Tag: storytelling

Doornroosje, sjamanistische trance

Doornroosje, sjamanistische trance


Grimm: “Die Königstochter soll sich in ihrem fünfzehnten Jahr an einer Spindel stechen und tot hinfallen.”
http://www.fln.vcu.edu/grimm/dorn_dual.html

Tiefwirtelspindeln (engl. Bottom- oder Down-Whorl), wenn der Wirtel sich unterhalb der Schaftmitte befindet.
In Europa war hauptsächlich diese Art von Spindel verbreitet.
http://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Handspindel

Distaff:
The traditional form is a staff, held under one’s arm while using a spindle. It is about 3 feet long, held under the left arm, with the left hand drawing the fibers from it

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Distaff

A spindle (sometimes called a drop spindle) is a wooden spike weighted at one end with a circular whorl; it may have an optional hook at either end of the spike. It is used for spinning wool and other fibers into thread.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spindle_%28textiles%29

In het Engels is een spinrokken een distaff, en daar zit een staf in, een stok, en dis zou een oud woord zijn voor een streng vlas of wol.
http://blog.seniorennet.be/kareldhuyvetters/archief.php?ID=231

Doornroosje werkte dus met de spinrok-spintol combinatie, en prikte zich waarschijnlijk aan de spintol.

“Zodra het prinsesje de spintol wil proberen, prikt ze zichzelf en valt in slaap.”
http://www.meertens.knaw.nl/medewerkers/theo.meder/sprookje/doornroosje.html

De oudere versie van Perrault zegt:

“Le rang de la vieille Fée étant venu, elle dit en branlant la tête, encore plus de dépit que de vieillesse, que la princesse se percerait la main d’un fuseau, et qu’elle en mourrait.”
http://fr.wikisource.org/wiki/La_Belle_au_bois_dormant
Via google een aantal fuseau (spintollen) gevonden die heel erg scherp zijn!
http://images.google.com/images?sourceid=navclient&hl=nl&ie=UTF-8&rlz=1T4DANL_nl___NL203&q=fuseau&um=1&sa=N&tab=wi

Speculatief commentaar:
Wellicht valt het Doornroosje-verhaal te duiden als verwijzing naar een sjamanistische techniek om via spinnen met een spintol in trance te raken en de sjamanistische dood te ondergaan.

MuLan

MuLan


Tsiek tsiek and again tsiek tsiek,
Mu-lan weaves, facing the door.
You don’t hear the shuttle’s sound,
You only hear Daughter’s sighs.

They ask Daughter who’s in her heart,
They ask Daughter who’s on her mind.
“No one is on Daughter’s heart,
No one is on Daughter’s mind.

Last night I saw the draft posters,
The Khan is calling many troops,
The army list is in twelve scrolls,
On every scroll there’s Father’s name.

Father has no grown-up son,
Mu-lan has no elder brother.
I want to buy a saddle and horse,
And serve in the army in Father’s place.”

In the East Market she buys a spirited horse,
In the West Market she buys a saddle,
In the South Market she buys a bridle,
In the North Market she buys a long whip.

At dawn she takes leave of Father and Mother,
In the evening camps on the Yellow River’s bank.
She doesn’t hear the sound of Father and Mother calling,
She only hears the Yellow River’s flowing water cry tsien tsien.

At dawn she takes leave of the Yellow River,
In the evening she arrives at Black Mountain.
She doesn’t hear the sound of Father and Mother calling,
She only hears Mount Yen’s nomad horses cry tsiu tsiu.

She goes ten thousand miles on the business of war,
She crosses passes and mountains like flying.
Northern gusts carry the rattle of army pots,
Chilly light shines on iron armor.

Generals die in a hundred battles,
Stout soldiers return after ten years.
On her return she sees the Son of Heaven,
The Son of Heaven sits in the Splendid Hall.

He gives out promotions in twelve ranks
And prizes of a hundred thousand and more.
The Khan asks her what she desires.
“Mu-lan has no use for a minister’s post.

I wish to ride a swift mount
To take me back to my home.”
When Father and Mother hear Daughter is coming
They go outside the wall to meet her, leaning on each other.

When Elder Sister hears Younger Sister is coming
She fixes her rouge, facing the door.
When Little Brother hears Elder Sister is coming
He whets the knife, quick quick, for pig and sheep.

“I open the door to my east chamber,
I sit on my couch in the west room,
I take off my wartime gown
And put on my old-time clothes.”

Facing the window she fixes her cloudlike hair,
Hanging up a mirror she dabs on yellow flower powder
She goes out the door and sees her comrades.
Her comrades are all amazed and perplexed.

Traveling together for twelve years
They didn’t know Mu-lan was a girl.
“The he-hare’s feet go hop and skip,
The she-hare’s eyes are muddled and fuddled

Two hares running side by side close to the ground,
How can they tell if I am he or she?

Anonymous (c.5 A.D.)

If I give my heart to you

If I give my heart to you


If I give my heart to you
Will you handle it with care?
Will you always treat me tenderly?
And in every way be fair?

If I give my heart to you
Will you give me all your love?
Will you swear that you’ll be true to me?
By the light that shines above?

And will you sigh with me when I’m sad?
Smile with me when I’m glad?
And always be as you are with me tonight?

Think it over and be sure
Please don’t answer till you do
When you promise all these things to me
Then I’ll give my heart to you

Think it over and be sure
Please don’t answer till you do
When you promise all these things to me
Then I’ll give my heart to you

Doris Day

The foggy dew

The foggy dew


As down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode I
There Armed lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by
No fife did hum nor battle drum did sound it’s dread tatoo
But the Angelus bell o’er the Liffey swell rang out through the foggy dew

Right proudly high over Dublin Town they hung out the flag of war
‘Twas better to die ‘neath an Irish sky than at Sulva or Sud El Bar
And from the plains of Royal Meath strong men came hurrying through
While Britannia’s Huns, with their long range guns sailed in through the foggy dew

‘Twas Britannia bade our Wild Geese go that small nations might be free
But their lonely graves are by Sulva’s waves or the shore of the Great North Sea
Oh, had they died by Pearse’s side or fought with Cathal Brugha
Their names we will keep where the fenians sleep ‘neath the shroud of the foggy dew

But the bravest fell, and the requiem bell rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide in the springing of the year
And the world did gaze, in deep amaze, at those fearless men, but few
Who bore the fight that freedom’s light might shine through the foggy dew

Ah, back through the glen I rode again and my heart with grief was sore
For I parted then with valiant men whom I never shall see more
But to and fro in my dreams I go and I’d kneel and pray for you,
For slavery fled, O glorious dead, When you fell in the foggy dew.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Foggy_Dew_(Irish_songs)

Over the rainbow

Over the rainbow


Somewhere over the rainbow
Way up high
There’s a land that I heard of
Once in a lullaby

Somewhere over the rainbow
Skies are blue
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true

Some day I’ll wish upon a star
And wake up where the clouds are far behind me
Where troubles melt like lemondrops
Away above the chimney tops
That’s where you’ll find me

Somewhere over the rainbow
Bluebirds fly
Birds fly over the rainbow
Why then, oh why can’t I?
Some day I’ll wish upon a star
And wake up where the clouds are far behind me
Where troubles melt like lemondrops
Away above the chimney tops
That’s where you’ll find me

Somewhere over the rainbow
Bluebirds fly
Birds fly over the rainbow
Why then, oh why can’t I?

If happy little bluebirds fly
Beyond the rainbow
Why, oh why can’t I?

(Arlen-Harburg)

Le Printemps

Le Printemps


Le printemps est arrivé,
Sors de ta maison.
Le printemps est arrivé,
La belle saison.
L’amour et la joie
Sont revenus chez toi
Vive la vie, vive le vent,
Vive les filles en tablier blanc
Vive la vie, vive le vent,
Et vive le printemps.

Dépêche toi, dépêche toi,
Ne perds pas de temps
Taile ton arbre et sème ton champ
Gagne ton pain blanc
L’hirondelle et la fauvette
C’est la fôret qui me l’a dit
L’hirondelle et la fauvette
Ont déjà fait leur nid. Oui!

Y’a le printemps qui te réveille,
T’as le bonjour du printemps
Y’a le printemps qui t’ensolleille
Oh, le coquin de printemps
Y’a le printemps qui te réveille,
T’as le bonjour du printemps

Le printemps nous a donné
Le joli lilas
Le printemps nous a donné
Du rire en éclats
Et plein de bonheur
Pour nous chauffer le coer
Vive la vie, vive le vent,
Vive les filles en tablier blanc
Vive la vie, vive le vent,
Et vive le printemps.

Dépêche toi, dépêche toi,
Ne perds pas de temps
Donne ta séve et donne ton sang
Pour faire un enfant
L’hirondelle et la fauvette
C’est la fôret qui me l’a dit
L’hirondelle et la fauvette
Ont déjà des petits. Oui!

Y’a le printemps qui te réveille,
T’as le bonjour du printemps
Y’a le printemps qui t’ensolleille
Oh, le coquin de printemps
Y’a le printemps qui te réveille,
T’as le bonjour du printemps

Maurice Vidalin

 

 

For Everyman

For Everyman


Everybody I talk to is ready to leave
With the light of the morning
Theyve seen the end coming down long enough to believe
That theyve heard their last warning
Standing alone
Each has his own ticket in his hand
And as the evening descends
I sit thinking bout everyman

Seems like Ive always been looking for some other place
To get it together
Where with a few of my friends I could give up the race
And maybe find something better
But all my fine dreams
Well though out schemes to gain the motherland
Have all eventually come down to waiting for everyman

Waiting here for everyman–
Make it on your own if you think you can
If you see somewhere to go I understand
Waiting here for everyman–
Dont ask me if hell show — baby I dont know

Make it on your own if you think you can
Somewhere later on youll have to take a stand
Then youre going to need a hand

Everybodys just waiting to hear from the one
Who can give them the answers
And lead them back to that place in the warmth of the sun
Where sweet childhood still dances
Wholl come along
And hold out that strong and gentle fathers hand?
Long ago I heard someone say something bout everyman

Waiting here for everyman–
Make it on your own if you think you can
If you see somewhere to go I understand

Im not trying to tell you that Ive seen the plan
Turn and walk away if you think I am–
But dont think too badly of one whos left holding sand
Hes just another dreamer, dreaming bout everyman

Jackson Browne

Aan wie niet bidden met gesloten ogen

Aan wie niet bidden met gesloten ogen


Ik zocht naar God, ik heb hem niet gevonden
in synagoge, kerk of in moskee
Waar een rabbijn, imam of dominee
met donderpreken op de kansel stonden

Ik zocht naar God in bundels met gebeden
Ik zocht naar Hem in bijbel en brevier
Maar alles wat ik vond dat was papier
Met woorden die mij bitter weinig deden

Ik zocht naar God, ik vond Hem in de bossen
Hij sprak tot mij in duizend vogelzangen
Ik zag Hem in de bloemen in het perk

Hij speelde met de reeën en de vossen
En met een briesje streek Hij langs mijn wangen
Ik zocht naar God en vond Hem aan het werk

Onzichtbaar voor het oog van theologen
Lacht Hij ons toe en troost ons keer op keer
En Hij vertoont zich alle dagen weer
Aan wie niet bidden met gesloten ogen

© Martijn Breeman