Amethyst Poetry / Writing Saga # 10 / Epic Poem / IN THE PATHS OF MYRDDIN WYLLT

In the Paths of Myrddin Wyllt  2018

     (In this post I share the incident which began my brief phase of fascination with medieval legend, and how I came across the things of King Arthur and the Holy Grail, and came to write the epic poem, IN THE PATHS OF MYRDDIN WYLLT.)

    A few months ago, at a huge second-hand Book Fair in our nearest town, I happened to pick up a book because its cover at once attracted me, though I don’t know why, and I simply added it to my basket without even opening it or looking at the back cover. When I got home I looked through the few books I had bought there and picked out this particular one, first; and later read it with delight. It was titled: ‘Arthur: The Seeing Stone,’ by Kevin Crossley-Holland; (the first book of his ‘Arthur’ trilogy for children.) The author was obviously a poet as well as a novelist and I loved his style of writing. Being as I was ever, inside, a simple child, one which had forgotten to grow up, I was captivated!  Well written children’s books are always my favourite read; I, somehow, prefer them to adult books. 

    Without ever having been interested in medieval legends before, suddenly I found myself profoundly inspired and all unconsciously my ‘ragged writings’ took on a new theme, for awhile. 

    I became even more intrigued. On the 23^rd of March, 2014, I started to write an epic poem, without realizing it. On that morning, all at once, I had a vivid mental picture of a man in a state of inner turmoil and distress standing upon a hill overlooking a dreadful battle; who had then descended and fled into a deep forest, and lived with the wild animals there for a long time bereft of all human companionship. I had the distinct impression in my mind, that this man was Merlin; but, that made no sense to me, because from all I had thus read, this picture of him did not fit, at all. 

  That afternoon happened to be our once a week ‘town day;’ and before we did the shopping I went to the local library and checked out a pile of books on King Arthur and related topics. Through my study, and a bit of internet research, I discovered that there was such a Merlin, as I had seen; named, Myrddin Wyllt; a Welsh bard and poet of the Dark Ages. And it wasn't long before I found myself reading a description of this ancient legendary man, that exactly and perfectly fitted all I had seen. 

   From that memorable day in March, till about three weeks later, inspiration flowed as an unstoppable river and I wrote an historical poem well over 9,000 words, at this stage, in 43 manuscript pages. The story was to build...a living bridge...linking the Myrddin Wyllt of the Dark Ages with the Merlin of the Middle Ages in a dynamic historical enactment, with full attention to historical accuracy, and historical background detail, with sixth century geographical place names, people, and events, and dates, creating a timeless, mythical story imbued with all the magic forest imagery familiar to us through the works of JRR Tolkien and CS Lewis.  

   I had been deeply into my amethyst poetry during the first three weeks of March and so it seemed natural to carry on communicating out of this overflowing inner well. Writing the story in rich lyrical language, instead of prose, using alliterative and assonantal techniques, seemed to more easily release thought provoking lines, which would remain in the mind of the reader long after the book was read and put down: touching the heart with a haunting complexity and intriguing beauty in which the mind was irresistibly drawn to 'chew,' in order to learn and discover, for itself.  

  When the work was completed I realized that this poem was not a part of my large, illustrated, and unpublished poetry collection: ‘The Ragged Writings of Everland,’ but a work that needed to be under separate cover, as it was a complete book in itself---12,240 words---having all the elements present of a miniature historical novella.     

   This unpublished manuscript is available to anyone wishing to read it.  I hope that someday there will be an interest in publishing it. 

The work is entitled,

IN THE PATHS OF MYRDDINWYLLT.

(Its Welsh title is, Yn y Llwybrau Myrddin Wyllt.)  

Please feel free to contact the author and request a free copy: 

Email:   judithdeverell@hotmail.com     

I can, also, email this book in pdf format in a word document.

                                   
                                      *

The titles, below, are the next four ragged writings of Amethyst Poetry. The first, A Ring of Love, is an extract, an untitled section, of the above mentioned epic poem.

         A Ring of Love

         Angled Perspectives

         As A Day

         Only Slowly Opens the Rose

Amethyst Poetry / Writing Saga # 4 / Finding Stories in the Air . . .

     In the innermost place, where the swan flies high over Everland, where love’s living waters run I find stories in the air. Out of darkness the light shines. There, the tumbling threads of stories, alive in the air where I live, all waiting to be woven into cryptic ‘kennings.’* They are each one, ciphered portraits of universal truth; lines ready and waiting to pour into the books and poems I am given to write. Tales of tingling things and tastings in the tinglewoods; jewelled runnings with golden castings, trickling through the fair fairways of the path of our return to God in utter surrender. All happy uncurlings of a liquid summer’s morning, warm, wholesome, full and free! Thoughts twisting and turning in the dappled light, like the little silver-steel pipes of a wind chime, dangling from the verandah roof, where I imagine I sit and write, listening to their sweet tinkling, and dreaming on in my swinging chair in the sounding breeze. 

     It really is, as if I catch transparent wisps of writing, floating in the air. Faint prism-ed streamers, ribbons and banners all passing by me as I begin to write. I have seen, and with astonishing certainty, that they did not originate from me, but are given. It is as though I live and move and have my being in the air; and that air where they are, the place of all living words in the holy of holies! 

     Sometimes these semi-silken ribbons seem to dance. It is like they are playing, and I am permitted to play, too.  Joining in their swirling and running in that unconscious delight that only little children know. 

     It is my one of my heart’s deepest yearnings that these ragged writings of Amethyst Poetry find their place of understanding in many loving hearts all over the world. That there might be people ‘out there,’ in countries everywhere who could understand these ragged writings and poems is my hope and dream.

[* 'a kenning’ – n. the Icelandic word for: a symbolic image in a short phrase; a metaphorical word puzzle; encoded writing. (Some Iceland examples: a "sea bull" is a ship; a "serpent of blood" is a sword; and "she-wolf of the gown" is a greedy woman.)]

These are the titles of the next five ragged writings:

Stories in the Air

Uncurlings

Jewelled Runnings

A Summer’s Morning

Tastings in the Tinglewoods

The Saga of Amethyst Poetry / Part Four: A New Art

        If art went abstract, couldn't poetry? If some streams of art turned 'incomprehensible,' but not without a battle for acceptance first, should I wonder at or fear initial rejection? Although these 'poems' are not abstract - for like the inventive artist every line or brush stroke is full of known meaning - I suppose they might appear so, at first glance! But I had experienced that the heart 'rent in twain' could carry the mind's every finding further and deeper, and that it wasn't necessary for the outer parts of it to understand, in order to perceive light via the spirit.

      In joy and wonder I was shown that the primary purpose of these poems, is not that they be literally understood, but that they literally make us littler. For the littler we are the lighter we become; and the lighter we become the happier we are, which isn't by more, but by less. 

The Saga of Amethyst Poetry / Part One: A Winter of Rejection

(This is the first of a ten part story . . .)

     A few years ago I submitted some of my poetry to a professional body of poets for assessment, critique; and, hopefully, some encouragement!  I was devastated by their response. My poems were deemed incomprehensible. Such complex conceptions could not be understood. Heartbroken, I stopped writing. But after weathering a long hard winter season (of about two years!) I began to write again. Yet it seemed that the format in which I could most satisfyingly communicate, and express what was burning inside me, was in my earlier formidable art of “incomprehensible poetry.”  I knew that I might have to face continuing rejection because of it; but I was willing. Being torn to shreds wasn't a bad thing! Even so, in a moment of desperation I began to call my work ragged writings instead of ‘poems,’ because I was left in tatters! (And, not being ‘poems,’ they might evade censure!) Then in an emerging of a tentative springtime, I wrote a definition and an explanation for my strange writing; and hoped it made some sense!  

A Ring of Love: an Extract from an Epic Poem

     The poem, A Ring of Love, is an extract from a much larger work, IN THE PATHS OF MYRDDIN WYLLT . . . a 9,400 word epic poem concerning the sixth century legendary Welsh bard and poet, Myrddin Wyllt; a forerunner of the famous Merlin of the medieval legends of King Arthur. More on this later! But the unpublished manuscript of this epic poem is available to those who would like to read it. (Contact author and request via email: 

 arielaevans@gmail.com ) 

      To reach out, to give beautiful words new every day from the inner wells, was my longing...words through an inner fullness speaking light. The outflow of living waters from the midst of me was unending; and I longed to share from out of the treasures of my experience the living truth which fires the creativity in my life. There was just so much to share. So much to tell of the beginnings of Amethyst Poetry. But before I could begin to unravel further the saga of my writing life, the following came, written today . . . 

Veiled Realms of Swiftlight 

Out of the things which were first, the greater part of purple palaces

Inner castles graced with ivory towers and the amaranth within

The amethyst flowerets mystic pale with milky light 

All fused with royal red and blue

Casting from the windows of my sight

The firstling things I have within

To speak instead in silent gems of the veiled realms of swiftlight

Of the breaking parts of faith that slowly fill with love and unravel here

Out of the things which were second, the amaranthine tumbling spires

From which my inner-writing banners flew

Out from my highest tower, my hooded tercel tossed skyward

Flung from a soft gloved hand

Set free to gather its beloved prey, and return to me the longed for news 

That, from afar they would hear and in that oneness promised

Draw near and I would know that from today 
I was not alone