And Another Poem for Bride

Funny, I had a terrible time choosing poems for this, the Fifth Annual Brighid in the Blogosphere Poetry Reading. I don't know much about poetry, and truth be told I don't get them most of the time, or at least I can't explain them. I suppose that is not the salient point, though--I know that some poetry gives me a chill, or brings tears to my eyes, even if I don't know why.

And so when I finally chose some poems for Bride here and posted them, I then shut the browser off (with some relief) and went to play a bit in Photoshop; but not until I put iTunes on. And there it was, this bit of prayerful exuberance:


Dame Fortune, by Andy Partridge

Jump for joy
Jump for joy

Dame Fortune smile
Ring my bell, lift your skirts
Pour down some fortune on me
Dame Fortune smile
Knock my door, doff your cap
Deliver milk for my tea

I've been throwing low numbers
On the dice of life
All the cards I turn scowl at me
Like my ex-wife

When nighttime falls
I'll need your net
To catch those brick-bats in

Dame Fortune smile
At my lottery, lass
Please won't you empty my bin

Dame Fortune smile
Tear a square from your dress
Give my front windows a clean
Dame Fortune smile
Let me borrow your bike
Bring home the bacon and beans

I've been pulling low numbers
From the hat of dreams
Drowning in the pools by simply
Picking rotten teams

When nighttime falls
We'll fix it up
I'll loan your safety pin

Dame Fortune smile
When they're spitting at me
Please bring all my washing in

I thank you



There it is, a bona fide invocation to old Fortuna, cleverly disguised as a pop song. I do love that man. You can hear him smiling as he sings.

(Hey, Hecate said song lyrics were okay. So there!)

Sappho for Bride's Day

Three poems, or fragments of poems, by Sappho, as another contribution to the Fifth Annual Brighid in the Blogosphere Poetry Reading. The last is to Aphrodite. From the Mary Barnard translation.

***

I have a small
daughter called
Cleis, who is

like a golden
flower
I wouldn't
take all Croesus'
kingdom with love
thrown in, for her

***

I have no embroidered
headband from Sardis to
give you, Cleis, such as
I wore
and my mother
always said that in her
day a purple ribbon
looped in the hair was thought
to be high style indeed

but we were dark:
a girl
whose hair is yellower than
torchlight should wear no
headdress but fresh flowers

***

Leave Crete and come to us
waiting where the grove is
pleasantest, by precincts

sacred to you; incense
smokes on the altar, cold
streams murmur though the

apple branches, a young
rose thicket shades the ground
and quivering leaves pour

down deep sleep; in meadows
where horses have grown sleek
among spring flowers, dill

scents the air. Queen! Cyprian!
Fill our gold cups with love
stirred into clear nectar

For Bride

A traditional Gaelic verse to Bride, Who drives out the Cailleach, the Old Woman of Winter:

Chuir Bride miar ’s an abhuinn
La na Feill Bride
Is dh’ fhalbh mathair ghuir an fhuachd
Is nigh i basan anns an abhuinn
La na Feill Padruig
Is dh’ fhalbh mathair ghin an fhuachd

Bride put her finger in the river
On the Feast Day of Bride
And away went the mother who hatches the cold
And she bathed her palms in the river
On the Feast Day of Patrick
And away went the mother who breeds the cold

From the Carmina Gadelica, for the 5th annual Brighid in the Blogosphere Poetry Reading.

For the Groundhog, Blessed of Brighid

Moch maduinn Bhride
Thig an muc-ghrùnnd as an toll
Cha bhoin mise ris an muc-ghrùnnd
Cha bhoin an muc-ghrùnnd rium.

Early on Bride's morn
Shall the groundhog come from the hole
I will not harm the groundhog
Nor will the groundhog harm me.

(Traditional Gaelic song to Bride. Well, sorta kinda. More for the 4th annual Brighid in the Blogosphere Poetry Reading.)

The Orphic Hymn to Nature

Ancient mother,
holy artist,
queen of constantly
unfolding creation,
we honor you.

Untamed all-tamer,
eternally splendid,
bright serenity,
first born.

Lady of the shining stars
dancing breathless circles,
gem of divine powers,

finite, infinite,
known, all knowing
yet secret within us,
you invoke yourself.

Lead us, mother of life,
give us wisdom,
grace us with beauty.

You are justice
supremely strong
ruling every chaos.

You are spiritual and earthy,
a friend to piety,
sweet to goodness
and bitter to evil.

You are the most powerful;
you nourish all.

Your pure mind full of seeds
gives crowds of stars and flowers
creating worlds streaming
to receding horizons.

Your hand holds up space.
You direct the wind.
You hinge the world
with the bolt of force.

Courageous, fatal,
all conquering queen,
hear our song.

Care for us.
Grant plenty,
adventure and comfort,
constant peace and health.

(From The Hymns of Orpheus, Mutations by R.C. Hogart. Another entry for Brighid, as part of the 4th Annual Brighid in the Blogosphere Poetry Reading on Imbolc.)

Haiku for Chico Marx

You played piano
And pinochle and you knew
Almost all the odds

(Also by me. Chico Marx was a compulsive gambler, and at least according to his little brother Harpo, a mathematical genius. More poetry for the 4th Annual Brighid in the Blogosphere Poetry Reading.)

For Brighid the Bright

I am a circle of nineteen stones,
I am the Queen inside the mound.

I am the flame within the winter,
I am a serpent from the hole,
I am a cock who crows at dawn.

I am a kindled spark,
I am the welling spring,
I am a maiden all in green.

I am a cow newly calved,
I am the midwife and the mother,
I am the milk in a baby's mouth.

I am the fire beneath the cauldron,
I am the sun's image in a pool,
I am the water and the cup.

I am the beaten bronze,
I am the hands of the harper,
I am a frog hidden in the rushes.

The folds of my cloak form the green hills
My bright flame does not die.

(By me. Part of the 4th annual Brighid in the Blogosphere Poetry Reading.)