-score songs,
For administering to their pleasure.
There is neither old nor young,
Except me as to their poems,
Any other singer who knows the whole of the nine hundred
Which are known to me,
Concerning the blood-spotted sword.
Honour is my guide.
Profitable learning is from the Lord.
(I know) of the slaying of the boar,
Its appearing, its disappearing,
Its knowledge of languages.
(I know) the light whose name is Splendour,
And the number of the ruling lights
That scatter rays of fire
High above the deep.
I have been a spotted snake upon a hill;
I have been a viper in a lake;
I have been an evil star formerly.
I have been a weight in a mill.
My cassock is red all over.
I prophesy no evil.
Four score puffs of smoke
To every one l who will carry them away:
And a million of angels,
On the point of my knife.
Handsome is the yellow horse,
But a hundred times better
Is my cream-coloured one,
Swift as the sea-mew,
Which cannot pass me
Between the sea and the shore.
Am I not pre-eminent in the field of blood?
I have a hundred shares of the spoil.
My wreath is of red jewels,
Of gold is the border of my shield.
There has not been born one so good as I,
Or ever known,
Except Goronwy,
From the dales of Edrywy.
Long and white are my fingers,
It is long since I was a herdsman.
I travelled over the earth
Before I became a learned person.
I have travelled, I have made a circuit,
I have slept in a hundred islands;
I have dwelt in a hundred cities.
Learned Druids,
Prophesy ye of Arthur?
Or is it me they celebrate,
And the Crucfixion of Christ,
And the Day of Judgement near at hand,
And one relating
The history of the Deluge ?
With a golden jewel set in gold
I am enriched;
And I am indulging in pleasure
Out of the oppressive toil of the goldsmith.

Dating fraud

Remember colour ,language and distance donst matter,but LOVE matters a lot in life.

Bovenstaande spreuk kom ik vaak tegen als reactie op mijn advertentie in dating-sites, tot nog toe kwamen die reacties ergens uit Ghana, meestal vergezeld met een lang verhaal over een meisje dat familie was van een belangrijk ex-regeringslid die vermoord werd tijdens een opstand, waardoor een erfenis vrijkomt. Klinkt leuk, maar het geld zit vast en er zijn nog advocatenkosten te voldoen.

Klinkt dit bekend?

Flessentrekkerij!

Atlantis

De Griekse filosoof Plato (427-347 voor Christus) was de eerste die over Atlantis schreef in zijn dialogen Timaeos en Kritias.
Hij leek ervan overtuigd dat dit land werkelijk heeft bestaan, omdat de grootvader van zijn oom Kritias hierover verhalen had gehoord van Solon, die het weer van een Egyptische priester had gehoord.
Hoe het land eruit zag, is door Plato in detail beschreven.
Onder andere was er op het eiland een tempel gewijd aan Poseidon, de god van de zee, dit is omdat het eiland door de Goden aan Poseidon werd toebedeeld.
…
Het eiland Atlantis zou buiten de Middellandse Zee moeten hebben gelegen, dus nog verder dan de Zuilen van Hercules (de straat van Gibraltar).

Volgens Plato verdween het rijk ongeveer 9500 voor Christus door een wereldwijde catastrofe, een soort zondvloed, waardoor ieder spoor van het land werd weggewist.
Atlantis zou volgens de Griekse mythologie wegens hoogmoed van de bewoners uit straf door de god Kronos (de vader van Zeus) zijn vernietigd.

Hoewel ik sceptisch ben mbt diverse Atlantis-theorietjes die na Plato zijn beschreven, heeft dit verhaal een enorme emotionele impact op mij.
Ooit had ik een trance-reis met bepaalde beelden over de laatste tempel van Poseidon, die beelden heb ik verwerkt in mijn gedicht.

Misschien heeft dit te maken met een leven in een andere tijdruimte, of is het een sterke imprint van een ervaring in de Droomtijd.

Non, je ne regrette rien

Non, rien de rien, non, je ne regrette rien! Ni le bien qu’on m’a fait, ni le mal; tout ça m’est bien egal! Non, rien de rien, non, je ne regrette rien! C’est payé, balayé, oublié. Je me fous du passé! Avec mes souvenirs j’ai allumé le feu! Mes chagrins, mes plaisirs, je n’ai plus besoin d’eux! Balayés les amours avec leurs trémolos, balayer pour toujours! Je repars à zéro. Non, rien de rien, non, je ne regrette rien! Ni le bien qu’on m’a fait, ni le mal; tout ça m’est bien egal! Non, rien de rien, non, je ne regrette rien! Car ma vie, car me joies aujourd’hui ça commence avec toi! Charles Dumont / Michel Vaucaire / Edith Piaf

Nathalie

La Place Rouge tait vide Devant moi marchait Nathalie Elle avait un joli nom, mon guide Nathalie La Place Rouge tait blanche La neige faisait un tapis Et je suivait par ce froid dimanche Nathalie Elle parlait en phrases sobres De la Rvolution d’Octobre Je pensais dj Qu’aprs le tombeau de Lnine On irait au Caf Pouchkine Boire un chocolat La Place Rouge tait vide Je lui pris son bras, elle a souri Il avait des cheveux blonds, mon guide Nathalie, Nathalie Dans sa chambre, a l’universit Une bande d’tudiants L’attendait impatiemment On a ri, on a beaucoup parl Ils voulaient tout savoir Nathalie traduisait Moscou, les plaines de Krim Et les Champs-Elyses On a tout mlang et on a chant Et puis, ils ont dbouch En riant l’avance Du champagne de France Et on a dans Et quand la chambre fut vide Tous les amis taient partis Je suis rest seul avec mon guide Nathalie Plus d’questions de phrases sobres Ni d’au Rvolution d’Octobre On n’en tait plus l Fini le tombeau de Lnine Le chocolat de chez Pouchkine C’est, c’tait loin dj Que ma vie me semble vide Mais je sais qu’un jour Paris C’est moi qui lui servirai de guide Nathalie Nathalie Bcaud Gilbert –

Paris

Je suis l’dauphin d’la place Dauphine
Et la place Blanche a mauvaise mine
Les camions sont pleins de lait
Les balayeurs sont pleins d’balais