Stretched On The Altar...

[Eulalia]

For pretty well all of us, I guess, our first encounter with imagery and accounts of Crucifixion​

was in the context of Christian religious teaching, art and ritual, in which the idea of Sacrifice is central.​

​

As a young adolescent, kneeling during the Offertory, I'd imagine myself being led up the aisle,​

laid on the altar, my naked body lifted up and displayed, my blood poured out ...​

Wicked, blasphemous thoughts! Not long ago, I'd surely have been burnt at the stake!​

​

But the idea of (being a) human sacrifice is closely enmeshed with my fascination with the Cross.​

​

It's seems a while since I did much to justify the title of 'Poet Laureate',​

so I'm going to post a longish poem about (being a) pagan sacrificial victim.​

It's seasonal, Lughnasadh (say "lunar saw") being August 1st,​

traditional start of the harvest (Lammas, 'loaf-Mass', in English).​

I've drawn on bits and pieces of Celtic mythology and Scottish folklore,​

but it doesn't pretend to historical or archaeological accuracy.​

There are footnotes mainly geekish,​

but they also give a rough guide to how the Gaelic names are pronounced.​

 

[Eulalia]

Lughnasad[1]​

​

Only when Moon, the protector of women
Sleeps behind Earth’s dark door[2],
Only when the greedy sea
Creeps to the top of the shore[3],
Only when the Boar-God Lugh[4]
Speaks in the thunder-roar [5],
Then, only then, can men perform
The rite of Lughnasad.

Women gather
Disconsolate on the dunes.
No dancing this year.
Dark,
Deathly dark.

It’s rare.
Young mothers can’t remember.
Some recall
When Mòrag was a’Mhaighdean.[6]

Big Mòrag,
Mother herself now,
Two fine young sons.

“She giggled all through it!”
A’Chailleach[7] says.

“Did she say that?
Wait till I get the hag!
She didn’t see me
Naked, the knife …’

Only when Moon, the protector of women
Sleeps behind Earth’s dark door,
Only when the greedy sea
Creeps to the top of the shore,
Only when the Boar-God Lugh
Speaks in the thunder-roar,
Then, only then, can men perform
The rite of Lughnasad.

There was another,
A’Chailleach knows,
But never tells –
A slim girl.

The men swore nothing happened,
But from that night
Never came home.

Lived in a cave, they say,
Sang to the seals
Till the great storm –
Still you may hear her.


[1]Roughly "lunar saw". The repeated ‘Only when Moon...’ verse has a rhythm like a dance or children’s singing-game, which are often quite sinister. Lughnasadh is the feast-day of the Celtic deity Lugh ("Loo"), the quarter-day August 1st: harvest sacrifices were often of the ‘corn-king’, but the Celtic tradition of a’Mhaigdean suggests a nubile, female offering.
[2] ‘Only when moon…’, only when there's a lunar eclipse on the night of Lughnasadh, depriving women and girls of the protection of the moon’s power.
[3] Spring (= maximum) tides come at (to be exact, just after) new and full moons, and a lunar eclipse can only occur at full moon, so a spring tide would follow.
[4] Boars were important in Celtic mythology, though not especially associated with Lugh.
[5] For the men to perform the full ritual, there will have to be a thunderstorm.
[6] A’Mhaighdean ("a vadjen") ‘The Maiden’, the 'corn-dolly' in the harvest ritual about to be played out. Mòrag, like other female names in this poem, is a modern Gaelic name, not necessarily pagan.
[7] A’Chailleach ("a challyach" Scots ch) ‘The Old Woman’, literally, ‘one with a hood’, as are the triple goddesses on pagan Celtic carvings: a dark image of female power contrasting the fresh innocence and vulnerability of a’Mhaighdean.

 

[Eulalia]

Only when Moon, the protector of women
Sleeps behind Earth’s dark door,
Only when the greedy sea
Creeps to the top of the shore,
Only when the Boar-God Lugh
Speaks in the thunder-roar,
Then, only then, can men perform
The rite of Lughnasad.

Join the chasing-game –
Who’ll be a’Mhaighdean?

A’Chailleach’s baked the cake,
Each girl shall have some –

Sorcha, laughing,
Long-legged fisher-girls
Eilidh and Eighrigh,
Pale Una, sad Beatha,[1]

Each girl must have some,
Soft and delightful,
But one, burnt and bitter.[2]

Who’ll be a’Mhaighdean?

Don’t tremble,
It’s only a game.

[1] "sorr-cha", "ayley", "ayrey", "oona", "bay-aha" All 'Christian' names, quite anachronistic!
[2] A way of choosing found in folk-traditions of several countries including Scotland.

 

[Eulalia]

Only when Moon, the protector of women
Sleeps behind Earth’s dark door,
Only when the greedy sea
Creeps to the top of the shore,
Only when the Boar-God Lugh
Speaks in the thunder-roar,
Then, only then, can men perform
The rite of Lughnasad.

“No giggling then –
Real terror,
Real pain,”
Said Mòrag,

“Yet – never told this –
Strange pleasure,
Strange sadness
At the God’s silence.”

On Beinn an Tuirc[1]
The men’s fire’s lit.
Soon am Bodach[2] will come
To fetch you. Your blood’s warm.

Your sisters deck themselves
In beads and ribbons.
You will need none.

Kneel on the rocks alone,
Near you an otter swims
In the warm evening,
You long for the waves.

[1] Beinn an Tuirc ("ben an toork") ‘Boar’s Hill’, see note above on ‘the Boar God’.
[2] Am Bodach ("am botach") ‘The Old Man’, literally ‘one with a prick’! A sense of sexual threat in this figure.

 

[Eulalia]

Only when Moon, the protector of women
Sleeps behind Earth’s dark door,
Only when the greedy sea
Creeps to the top of the shore,
Only when the Boar-God Lugh
Speaks in the thunder-roar,
Then, only then, can men perform
The rite of Lughnasad.

“Brigde!”[1]
They call you.
Am Bodach approaches
With young men in boar-masks.

“Which have you chosen?”
“This, Brigde.”
“She’ll do –

But, woman, a word -
Suppose, just supposing
The God speaks?”

“Come with me,
I’ll tell you.”

A’Chailleach speaks softly.
The boar-men are playing,
Chasing the young girls
Scuttling in the surf.

They catch little Sileas,[2]
Steal her ribbons.
One ties your wrists tight,
The other blindfolds you.[3]

[1] The girl chosen as a’Mhaighdean is named Brígde ("breedja") after the Celtic goddess whose feast was at Imbolc ("imvolg"), 1st February, the quarter-day ‘opposite’ Lughnasadh (‘Christened’ as St Brigit, whose feast-day is 1st Feb).
[2] "shee-lass".
[3] I’m thinking of the young Iron Age girl found sacrificed in a Danish bog: she was led to her death naked, blindfolded with a colourful piece of textile that had probably been her pretty head-band or hair-ribbon. In Brígde’s case, the ribbons stolen from ‘little Sileas’ become her bondage.

 

[Eulalia]

Only when Moon, the protector of women
Sleeps behind Earth’s dark door,
Only when the greedy sea
Creeps to the top of the shore,
Only when the Boar-God Lugh
Speaks in the thunder-roar,
Then, only then, can men perform
The rite of Lughnasad.

“… don’t worry -
This young sow,
She’ll please the boar,
And give good bacon!”

Shiver as she strokes you.

“Take her!”

Led up the long climb
Slipping and stumbling,
Bare feet snag sharp stones,
Breathless, perspiring,
Steep Beinn an Tuirc!

When the ground levels
Sense men around you,
Silent,
Smoke hangs on the still air.

 

[Eulalia]

Only when Moon, the protector of women
Sleeps behind Earth’s dark door,
Only when the greedy sea
Creeps to the top of the shore,
Only when the Boar-God Lugh
Speaks in the thunder-roar,
Then, only then, can men perform
The rite of Lughnasad.

Am Bodach starts singing,
First a soft, sad song,
Then louder, a wild chant,
Till, almost screaming,
“Show her to Lugh!”

Swiftly they strip you,
Shirt, shift and short skirt,
Swing you, displayed,[1]
Round the circle of men.

Teasing voice goads him,
“Ailein,[2] don’t you fancy her now?”
“Shut your gob or I’ll kill you!”
He hisses. You walk on,
His honour protected,
Not you.

[1] As Mòrag warned, in the men’s ritual, a’Mhaighdean is naked – she’s ‘displayed’ in the modern sense, but more especially in its historic sense of ‘laying or holding a person or animal with their limbs extended’ (OED sense 2): she is paraded around the ring by the boar-men with her arms held wide apart, so she can’t hide her breasts or private parts from the eyes of the men.
[2] Ailein ("alyen"): Gaelic form for Alan.

 

[Eulalia]

Only when Moon, the protector of women
Sleeps behind Earth’s dark door,
Only when the greedy sea
Creeps to the top of the shore,
Only when the Boar-God Lugh
Speaks in the thunder-roar,
Then, only then, can men perform
The rite of Lughnasad.

The air is so still now,
You glistening, waiting,
Hear them preparing,
“The grindstone, the flail …”

Smooth stone you’re laid on,
Black night above you,
Am Bodach whines weirdly,
Damp drops touch your breasts.

Stretched on the altar,
Hair thrown behind you,
Legs, as expected,
Forced wide and tied tight -

“She didn’t see me
Naked, the knife…”

Wince as he places
The cold blade on your breasts -
Feel the sharp boar’s tusks
Touching your thighs -

“Real terror,
Real pain…”

 

[Eulalia]

Only when Moon, the protector of women
Sleeps behind Earth’s dark door,
Only when the greedy sea
Creeps to the top of the shore,
Only when the Boar-God Lugh
Speaks in the thunder-roar,
Then, only then, can men perform
The rite of Lughnasad.

Am Bodach falls silent,
Mist spits in the fire,
Below, the sea soughing,
Far off … can you hear?[1]

Am Bodach creeps closer,
His breath feels aflame,
The boar-men are dancing,
Sweat mingles with rain …

What’s that?
On the mountains
Deep rumbles, faint flickers …

Your bare body quivers …
It’s only a game …

[1] "sooching" a beautiful Scots word for the sound of the sea washing the shore.

 

[Eulalia]

Only when Moon, the protector of women
Sleeps behind Earth’s dark door,
Only when the greedy sea
Creeps to the top of the shore,
Only when the Boar-God Lugh
Speaks in the thunder-roar,
Then, only then, can men perform
The rite of Lughnasad.

Brilliant, blinding,
Lightning reveals you!

Death-roar of thunder,
Word of the Boar!

Now must a’Mhaighdean
Be ploughed and sown,
Cut and threshed,
Crushed with the stone,
Burnt till the raw flesh
Peels from the bone –
But first, let the Boar-God
Make her his own!

At damp dawn, ravens
Relish what Lugh’s left.

 

[admihoek]

For pretty well all of us, I guess, our first encounter with imagery and accounts of Crucifixion​

was in the context of Christian religious teaching, art and ritual, in which the idea of Sacrifice is central.​

​

As a young adolescent, kneeling during the Offertory, I'd imagine myself being led up the aisle,​

laid on the altar, my naked body lifted up and displayed, my blood poured out ...​

Wicked, blasphemous thoughts! Not long ago, I'd surely have been burnt at the stake!​

​

But the idea of (being a) human sacrifice is closely enmeshed with my fascination with the Cross.​

​

It's seems a while since I did much to justify the title of 'Poet Laureate',​

so I'm going to post a longish poem about (being a) pagan sacrificial victim.​

It's seasonal, Lughnasadh (say "lunar saw") being August 1st,​

traditional start of the harvest (Lammas, 'loaf-Mass', in English).​

I've drawn on bits and pieces of Celtic mythology and Scottish folklore,​

but it doesn't pretend to historical or archaeological accuracy.​

There are footnotes mainly geekish,​

but they also give a rough guide to how the Gaelic names are pronounced.​

and pics?

 

[thehangingtree]

Damn, when Eul decides to reestablish her "Poet Laureate" she goes all out. And leave it to Admi to be hanging around with the video camera!

Tree

 

[admihoek]

Damn, when Eul decides to reestablish her "Poet Laureate" she goes all out. And leave it to Admi to be hanging around with the video camera!

Tree

and thinking about her smooth butt I'll change that asap

 

[admihoek]

perhaps like this one?

 

[thehangingtree]

..or perhaps nuzzled, licked, and kissed until she begs for more...

t

 

[Eulalia]

Yeah, thanks guys.​

Would anyone care to comment on my poem?

​

 

[thehangingtree]

Yeah, thanks guys.​

Would anyone care to comment on my poem?​

​

Damn, when Eul decides to reestablish her "Poet Laureate" she goes all out.
Tree

Thought I did... Aren't I one of the boys???

T

 

[admihoek]

Thought I did... Aren't I one of the boys???

T

no y're tree old oak
and eul I do, and i did

 

[Fantasmo]

Lovely Eulalia, I like how you play with the words, barely touching the subject but fuelling the imagination...

 

[Eulalia]

Thought I did... Aren't I one of the boys???

T

no y're tree old oak
and eul I do, and i did

You did, and I love you both for it!​

Just trying to get my thread back on the rails.​

Thanks Fantasmo, too!​

​