I watched a snippet of Ingrid Berman as Joan of Arc on Saturday afternoon
and felt the urge to post something Scottish. What is not well known is
that many of Joan's troops were Scottish. There was a thriving claret
trade between Bordeaux and Edinburgh in the 15th century and many Scots
chose to be mercenaries in France and fight the English.
There were two 'Mary of the Songs'. My favourite is 'Mary of Bernera'
who was nurse to the McLeods of Dunvegan Castle on Skye and was probably
the first recorded great Gaelic poet. I have the edition of her work
edited by Carmichael Watson. The other Mary came from South
Uist (I think) in the latter 19th century and was active in the land
wars around Stornoway. I have never seen any of her poetry.
I suppose this poem is incomprehensible. It comes in the pamphlet
at the end of my four books of 'The Horseman Trilogy' and to post
it is rather to invite readers to jump in at the deep end. I must
try and find something simpler to put out. It was written in twenty
minutes when I could still do things like that.
Mary of the Songs
Great Mary of the Songs said to me:
`Why aren't you writing?'
I answered `My black widow haunts me.
`In the mists of winter I see her face.
`In the brief mid-day sun I strangulate.
`The black widow stands between me and summer.
`I must write her. She will be the death of me.'
Big Mary of the Songs said to me:
`Is it at an end, your poetry?'
I answered `If my lilac takes.
`If my lavender revives. If the sun shines.
`I will live to name the place of my tomb.
`The black widow will dance on my grave in rage.
`I have made her immortal. She will never die.'
Sweet Mary of the Songs said to me:
`Was it worth it, the agony?'
I answered `I have purged the widow.
`No more will the black widow plague me.
`She was there from childhood and I have defeated her.
`I walk into an empty future with a blank mind.
`I lived with the black widow and now am free.'
Great Mary of the Songs said:
`Listen to me.
`You came from the morning. You walked to the citadel.
`You married the black widow. You wrote it.
`There's an end of it. Now you can be happy.'
I answered `Without my widow I am nothing.
`She was the heart of my days. Let it end.'
Douglas Clark, Bath, England mailto: [log in to unmask]
Lynx: Poetry from Bath .......... http://www.bath.ac.uk/~exxdgdc/lynx.html
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