moss
|
Re: Kathleen "Gwenno" Jones: Lyrics to a song "Stones"
Oct 02, 2008, 15:06
|
|
It works on 'real player', though perhaps he could have thought of better graphics... ;)
|
nigelswift
|
Re: Kathleen "Gwenno" Jones: Lyrics to a song "Stones"
Oct 02, 2008, 15:49
|
... though perhaps he could have thought of better graphics... ;)
We're talking gaming enthusiast here, not megalithomaniac. An entirely different type of nerd!
|
nigelswift
|
Heather Wood - The (Stonehenge) hedgehog song
Oct 20, 2008, 14:50
|
I've been distressed that this list doesn't have a poem about the Stonehenge hedgehog. Fortunately I've found one, and it may give a clue to why hedgehogs were so revered in ancient times -
http://www.traditionalmusic.co.uk/song-midis/Hedgehog_Song.htm
|
Littlestone
|
Re: Heather Wood - The (Stonehenge) hedgehog song
Oct 20, 2008, 19:07
|
|
Ha! Wonderful :-)
|
tonyh
|
Brendan Galvin
Oct 27, 2008, 12:28
|
A NEOLITHIC MEDITATION
They'd have handed you a hide sack
and a cow's shoulderblade to shovel with
here, and sentenced you to daily quotas
from the gravel pit or a sod-field
past its prime, or with better luck, to paddling
a dugout down the Boyne where that salmon
and its wisdom was always beyond
the spearhead. Out of the overseer's eye
you'd be able to pace yourself until
you returned with a boatload of white stone
for enhancing this burial mound's face.
Full of noose-around-the-neck wisecracks,
you'd have been an unwilling toiler,
envying the horse its stamina,
the hare its jagged speed over broken
fields, and bog cotton its deference to wind
on peatlands against blue mountains,
where it crowds white-headed
as ancient peasants herded off the best
grazing, enduring as if they'd do better
as plants hoarding minerals through winter,
hairy prodigals spinning existence from clouds,
from mistfall two days out of three, the odd
shoal of sun drifting across. If you've come here
for your roots, lay an ear at grazing level,
down where even the sheep-splats
awry on stones are beginning to raise moss,
the level of folk wisdom, where maybe
you'll hear, "Need teaches a plan,"
or "Better to live unknown to the law."
© by Brendan Galvin
|
moss
|
Edited Nov 30, 2008, 10:45
re; Landscape of the Daylight Moon - Jeremy Hooker
Nov 30, 2008, 10:39
|
Jeremy Hooker wrote of this poem that he was inspired by Paul Nash's paintings of the daylight moon, something that you will see from November, if you are up early enough that is, is the moon high in the sky with the sun to the east breaking the horizon.
I first saw it inland,
Suddenly, round white sides
Rose through the thin grass
And for an instant, in the heat,
It was dazzling; but afterwards
I thought mainly of darkness,
Imagining the relics of an original
Sea under the chalk, with fishes
Beneath the fields. Later,
Everywhere upon its surface
I saw the life of the dead;
Circle within circle of earthen
Shells, and in retrace curves
Like finger marks in pale sand,
The print of a primaeval lover.
Once, climbing a dusty track,
I found a sunshaped urchin,
With the sun's rays, white
With the dusts of the moon,
Fetish, flesh become stone,
I keep it near me. It is
A mouth on darkness, the one
Inexhaustible source of re-creation
|
albion
|
Re: Megalithic Poems
Nov 30, 2008, 23:44
|
I wrote this a few years ago after an inspiring visit to Boscawen-Un. It won the Morris Cup (for best poem on a Cornish subject) in the 2003 Gorsedd, and was read aloud on BBC's Radio Cornwall.
Boscawen-Un, 30 October, Midnight
This black hood , pierced by stars, hangs about our heads,
a warm drapery, pressing down like stones
Upon the breasts of unrepentant witches.
The hallowed dew darkens our clothes,
torn as we plundered the gorse hedgerow,
branches tittering, alive with nightbirds,
(it blooms gold, but is russet red now, humbled in its descent to winter).
We flung ourselves upon this windblown heath,
attracted by dolmens, by demons,
by the mad epiphanies of a drunken dowser,
into this court of kings and ghosts and dancing maidens,
outlaws of heaven, time-keepers of earth.
Our hearts are become stone, throbbing, laughing,
older than books, wordless, hewn by barley sheaves,
and kissed, blessed, by cusp-born acolytes.
In daylight, we would be as bluebottles crushed upon a rough sundial,
consumed in powdered heat then lapped up by some lumpen hairy splitfoot throwback,
but now,
we are time itself, we gaze into deathless depths,
and see the pointed horns of bulls,
the gleaming eyes of archers,
the stag and the serpent,
blood of the warrior, wine of the mother,
the dust of stars that swirls down paths of ancestor glory,
cosmic ley lines linking planets to moons, summer to autumn,
heart joined to heart, and lip to lip,
confounding childhood lessons of the sky.
copyright 2003
by Peg Aloi
|
nigelswift
|
Re: Megalithic Poems
Dec 01, 2008, 06:30
|
Bravo!
Any more?
|
Littlestone
|
Re: re; Landscape of the Daylight Moon - Jeremy Hooker
Dec 01, 2008, 10:39
|
Thanks for those, moss and albion - excellent stuff.
albion, if you'd like me to move your poem over to the Megalithic Poems blog here http://megalithicpoems.blogspot.com/ sometime please let me know.
|
Littlestone
|
Eugène Guillevic: Carnac
Dec 10, 2008, 21:22
|
Beaucoup d’hommes sont venus,
Sont restés. Terre d’ossements,
Poussière d’ossements.
Il y avait donc
L’appel de Carnac.
Comment chantaient-ils,
Ceux des menhirs?
Peut-être est-ce là
Qu’ils avaient moins peur.
Centre du ciel et de la mer,
De la terre aussi,
La lumière le dit.
Chantant, eux,
Pas loin de la mer,
Pour être admis par la lumière.
Regardant la mer,
Lui tournant le dos,
Implorant la terre.
Eugène Guillevic
Many men have come,
Have stayed. Land of bones,
Powdered bones.
Thus there was
the call of Carnac.
How did they sing,
The menhir-people?
Perhaps it was there
They knew less fear.
Centre of the sky and of the sea,
Of the land as well,
The light says it.
Singing, they were,
Not far from the sea,
To be let in by the light.
Beholding the sea,
Turning their back to it,
Imploring the land.
Eugène Guillevic. Translated by John Montague
|
