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Ishmael 683 posts |
Edited Oct 09, 2006, 11:32
Nov 07, 2005, 23:44
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Littlest one ;) Have you heard the words of Robin Williamsons lyrics? as the harpist and bard of the Incredible String Band he sings about megaliths. myths and standing stones etc the Five denials on Merlins Grave is a good song as is Finn and the Old Man's house which he performed with John Renbourne from the band Pentangle, they went under the name 'The Inpenetrable String Tangle' "Now it's said and said truly, of the Hero 'Finn McCaul', that if one day goes by without his name being mentioned then the world will come to an end, so judgeing by the way things are going its a good job I mentioned his name to you tonight. Finn was a great hero altogether and it was said of Finn McCaul's generousity that his house was the strangers home and if the leaves of the forest of the world were red gold and the waters of the world white silver Finn would have given them all away. Well Finn was hunting once, he was very fond of hunting, why wouldn't he love it his own nephews were hunting dogs under enchantment, boys under enchanment as hounds you know, the greatest hunting dogs in the world they were and their names were Bran and Skillan but its not the story of Bran and Skillan I'm telling you tonight (But I do know it.) Finn was out hunting one time and he had with him one of his greatest friends, a man by the name of Connan Maoul, now that means Connan the Bald, they called him Connan the bold because he had no hair on his head but he had that much hair on his back and his legs and his arms that they used to shave him once a week and all the stockings and gloves that Finn or any of the hero's that Finn had with him ever wore were made out of the hair of Connan Maoul. You'd have heared of Connan the Barbarian likely? That was named after this Connan by an old traditional idea called a rip off! Connan Moaul. He never saw an open door that he thought his duty to walk through it, he never saw a man frown and he thought his duty to strike him, but it's not the story of Connan that I'm telling you tonight. Finn had him with him this time also another great hero named 'Germot of the love spot' and Germot had a mark on his face and he had to keep that mark covered with his hat for if any woman saw it she'd fall passionatly in love with him and he was one of the greatest hunters in the world but he'd never hunt the wild boar but it's not the story of Germot that I'm telling you... (see pt2)
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Ishmael 683 posts |
Nov 07, 2005, 23:45
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These three men they were hunting one time in the island of Arran, Arran that is in the Clyde, God bless and keep it forever, maybe they were hunting the White Stag of Arran but whatever it is was they were hunting they did not catch it, but the dark of the the night caught them hungry, weary, and far from home... they saw a wee light twinkling, winking away across the the moors, they walked towards that light and then knocked on that door... and the door (wheee...errk) creaked open and there on the steps was an old man man with long white hair down to the heels of his feet and long white eyebrows like brushes on him and he looked up to them and said "Oh I see you standing there in the pouring rain but you'll just behave yourselves like gentlemen if your going to come into my house! I'll have no shenannigans from the likes of you." Well Connan looked at Finn and Finn looked at Germot and very surprised they were to hear themselves spoken too so harshly by this little sprig of a man, sprig of an old man, them the highest hero's in the land, and they followed him meek enough into his front room and there was a wee white goat frisking about that room, and the old man said "Will you just tether this white goat to that hook on the wall?" and he handed Connan a long grass rope and he left the room. Well Connan tried to tether that white goat but he couldn't get near it. Germot tried and Finn hinself afer him but not one of them better than the other, till at last the old man came back into room and he tethered that goat as easy as you take one step after another. It was at this time that a beautifull young woman came into the room as well, a very, very beautifull young woman and not to make too long a tale out it her hair was like the midnight and her eyes were like the morning and not too make too long a tale out if they were all smitten with love for her, or something like it. And Germot whom all women loved said to her "Great pulse of my heart and apple of my whole understanding how can I ever pass one lonely hour of my life in the absense of your sweet company?" and other things that young men say on these occasions. With an angry flash of her eye she spun on her heels and left the room saying "Truly I was once yours and little enough you cared for me then." Well she slammed the door behind her and was gone and its little enough sleep they got that night for pure curiosity. And in the morning before they took their leave Finn said to the old man "Sir? why was it you could tether the white goat that none of us could catch? and why was it you spoke so sternly to us? the highest hero's in the land? and why was it that beautifull young woman spoke so harshly to Germot saying that once she had been his and he had cared not for her then for truly neither he nor we have ever seen her before? and what is her name at all?" And the old man said "Her name is youth and there's little enough that any of you cared for her while she was yours, until she was gone, and the name of the wee white goat is the World and there's none that can bind that but me...and my name is Death."
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Creyr 114 posts |
Nov 08, 2005, 02:35
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Ah marvellous. Hes playing in Durham on Friday. Wish i could go.
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Littlestone 5386 posts |
Nov 08, 2005, 10:05
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No, RW's lyrics are a new one on me - though I'm impressed. And the old man said, "Her name is youth and there's little enough that any of you cared for her while she was yours..." would make a good opening line to any poem - thanks for the info.
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Littlestone 5386 posts |
Edited Oct 09, 2006, 11:32
Nov 08, 2005, 22:37
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Two Visits to the Men-an-Tol, West Penwith, Cornwall Ishmael's Shaft, Hard Shaft and Robin's Shaft, long disused now, mere falls of shadow and air into tunnelled earth, wickered-over with keep-out lids, but the abandoned engine houses around Bodrifty and Little Galver glitter charmed lives in holiday sun under a clear wildblue sky as we approach the stones moored in the moorland; years ago, on our first visit, mist looms wove and unwove luminous chilly muslins of fog over the gorseland out of which the three stones suddenly blossomed, two waist-high pillars, to east and west, and between them, forever motionlessly circling, a holed stone big enough for anyone to look out or in, holy stone and her two sentinel sisters. (Who said at night they run to the river and drink, or dance across the brazen moor, hopping over the laid-stone hedges?) Twenty years ago I clambered through the maw of the mother stone, entering, travelling, exiting three times, the rabbit-mown grass scratchy on my knees as I crawled through, against the clouded sun through this granite polo-mint mother, or giantess-bracelet of stone, cervix-anchor steadying me in a sea of mist and gorse, the mass of her cold and rough to my touch, like a fallen moon, stone ball of string, ravelling and unravelling in stillness - winding thousands of years of healing, fertility and divination invisibly around herself and her attendant pillars - I threaded myself through the pierced stone, my child within me not to be born for seven months yet; fertile I was, blessing for the child I sought, safe passage - for first comes blossom, then bud, then fruit - hoicked up into the world via meticulous hospital panics, she arrived unharmed; and years later, at noon, at the hot height of May, the coconut scent of the gorse outfragrancing the salt of the sea, drifting the yachts along in perfumed gales, my daughter plunge-wriggles, coquettes and corkscrews herself through the granite 0, the ever-open place's massive orbit: now it is she who will carry the cornucopia, roped in her turn to earth and the spring. Penelope Shuttle* * Thanks to Andy Norfolk on the Stones List for posting this poem and also the following - "Penelope Shuttle was Peter Redgrove's partner and they wrote a couple of books together, e.g. The Wise Wound."
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Ishmael 683 posts |
Nov 09, 2005, 00:49
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"but long before ever we took the name's of English, Scottish, Welsh or Irish, and long before the tower of babel fell and language cracked, there was interchange and collochquei and conversation upon this world, and standing stones remain to bear it testimony from China to the Americas and from India to Ireland patterning, still sings the salmon louder in the wild deers lung, above and below all Wyrdd the greenman makes his play, and in a schoolboys hand that cupped that water Merlin of the borders turned in his river grave...." Except from 'The Five Denials on Merlins Grave' Give it a listen, it's about 14 minutes long and well worth the hearing.
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Littlestone 5386 posts |
Nov 09, 2005, 09:17
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Nice stuff. What's the name of the album again?
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Ishmael 683 posts |
Nov 09, 2005, 23:48
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I used to live next to John Renbourne and got lots of free tapes over the years http://www.pigswhiskermusic.co.uk/ will tell you more I totaly recommend seeing him Live
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Littlestone 5386 posts |
Nov 10, 2005, 16:47
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Thanks for the link (see they have a gig in Norwich that I might be able to get to).
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nigelswift 8112 posts |
Edited Oct 09, 2006, 11:33
Nov 11, 2005, 17:22
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Submitted because it has a very satisfying touch of McGonagall about it! .... Stonehenge Thoughts by Denis Cannings Oh! Silent stones, in circle round - Your shadows cast upon the ground, What mysteries you hold, within your heart, What tales of days gone by, could you impart. Awesome and majestic, you stand so upright - A place of deep feeling on a silent night, A place of dread, midst your circle there-in, So quiet, so still, only the movement of night's vermin. As I stand alone, neath your moon-made shade- I seem to hear voices chanting, yet I am not afraid - For it seems to be in place, here 'mongst shadows, The chanting coming louder, echoing from the old barrows. The silence falls once more, and all is still, The wind softly moaning, through these stones on the hill, I look around me, with a wonder in my heart, How long is your history, and when did it start? So many tales have been told, of your days. Folk-lore has been written, in many changing ways, But only you, stones of silence, grace and bliss- Can put a true answer, to tales such as this.
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