Peace & Laments
A meditation on war, a world out of balance, and fragile peace

 

This project is inspired by the Great Poet and Culture Heroine, the Morrigan of ancient Irish story. My text is a fusion of two women from the Irish sagas: Brig and The Morrigan. Both Brig (later becoming Brigid) and The Morrigan appear in The Second Battle of Mag Tuired. Brig is the mother of Ruadan. Brig is the mother of Ruadan. During the battle, Ruadan is sent to spy upon the enemy to ascertain the location of the magic healing well which the enemy employs to continually heal their soldiers. Ruadan finds the location of the healing well and his mother’s people pile great stones upon it to ensure the opposing side cannot use it. Ruadan is subsequently killed and cannot be healed. Brig keens for her dead son on the battlefield and it is said that this keening is the first heard in Ireland.

The Morrigan is a complex being from the Irish sagas. She is often interpreted as a “war goddess,” but the tales seem to point to her role as Poet of the People/Tribe, a powerful ancestor figure and culture hero. Ideas and text inspired by the Old Irish two prophetic poems of The Morrigan from The Second Battle of Mag Tuired. Original translation by Isolde Carmody of Story Archeology. .

 
 

white ravens flock in branches
sing and chatter; caw and call
claw at my center, catch at my edges
asking me to shape the land shapes — time stops time stops time —

sun and storm torn sky: a black-gold-purple-white
land rises from tumultuous water

the sea on every side
my words send a rush of ocean horses: their hooves carve the seastrand dunes for me

I step from the riverbed into the long and quiet city streets
rife with vine and dark wet leaves
dimly lit clouds wrap cement in blue-white-silver shimmer

I remember first and last moments
breath to breath
leaving and arriving
staying and going
a blur of motion

seconds of stillness whisper across a poppy field
and the sound of a last breath rattling free like seraphim wings in the breeze

an everyday moment, yes
I can hardly think of it because I'll crumble to dust myself

whet and sharpen
burnish and polish
anvil and forge
strike and resound
flame and bellows
hammer on steel metal on bone

ravens pick-pluck-pick-pluck-pick-pluck through mud and bloodroot, clover and dandelion
a new sky streaked in sunrise red reaches out to heat their black wings
the ache of silent air in my ears—
each son without a mother
each mother without a son
and over the hills the horns sound in the just-so quiet

I am ancestor. perhaps
a goddess? perhaps

I have come before, not hard to say,
and I ride winds and alight upon sand and shore;
bull kelp and sea fruits spill from my nine dark tresses
I tread river and stream, making way to the sea

I am poet. tale-giver
seer? perhaps

We march toward deranged destruction
balance is unattainable
untenable
unknowable

Text in italics below inspired by Isolde Carmody’s translation of the Morrigan’s the poem that begins ‘Ni accus bith no_mbeo’ (I do not see a world of the living) from the Maige Tuired: The Second Battle of Mag Tuired.

our summer is blossom-less
the land: in chaos and ruler-less
and a threnody no one hears
forests poisoned without leaf or bloom
sea in devastation without whale, leviathan, or ocean fruit
an empty lakebed spills its poisoned waters
into once dry cities
no safety in high ground

storm and thunder
sky is blood purple and bruised
a tower keep rises over white metal ramparts
fortresses are bare
and our buildings now empty and dark

welcome to this evil
a lament on every face
such unbelievable torments
and crimes outnumber dreams

battles wage everywhere
we trust in weapons and hostile deeds
treacherous politicians
leaders and judges falsify, lie

wrapped in a shroud of sorrows
we betray each other:
woman; man; son; daughter; mother; lover
children are stillborn into sadness
such an evil time we have made
sons against fathers
and what of our daughters?

I am the first to keen?
do the clouds hear my elegy?
do the skies know my requiem?

another day turns to darkness

Text below Inspired by Isolde Carmody’s translation of the Morrigan’s post-battle poem of the peace beginning, ‘Sith co nem’ (peace to the heavens) from the Maige Tuired: The Second Battle of Mag Tuired.

peace expansive?
my hands smooth out the horizon
a sun covers, pulling clouds to earth
earth beneath a cirrus striped sky
strength holds each of us
cups are honey-full
such sweetness

riverbanks laden with birdsong
summer takes up home in winter
autumn gives freely her corn from the land

spears and shields ready; blades sharp edged and steady
strong; protected

earth yields her metals, her soil black with richness
our children thrive
forests flourish in amber and green

cattle, cow, calves, their many-horns fill our meadows
and dogs vigilant; guard flocks grazing in fenced fields

gold light washes grasses
trees tall; limbs reach to sky
boughs heavy with blossoms
weighted limbs bloom, weary with petals

tree knots spiral, their sigils foretelling
branches plentiful for fire
flint, pyrite, marcasite flare tinder for warmth
a stone ring holds our blazing
evening glow
night alight with embers
in radiant shadow

our gathering tribe: all for the land
and the land meets the sea
sea strand; land; sand; earth and water

‘peace to the heavens, it will be eternal peace’

home

Resources
Other pages from Story Archeology on their brilliant research on the Morrigan:
The Mórrígan Speaks – Her Three Poems
The Mórrígan’s Prophecy
Other Appearances of The Mórrígan

Cath Maige Tuired: The Second Battle of Mag Tuired from CELT - Corpus of Electronic Texts