St Brides' Day: Imbolc, the Celtic feast of Spring's awakening.

On a brighter note today is St Bride's day, it was after her that we named our daughter ( Bridget) . St Brigid or Bride of Kildare is said to have helped the Virgin give birth to Jesus - whence she is the protector of pregnant women and midwives - and to have kept Mary's cows, whence her title of 'Christs Milkmaid'.
The saint's pagan namesake and predecessor, the Celtic goddess Brigit, was also associated with fertility, childbirth, and cattle. On her feast day - which is also the Gaelic spring festival of Imbolc or Imbolg - Highland girls made the 'Last Sheaf' of the previous harvest into images of her, which were laid in a decorated cradle called 'Bride's Bed'.

This is the day of Bride
The Queen will come from the Mound
This is the day of Bride
The serpent will come from the hole.

On this mystic day adders were beleved to abandon their winter lairs: and the oyster-catcher birds - called in Gaelic Gille Brighde, ' the servants of Bride' - made their appearance, bringing Spring with them.
So on this day Imbolc blessings. Ok daughter. From now on Spring awakes.New hope new light. Things moving onwards in the outer world and in our hearts, starting afresh with renewed purpose and fresh possibillities. Take it easy now. Unless that is your part of a revolution that happens to be occuring , then salute.Onwards and upwards.

Falling Arab dictatorships and Israeli government panic.

Falling Arab dictatorships and Israeli government panic | rabble.ca

Will Palestine march? The tyrant exists only in the imagination of his subjects- Tamim Al- Barghouti.

Some of us are witnessing the beginniing of regime change in Tunisia and Egypt. ( I say some of us because the major news channels in the US are not reporting the massive Egyptian uprising) This is not the 'regime change' so beloved by our governments workong covertly behind their chosen despots and dictators who disenfranchise their own people and keep them in poverty and humiliation. The people on the streets in Tunisia and Egypt are not lookung for palaces and wealth. They are marching for the universal values of justice and human rights; the right not to be tortured by their own police; the right to freedom of expression; dignity and the right to choose their own leaders fair and square.
The price of food is rising. An income of $2 a day allows no room for manouvre. All over the world forests and peatlands are being ripped up to provide plantations, not for food, but for fuel to satiate the ever growing demand for energy for industry and 3 car families who will not comprehend their own greed.
$2 dollars a day is the average Egyption income. In Gaza where there is over 60%unemplyment ( due to the obliteration of Industry by the IDF) there is barely any money at all. The Palestinian Papers have served to highlight the truth we already knew - that the PA was just another western puppet, bought off and toeing the delinuwnt Zionist line.
Egypt recieves rhe second highest monetary handout, after Israel, from the US. Egypt is the puppet of America and the people will have a hard time effecting change. They know this, and their bravery is all the more remarkable because of it. Without the compliance of Egypt the Palestinians could not be kept under siege, and it is this way because our governments conspire to make it this way. The US conspires with the UN to announce the illegality of sttlements, bombings, massacres, siege and destruction, yet ensures that each of these things can happen by funding them all. Nothing is achieved except bloodshed. Rhere was no peace process. Ordinary citizens are taking to the streets and it is entirely possible that Palestinians, so badly let down by those purprting to represent them, will follow. The 7.6 million Palestinian refugees could march. The door is opening. The borders are creaking. Would Israel massacre 7.6 million people walking peacefully back to their homes, or are the thrd generation refugees so snug in their cocoon not worth the risk to life and linb after all. This may be their only chance. Public opinion os on the side of the oppressed.
Israel wants the world to forget that the right of millions of Palestinian refugees to return to the place from which they fled is enshrined in international law. The right of return is a Right. They do not need permission.



Tamim Al-Barghouti is a Palestinian poet. He is currently a visiting professor at Georgetown Univerity's Centre for Contemporary Arab Studies.

JOSE MANUEL PINTADO - INHERITANCE

Because you began to learn
that love is to blood and fire a war for freedom
for the poem marching among us
leaving fractures & losses on the bed of battle
it would be better to start over.

Our sheets still smell of fresh gunpowder
and thunder trembles in our ears.

That's why I walk the streets
of every city, town, village
the highway crosses
with you always very much within
the magnificent beast we were
leaving behind in this world
now throwing us out of its paradise.
But we also inherit a whole earth
with hoes and seeds
from where wildflowers bloom
to the fragment of world that is ours to share
without fur on the heart
in the middle of a solitary rain.

translated by John Oliver Simon
from Peace or Perish
Acrisis Anthology/Poets for Peace 1983.

SOLIDARITY WITH THE PEOPLE OF EGYPT.

The Brutality of Mubarek's regime has been rejected,but tear gazzing and shooting continues.
Inshallah Egypt shall soon be free. Ordinary people all over the world are now taking to the streets. People have decided which side they are on, on the side of the oppressed.Regime changes not always dictated by corporate or foreign powers.
In the meantime
write or phone the Egyptian Embassy in London and ask your M.P to support the protestors and do everything they can do to lift communication restrictions and stop a massacre. No to dictators.
All born free, and yesterday what was far away comes nearer, sometimes negotiations have to stop, indifference does not protect. Dignity never surrenders, dignity resists, in the name of unity, freedom and justice, with different voices we become one.

LINK FOR CONTACTING EGYPTIAN EMBASSY AND M.P AT BOTTOM.



http://noshockdoctrine.iparl.com/lobby/52

A Prayer to St Dwynwen - Dafydd ap Gwilym

Picture Of St Dwynwen

Today here in Wales is St Dwynwen's day the Welsh Patron Saint of Lovers,Dwynwen lived in the fifth century and like so many popular old tales there are several versions of her story. It is said that Dwynwen was the daughter of a Welsh king called Brychan Brycheiniog and came from Brecon. Some accounts say that Brychan had 24 daughters while others claim he had 36. Dwynwen was considered to be the most beautiful of them all - so quite an honour!

Dwynwen fell in love with Maelon, the son of another king. They wanted to get married but her father had other ideas. Brychan Brycheiniog had already arranged for Dwynwen to marry someone else. Dwynwen ran to the forest, distraught, and prayed to God to release her from love. An angel came to visit her and gave her a potion to make her forget about Maelon and to turn him to ice. After this, God appeared to her and gave her three wishes. 

First, Dwynwen wished that Maelon was thawed. 

Secondly, she wished that God would help all true lovers. 

Finally, she wished that she would never be married.

After the wishes were granted Dwynwen became a nun and established a convent on an island. The island, Ynys Llanddwyn, is just off the coast of Anglesey. 'Ynys' means island in Welsh, 'Llan' means 'church' and 'dwyn' comes from the name 'Dwynwen'. 

 According to the story, there was a fish, who lived in a well near the church, that could predict the future of couples. If a couple went there and the water bubbled then the couple would have good luck. As a result the church and well became a place of pilgrimage in the middle ages.  The ruins of the convent can still be seen on the island. 

To mark St Dwynwen's day I thought I'd post a poem dedicated to her by Dafydd ap Gwilym. His poems were so fine that all the bards of his day called him their chief bard, and today is looked upon as the greatest Welsh poet of all times. He lived probably from 1320 to 1380 and it is thought that he was born in the village of Brogynin, Penrhyncoch, Wales, Cardiganshire or what is now known as Ceredigion here in West Wales.

He became a traveller wandering from place to place and was welcomed everywhere because of his great gifts as a bard. It is possible he heard the Norman minstrels sing their songs of love in the English courts, and that he was so struck by their charm, that he decided to sing the praises to the lovely maidens and noble princes of his own country. His poems won the hearts of maidens and the lords became his patrons. It is natural that some poets were jealous of his fame, and there were many bitter quarrels with his rivals.

It is difficult to give an English reader an idea of the beauty of his work. He composed in forms unknown to the English poet until recently in the cywydd metre .Trained in the Welsh bardic tradition, Dafydd ap Gwilym wrote predominantly in rhymed couplets, with the compound expressions and complex syntax that mark medieval Welsh poetry. His poems feature variations on the cynghanedd, a Welsh form using consonantal echo, and often rhyme, within the unit of the line. The form gave a musical rhythm to the poem that was more suitable to the Welsh Language.

They have incredible power and a lot of people say that to truly understand them one must read his poems in the language that they were written.

In his poems he was able to charm the nightingale, the blackbird and the swallow into telling him their secrets. He conversed with nature and bid her reveal her mysteries. He could win the love of women and at the same time the admiration of men. He brought all things under the spell of his muse. He hated anything false but admired all that is beautiful, whether in forest glade and flower, or in the lovely form of a maiden. His poetry, notable for its vivid imagery, is at turns erotic, comic, and thoughtful in its exploration of love and the natural world. So on this day here's his prayer to St Dwynwen. Whatever your religious convictions it's still pretty powerful stuff. Hope you enjoy it. For the Lovers, heddwch,Peace

Dwynwen deigr arien degwch,
Da y gwyr o gor fflamgwyr fflwch
Dy ddelw aur diddoluriaw
Digion druain ddynion draw
Dyn a wylio gloywdro glan,
Yn dy gor, Indeg eirian,
Nid oes glefyd na bryd brwyn
A el ynddo o Landdwyn.

Dy laesblaid yw dy lwysblwyf,
Dolurus ofalus wyf;
Y frn hon o hoed gordderch
Y sydd yn unchwydd o serch;
Hirwayw o sail gofeiliant,
Herwydd oy gwn, hwn yw haint,
Oni chaf, o byddaf byw
Forfudd, Llyna oferfyw
Gwna fi'n iach, weddusach wawd,
O'm anwychder a'm nychdawd.
Cymysg lateirwydd flwyddyn
A rhadau Duw rhod a dyn.
Nid rhaid, ddelw euraid ddilyth,
Yt ofn pechawd, fethgnawd fyth.
Nid adwna, da ei dangef,
Duw a wnaeth, nid ei o nef.
Ni'th wyl mursen eleni
Yn hustyng yn yng a ni.
Ni rydd Eiddig ddig ddyngnbwyll
War ffon i ti, wyry ei phwyll.

Tyn, o'th obr, taw, ni thybir
Wrthyd, wyry gymhlegyd hir,
O landdwyn, dir gynired,
I Gwm-y-gro, gem y Gred.
Duw ni'th omeddawdd, hawdd hedd,
Dawn iaith aml, dyn ni'th omedd.
Diamau weddiau waith,
Duw a'th eilw, duw ei thalaith.
Delid Duw, dy letywr,
Del i gof, dwylaw a gwr,
Traws oedd y neb a'i trisai,
Dwynwen, pes parud unwaith
Dan wydd Mai a hirddydd maith,
Dawn ei bardd, da, wen, y bych;
Dwynwen, nid oeddud anwych
Dangos o'th radau dawngoeth
Nad wyd fursen, Ddwynwen ddoeth.

Er a wnaethost yn ddawbwys
O benyd y byd a'i bwys;
Er y crefydd, ffydd ffyddryw,
A wnaethost tra fuost fyw;
Er y eirian leianaeth
A wwyrfdawd y coethgnawd caeth;
Er enaid, os rhaid y rhawg,
Brychan Yrth breichiau nerthawg;
Eiriol, er dy greuol gred,
Ar em Wyry roi ymwared.

Dwynwen, your beauty like the hoar-fros's tears:
from your chancel with its blazing waxen candles
well does your golden image know
how to assuage the griefs of wretched men.
What a man so ever would keep vigil in your choir
(a holy, shining pilgrimage), (you with) Inded's radiance,
there is no sickness nor heart's sorrow
which he would carry with him thence from LLanddwyn.

Your holy parish is your straggling flock:
(a man) sorrowful and worn with care I am;
because of longing for my mistress
my heart is swollen with love,
deep pangs grounded in anxiety,
as well I know - this is my malady-
unless I can win Morfudd
if I remain alive, it is but life in vain.
Make me be healed, you most deserving of all praise,
from my infirmity and feebleness.
as well as mediatrix of God's grace to man.
There is no need for you, unfailing golden image,
to be afraid of sin, the body's ever-present snare.
God does not undo what he has once done,
good is his peaceful disposition, you will not fall from heaven.
No coquette will observe you now this year
whispering with us in a narrow corner.
No angry Jealous one, cruel minded,
will put a cudgel to your back chaste-minded one.

Come of your kindness - quiet, you will not be suspect,
Virgin of enduring sympathy,
from Llanddwyn, a place of great resort,
to Cwm-y-gro, you gem of Christendom.
God has not withheld from you easy to be reconciled,
the gift of ample speech, nor will man reject you.
Unquestionably to the work of prayer
God calls you black you wimple.
May God, your host restain
the two hands of that man - may there be recalled
the violence of the person who would ravish her
when she would follow me through the leaves of May.
Dwynwen, if you would once cause
under May's trees, and in long summer days
her poet's reward - fair one, you would be good,
for, Dwynwen, you were never base.
Prove, by your gifts of splendid grace
that you are no prim virgin, prudent Dwynwen.

Because of the penance that you did
through goodness, for the world, and its significance,
because of the devotions that you kept,
while you were alive, the faith of all those of religious kind,
because of the true dedication of a nun,
and the virginity of the fair captive flesh
for the soul's sake - if it be needful now-
of Brychan with the powered strong arms-
implore, by the agony caused by your faith,
of the sweet Virgin to deliver me.

FROM:-
Selected Poems of Daffyd Ap Gwilym
Translated by Rachel Bromwich
Penguin Books 1985
An earlier  post on St Dwynwens day can be found here.https://teifidancer-teifidancer.blogspot.com/2010/01/st-dwynwens-day-welsh-patron-saint-of.html

  

 Dafydd ap Gwilym by W. Wheatley Wagstaff. Marble. City Hall, Cardiff.

James Dickson Innes (1887-1914) - Arenig, Sunset (North Wales).

Arenig,Sunny Evening, c.1911-1912

NATIONAL DAY OF PROTEST AGAINST BENEFIT CUTS : EVERYWHERE :- 24/1/11

Pablo Neruda (1904 - 1973) - Walking Around.

It so happens I am sick of being a man.
And it happens that I walk into tailorshops and movie houses
dried up, waterproof, like a swan made of felt
steering my way in a water of wombs and ashes.

The smell of barbershops make me break into horse sobs.
The only thing I want is to lie still like stones or wool.
The only thing I want is to see no more stones, no gardens,
no more goods, spectacles, no elevators.

It so happens I am sick of my feet and nails
and my hair and my shadow.
It so happens I am sick of being a man.

Syill it would be marvellous
to terrify a law clerk with a cut lily,
or kill a nun with a blow on the ear.
It would be great
to go through the streets with a green knife
letting out yells until I died in the cold.

I don't want to go on being a root in the dark,
Insecure, stretched out, shivering with sleep,
going on down, into the moist guts of the earth,
taking in and thinking, eating every day.

I don't want so much misery.
I don't want to go on as a root and a tomb,
alone under the ground, a warehouse with corpses,
half frozen, dying of grief.

That's why Monday, when it sees me coming
with my convict face, blaxes up like gasoline,
and it howls on its way like a wounded wheel,
and leaves tracks full of warm blood leading toward the night.

And it pushes me into certain corners, into some moist houses,
into hospitals where the bones fly out the window,
into shoeshops that smell like vinegar,
and certain streets hideous as cracks in the skin.

There are sulphur-colored birds, and hideous intestines
hanging over the doors of houses that I hate,
and there are false teeth forgotten in a coffeepot,
there are mirrors
that ought to have wept from shame and terror,
there are umbrellas everywhere, and venoms, and umbilical cords.

I stroll along srenely, with my eyes, my shoes,
my rage, forgetting everything,
I walk by, going through office buildings and orthopedic shops,
and courtyards with washing hanging from the line:
underwear, towels and shirts from which slow
dirty tears are falling

( Translated from the Spanish by Robert Bly)

AUGUST NATTERER (1868 -1933) - Everything you can imagine is real

World Axis with Hare Around.



August Natterer was a German schizophrenic outsider artist.
The youngest of nine children, Natterer was successful in business and boasted a stable domestic life, but was hospitalized after a failed suicide attempt in 1907, after succumbing to depression and experiencing detailed visual hallucinations. Whilst in hospital he began to construct a marvellously detailed delusional system where he began to complete the task of redemption that for him Christ had left undone from his position in a global hierarchy in which he was the highest authority.
His transformation from an ordinary man who had never painted before was amazing, he had a profound effective epihany where primary hallucinations consisted of celestial stages or screens where ten tousand 'pictures followed one another like lightning', including a vision of God, 'the witch who created world'.

The Witches Head, circa 1915


My eyes in the time of appreciation.

He was to remain hospitalized in several mental asylums for the rest of his life, until he died in an asylum in Rottwei in 1933, he was 28. He left behind an amazing array of drawings and paintings that captured his visions.
His legacy is left perhaps with the Surrealists who were drawn to his work because it embodied in a spontaneous way the metamorphosis of objects and concepts that was central to their work. Their is for me an underlying beauty to his work that stand today as a testement to the richness of his delusions.

Anti- Christ