Pixies’ Revel…

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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

BRITAIN’S LAST WITCH TRIAL

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

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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.

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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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