Taliesin's song from 'The Fabled Third'.

 From The Fabled Third. 

Gwydion the storyteller has challenged Taliesn the poet to write an honest song about war. They are both drunk.

 ‘I tried an honest war song once.
Your challenge, remember?
Didn’t polish it but I’m drunk enough to hope

we’ll both forget it in the morning.’[1]

 

‘Did he saddle his horse, before the sun rose

stung by the cold, while the shivering torches

flicked long shadows on the stockade walls?

 

Did his hands shake, checking his harness

watched by proud elders, whispering siblings? 

Was there refuge in detail? Did the tearful maid, 

 

tangle his thoughts as he rode through the gate?

Old men compared scars, repeating their stories,

hiding the horror so boys become warriors.

 

The hero scorns death, dies laughing,

protecting his fame. Preposterous tales,

polished as heirlooms, handed down,

 

prophylactics against doubt. And was there doubt

in the rider’s banter, on the straight road to battle?

Did he boast with his friends of the deeds they’d perform?

 

Did he pay for his mead with the blood in his veins?

Did his training suffice, did he conquer his fear?

Did his sword strike sparks from his enemies’ steel?

 

Did he beg for the life he had not lived

as the spear pushed home? As the blade slashed down?

What was he thinking when his comrades fled; 

 

left him to die, to bleed out alone

watching the ravens, watching him, waiting, 

before their beaks hooked into still open eyes?

 

Did she work with her parents, watching the road?

How long did she hope, with stragglers returning.

Did she remember his face, in the years remaining 

 

in another man’s hut, in his arms, in his bed?

Watching her children, did she ever consider

what kind of father that boy might have been

 

Old men in winter, shun the fire’s warmth,

sit by the door, still watching the road,

for sons to return from last spring’s raid.

 

I forget the rest.

Who’d want to hear it?'

TheFabled Third published by Shearsman in the UK. 

 https://www.shearsman.com/store/Liam-Guilar-The-Fabled-Third-p673705296

Information and samples: http://www.liamguilar.com/the-fabled-third

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[1] No attempt has been made to copy any of the metrical patterns used by the historical Taliesin. 

Review of Taliesin Origins by Dr. Gwilym Morris-Baird

Wales can boast one of the finest literary traditions in the world and in the poetic tradition of Wales, Taliesin is a vital figure. There are, intriguingly, two ‘Taliesins’. 

 

The first is an historical character. A Briton who (?Probably?) was a court bard in ‘The Old North’,  during the sixth century AD. He composed praise poems for ‘kings’ like Urien Rheged and was well-rewarded for his songs. 

 

There is a second Taliesin, who is a character in a legendary tale. He benefits from a concoction in a magic cauldron and having been pursued by its irate owner, through several animal transformations, is finally eaten as a grain and born again to become the greatest of poets.

 

In the long Welsh tradition, it seems that ‘being Taliesin’ became a persona that later bards could adopt. The poems were memorised, recited and passed on. The poems associated with this practice tend to be 'visionary' and for a modern reader often baffling.  Poems like 'Armes 

Prydein' or 'Cad Goddeu' remain obscure even after they have been 'explained'. 

Scholars have tried to separate the ‘Historic’ from the ‘Legendary poems’ in an attempt to see what the historical poet may have composed. Not everyone agrees on the selection but they do agree the Historic ones are few. They do however contain gems like 'Marwnat Owein';  the great lament for Owein Rheged which is not only a great lament, but a master class in metrical finesse. 

 

There’s not much that can be said about the Historical Figure, though the book gives a good introduction both to him and his context. Morus-Baird’s focus is the story or stories that survive about the legendary Taliesin. In an eloquently written exploration of the myth, he reads the symbolism of the stories to establish links to other stories, and to older and wider themes in a broadly ‘Celtic’ history. 

 

He knows that interpretation, especially interpretation of myth, legend and folklore is an art, not a science, but he is too well-informed and too sane to drift off into the twinkly-eyed excesses of others. 

 

Reading discussions of medieval literature and folk lore, it often feels like being a passenger on a tour bus in a foreign country. Too often the tour bus arrives at a junction and the obvious progression is to go right. You can see the Hill of Tara which is where you thought you were going. The bus goes left. 

 

This happens far too often, and the reader becomes mired in the kind of arguments that C.S.Lewis mocked as: ‘Apollo was a Sun God. He rode in a chariot. Cuchulainn rides in a chariot. Therefore Cuchulainn was a sun god.” At which point you get off the bus, hike back to the intersection and wait for someone going in the right direction.

 

This never happened for me with Morus-Baird’s book. The tour guide is eloquent, entertaining, and obviously very well-informed. When the argument arrives at the intersection, he may go left, but you will be glad he did, because he will take you to places you hadn’t considered and while objections will occur to any reader, he always stays within the grounds of possibility and is very explicit about when he is speculating or stretching a point. 

 

The writing navigates a territory whose boundaries are mapped by the meticulous linguistic arguments of cautious scholar and the wishful thinking of the ill-informed. As such it’s very valuable not least because it's readable. He cares about his subject. Part of his argument is that the Taliesin tradition is built into the Welsh Language, and therefore its diffusion and perpetuation are essential parts of a thriving Welsh culture. 

 

This might sound like niche marketing, but the ‘Taliesin tradition’ has a lot to offer anyone; especially those interested in folklore, or interested in one of Medieval Europe’s great poets.  

Hopefully before the next Robert Graves blunders around in that tradition, he or she will have read this book.  

(My only criticism of this book is its lack of an index.)