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(Spoken Word coming soon!)
A late start… this is a second attempt on this blog. I somehow wrenched my shoulder; and the pain factor has been a bit silly. Distracting, that is the word.
Sunshine today, I am out for a walk.
Hope this finds you in a good place!
Gwyllm
On The Menu:
The Links
Fire Poker Zen
The Pixies of Dartmoor: The Pixies’ Revel
Poetry in the Indigenous World…
Art: Arthur Wardle (British, 1864-1949)
I have used his art in various projects over the years. Almost forgotten now days, he was one of the greats!
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The Links
I Have Leary Surrounded – An Interview with John Higgs
Did starving Neanderthals eat each other?
Legend of the sword in the lake halts plans to build huge dam in Manipur
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Fire-Poker Zen
Hakuin used to tell his pupils about an old woman who had a teashop, praising her understanding of Zen. The pupils refused to believe what he told them and would go to the teashop to find out for themselves.
Whenever the woman saw them coming she could tell at once whether they had come for tea or to look into her grasp of Zen. In the former case, she would server them graciously. In the latter, she would beckon to the pupils to come behind her screen. The instant they obeyed, she would strike them with a fire-poker.
Nine out of ten of them could not escape her beating.
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I spent a lot of time on Dartmoor. Wonderful place, deeply haunted!
The Pixies of Dartmoor: The Pixies’ Revel
Once upon a time–we will begin the story in the orthodox fashion–an old farmer and his wife dwelt in a lonely house on the moor. Fortune could not exactly be said to have frowned upon them, for the couple might have been very much worse off than they were, but yet she had not turned towards them her brightest of smiles, they having rather more than their full share of toil. The farmer was out in his fields from morning till night, and when he reached the house was glad, after his supper and a short rest by the fire, to take himself off to his bed. But unfortunately, although he so much needed sleep, he was at length unable to obtain it, in consequence of the pixies having suddenly taken a fancy to visiting his house at night, and keeping up an incessant chattering in the kitchen, which was situated immediately underneath his bedroom. And so he frequently lay tossing about, not able to get a wink of sleep until far into the night, and sometimes never closed his eyes at all. He was reluctant to incur the enmity of the “little people” by driving them away, and so he bore this state of things for some time, till one night the noise was so great, that he jumped out of bed, determined to put a stop to it.
“What be the matter?” asked his dame, to whom he had not communicated his intention.
“‘Way, these here pisgies be a makin’ sich a rattle that I want put up wi’t no more. I’ll zee what they he up to; I can zee mun droo the ‘all in the planchin’.”
The farmer peeped down through the hole in the floor, and unobserved by the pixies was able to become a spectator of their proceedings. In the middle of the kitchen a number of them were dancing in a ring, while others were running and jumping about the room, at the same time all were shouting and making a great noise. On the shelves of the dresser several were perched, to the imminent danger of the good wife’s cups and plates, while some were climbing up the clock-case, and mounting the deal table, and jumping again to the floor, to run in and out of the circle of merry dancers. They were evidently enjoying themselves heartily, and the farmer felt almost inclined to let them alone, till the many sleepless nights he had endured came to his recollection. As he was considering the best means of ridding himself of his unwelcome company, he observed a pixy perched upon a stool immediately beneath him, and thinking how greatly he should frighten the noisy party if he could but strike one of them, he took up a steel-pronged fork which lay near him, and noiselessly putting his arm through the hole in the floor, let it drop right on to the pixy. The little fellow happened to commence capering about just as the farmer did this, and luckily for him the fork did not enter his body, but pinned him by the leg to the stool. He set up a great cry, and the pixies seeing what had happened, flew towards the door and rapidly made their exit through the keyhole. The unfortunate victim of the farmer’s vengeance attempted to follow, but while he was able to reduce his own size so as to go through the smallest of crevices without difficulty, he had no power to alter that of the stool, and consequently he stuck fast in the keyhole. Here he was captured by the master of the house, who had hurried down stairs when he saw the effect of his aim, and speedily released from his encumbrance.
The rural narrator from whom I had this story was unable to say what the farmer did with his prize, but let us hope that he merely intimated to him his desire to be permitted to sheep quietly in the future, and let him go.
The foregoing are but a few examples of the many tales that are related of the pixies, but they will serve to illustrate the various parts played by that fairy race when interesting themselves in the affairs of mortals. While they often manifest a readiness to assist in the work of the farmer, their actions were certainly somewhat erratic. A spirit of mischief seems not infrequently to have ruled them, though it would generally appear that unless some cause had been given them to tease or punish those who dwelt near their haunts, the latter were more likely to receive good than harm at their hands.
We have said that the age of the pixies is gone. And that they have almost disappeared before “the march of intellect ” is indeed the case; but while this is so, the exploits which are yet related of them remain as a not uninteresting portion of our folk-lore.
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[a] While these sheets were passing through the press, an instance of superstitious belief was reported in the Western Daily Mercury, of 6th June, 1890. It appears that a few days previous to that date, some labourers were engaged in ripping bark in a wood at a short distance from Torrington, in North Devon. When the time arrived for them to leave their work, one of them separating himself from his companions went to another part of the wood, in order to fetch a tool which he had left there. As he stooped to pick it up, a most strange feeling came over him, and he felt himself utterly unable to regain an upright position. Around him he heard peals of discordant laughter, and became seized with the conviction that he had fallen under a spell of the pixies. In this uncomfortable predicament he averred that he remained for the space of five hours, and was even then only able to crawl away on his hands and knees. Not knowing in what direction he was proceeding, he fell at length into a stream, and on pulling himself out of it, recognized his whereabouts, and made the best of his way home. Here he was remonstrated with by his wife for not having turned his pocket inside out, a charm which could not fail to counteract the magic power of the pixies. It is stated that a man named Short–a tailor–was a few years since pixy-led in the same wood, and continued under the spells of the goblins until morning.
[b] It is somewhat interesting to note that in the story which comes to us from Torrington. the man was unable to find his way home until he met with a stream.
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Poetry in the Indigenous World…
A Shaman Climbs Up the Sky
Altaic, Siberia
The Shaman mounts a scarecrow in the shape of a goose
above the white sky
beyond the white clouds
above the blue sky
beyond the blue clouds
this bird climbs the sky
–
The Shaman offers horsemeat to the chief drummer
the master of the six-knob
drum he takes a small piece
then he draws closer he
brings it to me in his hand
when I say “go” he bends
first at the knees when I
say “scat” he takes it all
whatever I give him
–
The Shaman fumigates nine robes
gifts no horse can carry
that no man can lift &
robes with triple necks
to look at & to touch
three times: to use this
as a horse blanket:
sweet
prince ulgan
you are my prince
my treasure
you are my joy
—–
Invocation to Markut, the bird of heaven
this bird of heaven who keeps
five shapes & powerful
brass claws (the moon
has copper claws the moon’s
beak is made of ice) whose
wings are powerful &
strike the air whose tail
is power & a heavy wind
markut whose left wing
hides the moon whose
right wing hides the sun
who never gets lost who flies
past that-place nothing tires her
who comes toward this-place
in my house I listen
for her singing I wait
the game begins
falling past my right eye landing
here
on my right shoulder
markut is the mother of five eagles
–
The Shaman reaches the 1st sky
my shadow on the landing
I have climbed to (have reached
this place called sky
& struggled with its summit)
I who stand here
higher than the moon
full moon my shadow
–
The Shaman pierces the 2nd sky
to reach the second landing
this further level
look!
the floor below us
lies in ruins
–
At the end of the Climb: Praise to Prince Ulgan
three stairways lead
to him three flocks
sustain him PRINCE ULGAN!
blue hill where no hill
was before: blue sky
everywhere: a blue cloud
turning swiftly
that no one can reach
a blue sky that no one
can reach (to reach it
to journey a year by water
then to bow before him
three times to exalt him)
for whom the moon’s edge
shines forever PRINCE ULGAN!
you have use for the hoofs
of our horses you who give us
flocks who keep pain from us
sweet
prince ulgan
for whom the stars & the sky
are turning a thousand times
turning a thousand times over
Translation after French version in Roger Caillois and Jean-Clarence Lambert, Trésor de la poésie universelle, 1958. The subtitles are derived from Mircea Eliade’s Shamanism.
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15 Flower World Variations
Yaqui
o flower fawn
about to come out playing
in this flower water
out there
in the flower world
the patio of flowers
in the flower water
playing
flower fawn
about to come out playing
in this flower water
–
in wilderness I am
that only melon
flowering
& splitting
sending vines out
everywhere
you are
in wilderness
I am that only
melon flowering
& splitting
sending vines out
in the flower world
out there
under the dawn
a pale blue cloud
will be grey water
at its peak
the mist will reach
will rain down
on the flower ground
& shining
reaching bottom
where you are
in wilderness
that only melon flowering
I am
& splitting
sending vines out
everywhere
–
when the fresh night comes
o night hawk
you fly up
o night hawk
out there
in the flower world
under the dawn
the light beyond us
you fly up
o night hawk
from a branch of mesquite
you fly up
o night hawk
–
(where is the rotted stick that screeches lying?)
the screeching rotted stick is lying over there
(where is the rotted stick that screeches lying?)
the screeching rotted stick is lying over there
there in the flower world
beyond us
in the tree world
the screeching rotted stick
is lying
over there the screeching
rotted stick is lying
over there
–
ah brother
look at you
a deer with flowers
brother
shake your antlers
little brother
shake your antlers
deer with flowers
why not let your belt
your deer hoofs
shake? why not vibrate
cocoons
strapped to your ankles
brother
shake them
little brother
shake & roll
–
in one tree
one stick
who makes the sound of cracking
cracking wood?
in one tree
one stick
who makes the sound of cracking
cracking wood?
there in the flower world
the tree world
you do not have my
long grey body
in one tree
one stick
who makes the sound of cracking
cracking wood?
–
what’s this tree bent down with
flowers?
surely
it’s this flower stick
bent down
with flowers surely
what’s this tree bent down with
flowers?
surely
it’s this flower stick
bent down with
flowers surely
out there
in the flower world
the floral world
among the sagebrush
there’s a flower bush bent down with
flowers
surely it’s this flower stick
bent down with flowers
surely
–
out in the mountain there
these look like
doves
& in the flower water
three of them
are grey & bobbing
three of them are walking
grey & side by side
there in the flower world
the dawn
out in the flower water
three of them
are grey & bobbing
in the mountain there
these look like doves
out there
& in the flower water
three are grey
& bobbing
three of them are walking
grey & side by side
–
you
like a mountain squirrel
old enchanter
sounding large
& like a mountain squirrel
old enchanter
there in the flower world
the dawn
there in its light
that big place over there
that mountain canyon
sounding large
& like a mountain squirrel
old enchanter
sounding large
–
to sleep in
these flowers
to crawl there
I who am flower-world creeper
who sleep there
who crawl in these flowers
out there
in the tree world
climbing this branch
I crawl up it
to sleep in
these flowers
I who am flower-world creeper
who sleep there
–
where are you standing
in the wind
dead grasses
grey & shaking in the wind
dead grasses
where are you standing
in the wind dead grasses
grey & shaking in the wind
dead grasses
there in the wilderness
the flower world
a pale blue cloud
will be grey water
at its peak
the mist will reach
will rain down
on the flower ground
& shining
reaching bottom
where you are
where you are only
standing in the wind
dead grasses
grey & shaking in the wind
dead grasses
–
ah brother
they want us to kill
this beaver
they want us to kill
ah brother
this beaver
this beaver
ah brother
they want us to kill
with a bow & arrow
they want us to kill it
ah brother
with hair standing up
they were waiting
& ran from us
broke down their doors to get in
now they want us
to kill it
ah brother
with a bow & arrow
ah brother
they want us to kill it
–
flower
with the body of a fawn
under a cholla flower
standing there
to rub your antlers
bending
turning where you stand to rub
your antler
in the flower world
the dawn
there in its light
under a cholla flower
standing there
to rub your antlers
bending turning where you stand
to rub your antlers
flower
with the body of a fawn
under a cholla flower
standing there
to rub your antlers
bending
turning where you stand to rub
your antlers
——-
Song of a Dead Man
I do not want these flowers
moving
but the flowers
want to move
I do not want these flowers
moving
but the flowers
want to move
I do not want these flowers
moving
but the flowers
want to move
out in the flower world
the dawn
over a road of flowers
I do not want these flowers
moving
but the flowers
want to move
I do not want these flowers
moving
but the flowers
the flowers
want to move
–
now the cloud
will break
the cloud will break
& now
the cloud will break
the cloud
will break
& now the cloud
will break
the cloud will break
there in the flower world
under the dawn
this pale blue cloud
will be grey water
at its peak
the mist will reach
will rain down
shining
& reaching bottom
now the cloud
will break
the cloud will break
& now
the cloud will break
the cloud
will break
The Flower World settings were derived from traditional Yaqui Deer Dance songs in literal translations by Carleton Wilder, et al.
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KIOWA “49″ SONGS
(1)
I don’t care if you’re married, I’ll still get you,
I’ll get you yet.
I don’t care if you’re married sixteen times,
I’ll get you yet.
When the dance is over, sweetheart,
I will take you home in my one-eyed Ford.
(2)
If you really love me honey, hey-yah.
If you really love me honey, hey-yah.
Come back, come back if you really love me honey.
I’m from Oklahoma, far away from my home,
Down here looking for you.
If you’ll be my honey, I will be your sugarpie.
I’m from Carnegie, so far away from my home,
Down here looking for you.
If you’ll be my snag, I’ll be your snag-a-roo.
(3)
You know that I love you, sweetheart, but every time I come around
You always say you got another one.
You know damn good and well that I love you.
To heck with your ole man.
Come up and see me sometime.
(4)
She said she don’t love me anymore because I drink whiskey,
I don’t care, I got a better one.
—-
Commentary
A popular form of contemporary Indian lyric, “49″ songs show up throughout the States “at powwows and other social gatherings, usually late in the evening after other types of dances and songs are completed.” The origin of the name has been various explained, in Alan R. Velie’s version, as derived from a burlesque show of the 1920s that toured Kiowa country with a California gold rush theme & the repeated refrain, “See the girls of ’49, see the ’49 girls.” Applied to Kiowa women who were singing semitraditional “war-journey songs” with transformed lyrics, the name (so they say) stuck & passed into the pan-Indian culture. “In singing ’49′ songs” writes Velie “the singers chant a nonverbal refrain to an accompanying drum beat. After an extended period of chanting, they sing the short lyric once, either in Kiowa or in English.” The words of the present versions are the original English a good example of how a feeling for the “luminous detail” & for the ironies of language & behavior can be brought into an altered context. It should be noted, however, that the songs presented here as texts aren’t identical to those presented on the accompanying recording.
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