Friday, October 20, 2017

Keltik New Year Is Almost Here!



Hello, everyone –

With the month of October now hurtling toward its inevitable conclusion – the Keltik New Year’s Eve, a/k/a Halloween – I’d like to present a story that has captivated my imagination since the late 1980s, which saw me fall in love with my Keltik heritage! :) Every culture has a foundational legend or cycle of legends – stories that explain how and why the culture was founded, and by whom. Such stories exemplify the values and beliefs of the people who transmit them from one generation to the next. For medieval Britons, their foundational legend is grounded in the classical poetry of Homer and Virgil, as can be seen from the story of Brutus the Trojan, the legendary first King of Britain, as retold below.

We begin with a summary of the legend from the first stanza of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, a 14th-century Middle English poem, which is a classic of Arthurian literature:

Soon as the siege and assault had ceased at Troy,
the burg broken and burnt to brands and ashes,
the traitor who trammels of treason there wrought
was tried for his treachery, the foulest on earth.
It was Aeneas the noble and his high kin
who then subdued provinces, lords they became,
well-nigh of all the wealth in the Western Isles:
forth rich Romulus to Rome rapidly came,
with great business that burg he builds up first,
and names it with his name, as now it has;
Ticius to Tuscany, and townships begins;
Langobard in Lombardy lifts up homes;
and fared over the French flood Felix Brutus
on many banks all broad Britain he settles then,
            where war and wreck and wonder
            betimes have worked within,
            and oft both bliss and blunder
            have held sway swiftly since.

The Legend of Brutus the Trojan
By Thomas Bulfinch (1796-1867)
Excerpted from The Age of Chivalry (1858) – Chapter II: “The Mythical History of England”

Note: In honor of the KeltiK New Year (which falls on November 1), here is the legend of Brutus the Trojan – an exiled prince who eventually became King Brutus I Felix of Britain.  The legendary migration of the Trojan exiles from Greece to Britain is supposed to have taken place around 1100 BCE.

        The illustrious poet, [John] Milton, in his History of England, is the author whom we chiefly follow in this chapter. According to the earliest accounts, Albion, a giant, and son of Neptune, a contemporary of Hercules, ruled over the island, to which he gave his name. Presuming to oppose the progress of Hercules in his western march, he was slain by him. Milton gives more regard to the story of Brutus, the Trojan, which, he says, is supported by “descents of ancestry long continued, laws and exploits not plainly seeming to be borrowed or devised, which on the common belief have wrought no small impression; defended by many, denied utterly by few.” The principal authority is Geoffrey of Monmouth, whose history, written in the twelfth century, purports to be a translation of a history of Britain brought over from the opposite shore of France, which, under the name of Brittany, was chiefly peopled by natives of Britain who, from time to time, emigrated thither, driven from their own country by the inroads of the Picts and Scots.
        Brutus was the son of Silvius, and he of Ascanius, the son of Aeneas, whose flight from Troy and settlement in Italy are narrated in Stories of Gods and Heroes. Brutus, at the age of fifteen, attending his father to the chase, unfortunately killed him with an arrow. Banished therefore by his kindred, he sought refuge in that part of Greece where Helenus, with a band of Trojan exiles, had become established. But Helenus was now dead, and the descendants of the Trojans were oppressed by Pandrasus, the king of the country. Brutus, being kindly received among them, so throve in virtue and in arms as to win the regard of all the eminent of the land above all others of his age. In consequence of this, the Trojans not only began to hope, but secretly to persuade him to lead them the way to liberty. To encourage them, they had the promise of help from Assaracus, a noble Greek youth, whose mother was a Trojan. He had suffered wrong at the hands of the king, and for that reason he more willingly cast in his lot with the Trojan exiles.
        Choosing a fit opportunity, Brutus with his countrymen withdrew to the woods and hills, as the safest place from which to expostulate, and sent this message to Pandrasus: “That the Trojans, holding it unworthy of their ancestors to serve in a foreign land, had retreated to the woods, choosing rather a savage life than a slavish one. If that displeased him, then, with his leave, they would depart to some other country.” Pandrasus, not expecting so bold a message from the sons of captives, went in pursuit of them, with such forces as he could gather, and met them on the banks of the Achelous, where Brutus got the advantage and took the king captive. The result was that the terms demanded by the Trojans were granted; the king gave his daughter Imogen in marriage to Brutus and furnished shipping, money, and fit provision for them all to depart from the land.
        The marriage being solemnized, and shipping from all parts got together, the Trojans, in a fleet of no less than three hundred and twenty sail, betook themselves to the sea. On the third day, they arrived at a certain island, which they found destitute of inhabitants, though there were appearances of former habitation, and among the ruins a temple of Diana. Brutus, here performing sacrifice at the shrine of the goddess, invoked an oracle for his guidance, in these lines:

“Goddess of shades, and huntress, who at will
Walks on the rolling sphere, and through the deep;
On thy third realm, the Earth, look now, and tell
What land, what seat of rest, thou bids me seek;
What certain seat where I may worship thee
For aye, with temples vowed and virgin choirs.”

To whom, sleeping before the altar, Diana in a vision thus answered:

“Brutus! Far to the west, in the ocean wide,
Beyond the realm of Gaul, a land there lies,
Seat-girt it lies, where giants dwelt of old;
Now, void, it fits thy people; thither bend
Thy course; there shall thou find a lasting seat;
There to thy sons another Troy shall rise,
And kings be born of these, whose dreaded might
Shall awe the world, and conquer nations bold.”

        Brutus, guided now, as he thought, by divine direction, sped his course towards the west, and, arriving at a place on the Tyrrhenian Sea, found there the descendants of certain Trojans who, with Antenor, came into Italy, of whom Corineus was the chief. These joined company, and the ships pursued their way till they arrived at the mouth of the river Loire, in France, where the expedition landed, with a view to a settlement; but [they] were so rudely assaulted by the inhabitants that they put to sea again and arrived at a part of the coast of Britain, now called Devonshire, where Brutus felt convinced that he had found the promised end of his voyage, landed his colony, and took possession.
        The island, not yet Britain, but Albion, was in a manner desert and inhospitable, occupied only by a remnant of the giant race whose excessive force and tyranny had destroyed the others. The Trojans encountered these and extirpated them, Corineus, in particular, signalizing himself by his exploits against them; from whom Cornwall takes its name, for that region fell to his lot, and there the hugest giants dwelt, lurking in rocks and caves, till Corineus rid the land of them. Brutus built his capital city and called it Troja Nova (New Troy), changed in time to Trinovantum, now London; and, having governed the isle 24 years, died, leaving three sons, Locrinus, Albanactus, and Camber. Locrinus had the middle part [England], Camber the west, called Cambria [Wales] from him, and Albanactus Albany, now Scotland.

Happy Keltik New Year! :)
Rob

Friday, October 6, 2017

60 Years of Space Exploration!



Hello everyone –

Wednesday, October 4th marked the 60th anniversary of the Space Age, which was inaugurated by the launch of the world’s first artificial satellite, Sputnik I, by the Soviet Union in 1957. In honor of this occasion, and also in celebration of the Harvest Moon (last night), here are some old and new favorite poems about the Moon and the stars!

“The Moon”
By Sappho (ca. 630-570 BCE)
Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold (1832-1904)

The stars about the lovely Moon
Fade back and vanish very soon,
When, round and full, her silver face
Swims into sight, and lights all space.

“Kind Moon”
By Sara Teasdale (1884-1933)

I think the Moon is very kind
To take such trouble just for me.
He came along with me from home
To keep me company.

He went as fast as I could run;
I wonder how he crossed the sky?
I'm sure he hasn’t legs and feet
Or any wings to fly.

Yet here he is above their roof;
Perhaps he thinks it isn’t right
For me to go so far alone,
Though Mother said I might.

FROM THE ORPHIC HYMNS
Editor’s Note: The annual cycle of the seasons and its effects on our natural surroundings are recurring themes throughout world literature. The Orphic poets – a guild of ancient Greek philosopher-bards named after their legendary founder, Orpheus – celebrated the changing of the seasons, the wonders of the natural world, and their lofty ideals in poetic chants, several dozen of which were preserved in written form after centuries of oral transmission. In the poetic forms of their prescientific age (ca. 1000-500 BCE), the Orphic poets chose to personify the forces of nature, the celestial orbs, and abstract ideals in order to explain how and why the natural world and the human social order function in the ways that they do.

Orphic Hymn #6: To the Stars
With holy voice I call the stars on high,
Pure sacred lights and genii of the sky.
Celestial stars, the progeny of Night,
In whirling circles beaming far your light,
Refulgent rays around the heavens ye throw,
Eternal fires, the source of all below.
With flames significant of Fate ye shine,
And aptly rule for men a path divine.
In seven bright zones ye run with wandering flames,
And heaven and earth compose your lucid frames:
With course unwearied, pure and fiery bright
Forever shining through the veil of Night.
Hail twinkling, joyful, ever wakeful fires!
Propitious shine on all my just desires;
These sacred rites regard with conscious rays,
And end our works devoted to your praise.

“Winter Stars” (1920)
By Sara Teasdale (1884-1933)

I went out at night alone;
The young blood flowing beyond the sea
Seemed to have drenched my spirit’s wings —
I bore my sorrow heavily.

But when I lifted up my head
From shadows shaken on the snow,
I saw Orion in the east
Burn steadily as long ago.

From windows in my father’s house,
Dreaming my dreams on winter nights,
I watched Orion as a girl
Above another city’s lights.

Years go, dreams go, and youth goes too,
The world’s heart breaks beneath its wars,
All things are changed, save in the east
The faithful beauty of the stars.

Until next time – keep looking up! :)

Rob