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© Reinhard Aill Farkas 2009

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Einleitung


Cuchulainn
Glasfenster in Dingle, Irland

Preface of W.B. Yeats ( 1902)

If we will but tell these stories to our children the Land will begin again to be a Holy Land, as it was before men gave their hearts to Greece and Rome and Judea. When I was a child I had only to climb the hill behind the house to see long, blue, ragged hills flowing along the southern horizon. What beauty was lost to me, what depth of emotion is still perhaps lacking in me, because nobody told me, not even the merchant captains who knew everything, that Cruachan of the Enchantments lay behind those long, blue, ragged hills!

Das Celtic Twilight

Um 1900 setzt die Strömung des Celtic Twilight ein, getragen v.a. einem irischen Kreis um William Butler Yeats und dem Schotten William Sharp (= Fiona MacLeod).

Diese Strömung belebt spirituelle, philosophische und künstlerische Motive des Keltentums.

Projekte dieser Phase waren:

  • Übertragungen, Erforschungen und Neuinterpretationen mittelalterlicher keltischer Quellen
  • Aktualisierung der mündlichen Überlieferung von Liedern, Märchen und Mythen
  • Schaffung eines irischen Nationalbewusstseins

In seinem Band Celtic Twilight (1892, 1903) veröffentlichte Yeats Erzählungen, die er erlauscht und bearbeitet hatte, umrahmt von den beiden Gedichten Into The Twilight und The Hosting Of The Sidhe. Die Erzählungen sind Berichte aus der Anderswelt, die in ländlichen Gebieten Irlands um 1900 noch sehr nahe am Lebensalltag der Menschen gewesen sein muss.

 

Die Cuchulainn-Erzählungen.
von Lady Augusta Gregory

Lady Augusta Gregory (1852-1932) sammelte und veröffentlichte wertvolle Überlieferungen. Ein Beispiel ist ihr Erzählungsbogen über die Gestalt des Cuchulainn, die für uns eine Quelle des Mutes und der Kraft in ausweglosen und verzweifelten Situationen darstellt. Wir reichen damit ins heidnische Irland zurück, begleiten unseren Helden und lernen übernatürliche Kräfte und Wesen kennen, Göttinnen und Götter, vor allem die Göttin Morrigan.

Augusta Gregory, Cuchulain of Muirthemne.
The story of the men of the Red Branch of Ulster (1902).

 

Die vollständige Textausgabe findet sich in SACRED TEXTS.



W.B. Yeats, Fergus and the Druid (1893)

i{Fergus.} This whole day have I followed in the rocks,
And you have changed and flowed from shape to shape,
First as a raven on whose ancient wings
Scarcely a feather lingered, then you seemed
A weasel moving on from stone to stone,
And now at last you wear a human shape,
A thin grey man half lost in gathering night.

i{Druid.} What would you, king of the proud Red Branch kings?

i{Fergus.} This would I Say, most wise of living souls:
Young subtle Conchubar sat close by me
When I gave judgment, and his words were wise,
And what to me was burden without end,
To him seemed easy, So I laid the crown
Upon his head to cast away my sorrow.

{Druid.} What would you, king of the proud Red Branch kings?

{Fergus.} A king and proud! and that is my despair.
I feast amid my people on the hill,
And pace the woods, and drive my chariot-wheels
In the white border of the murmuring sea;
And still I feel the crown upon my head.

{Druid.} What would you, Fergus?

{Fergus.} Be no more a king
But learn the dreaming wisdom that is yours.

{Druid.} Look on my thin grey hair and hollow cheeks
And on these hands that may not lift the sword,
This body trembling like a wind-blown reed.
No woman's loved me, no man sought my help.

{Fergus.} A king is but a foolish labourer
Who wastes his blood to be another's dream.

{Druid.} Take, if you must, this little bag of dreams;
Unloose the cord, and they will wrap around you.

{Fergus.} I see my life go drifting like a river
From change to change,
I have been many things
A green drop in the surge,
a gleam of light Upon a sword, a fir-tree on a hill
An old slave grinding at a heavy quern
A king sitting upon a chair of gold.
But now i have grown nothing, knowing all.
Ah! Druid, Druid, how great webs of sorrow
Lay hidden in the small slate-coloured thing!

 

 

The poem Fergus and the Druid is part of Yeats lyrical edition The Rose (1893).

Poems like The Lake Isle of Innisfree, When you are old or The white birds are full of deep nature imaginery and feelings about love, solitude and the changing and transitory condition of the world of form.

Fiona MacLeod


Invocation of Peace.
After the Gaelic


Deep peace I breathe into you,
O weariness, here:
O ache, here!

Deep peace, a soft white dove to you;
Deep peace, a quiet rain to you;
Deep peace, an ebbing wave to you!
Deep peace, red wind of the east from you;
Deep peace, grey wind of the west to you;
Deep peace, dark wind of the north from you;
Deep peace, blue wind of the south to you!
Deep peace, pure red of the flame to you;
Deep peace, pure white of the moon to you;
Deep peace, pure green of the grass to you;
Deep peace, pure brown of the earth to you;
Deep peace, pure grey of the dew to you,
Deep peace, pure blue of the sky to you!
Deep peace of the running wave to you,
Deep peace of the flowing air to you,
Deep peace of the quiet earth to you,
Deep peace of the sleeping stones to you!
Deep peace of the Yellow Shepherd to you,
Deep peace of the Wandering Shepherdess to you,
Deep peace of the Flock of Stars to you,
Deep peace from the Son of Peace to you,
Deep peace from the heart of Mary to you,
And from Briget of the Mantle
Deep peace, deep peace!
And with the kindness too of the Haughty.

Father
Peace!

In the name of the Three who are One,
And by the will of the King of the Elements,
Peace! Peace!

Quelle
From The Writings of Fiona MacLeod. Poems and Dramas by "Fiona MacLeod" (William Sharp), ed. Mrs. William Sharp. New York 1910.
Feel free to read the Fulltextedition.


Fiona MacLeod - the inner woman

Fiona MacLeod is the pseudonym writing identity of the Scottish author William Sharp (1855-1905) - a pseudonym he kept secret to the public. After his death in Sicily in 1905 his widow revealed "that her husband was the author of all the works in prose and verse given out as written by ,Fiona MacLeod'" - wrote The New York Times (15.12.1905).

R.J. Stewart states in his essay: In this sense he embodied in person many of the deep changes of sexuality towards androgyny that are occurring today. In an occult sense it is quite normal that a man owns an inner feminine side, whereas each women carries an inner maskuline side ...

 

 

 


 

Calon Lan: Der Barde Gwyrosydd


Nid wy'n gofyn bywyd moethus,
Aur y byd na'i berlau mân:
Gofyn wyf am galon hapus,
Calon onest, calon lân.

Cytgan:
Calon lân yn llawn daioni,
Tecach yw na'r lili dlos:
Dim ond calon lân all ganu-
Canu'r dydd a chanu'r nos.

Pe dymunwn olud bydol,
Hedyn buan ganddo sydd;
Golud calon lân, rinweddol,
Yn dwyn bythol elw fydd.

Hwyr a bore fy nymuniad
Gwyd i'r nef ar edyn cân
Ar i Dduw, er mwyn fy Ngheidwad,
Roddi i mi galon lân.

A Pure Heart
 I don't ask for a luxurious life,
the world's gold or its fine pearls:
I ask for a happy heart,
an honest heart, a pure heart.

Chorus:
A pure heart is full of goodness,
More lovely than the pretty lily:
Only a pure heart can sing -
Sing day and night.

If I wished worldly wealth,
He has a swift seed;
The riches of a virtuous, pure heart,
Will be a perpetual profit.

Late and early, my wish
Rise to heaven on the wing of song,
To God, for the sake of my Saviour,
Give me a pure heart.

Der Walisische Poet Daniel James (1848–1920) trug den bardischen Namen Gwyrosydd, was soviel bedeutet wie "Die Wahrheit wird siegen". Sein wundervolles Poem Calon Lân ist die vielleicht bekannteste Hymne von Wales und ein wahres spirituelles Juwel.

Gwyrosydd kam aus einem kleinen Ort in Swansea und war durch den Tod seines Vaters schon früh auf sich angewiesen. Er verdiente sich sein Brot durch Schwerarbeit in verschiedenen Metallwerken dieses Landstrichs. Die letzten beiden Legensjahre verbrachte er mit seiner Tochter in Morriston (Swansea). Der sterbliche Leib des Barden liegt in Mynyddbach.

Die Verse von Gwyrosydd erschienen in einigen Sammlungen, auch in Zeitschriften und Zeitungen. Die Hymne, Calon Lân, entstand in dem kleinen Örtchen Blaengar, das am Ende eines Tales zwischen Swansea und Cardiff liegt. Sie bittet um die Freuden eines reinen, ehrlichen und glücklichen Herzens, eben um das, worauf es wirklich ankommt. Vertont wurden die ergreifenden Worte durch John Hughes (1872 - 1914).
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