Myth Cafe

Green Man Poetry

2005-02-26T19:34:00.000-07:00

So here we are already to one of my favourite mythological characters: the green man. Known by many names throughout the world, he's a staple character in over half the folk tales that exist. If you would like a more thourough explination, I emplore you, read only the introduction to the book The Green Man: Tales from the Mythic Forest. The introduction is written by Terri Windling. It's short, if you have a minute you should definitely check it out! The illustration is also by a noteworthy artist, Charles Vess. So without further ado -

"The Erlking"
John Wolfgang Von Goethe

Who rides so late though the grisly night?
'Tis a father and childe, and he grasps him tight;
He wraps him close in his mantle's fold,
And shelters the boy from the piercing cold.

"My son, why thus to my arm dost cling?"
"Father, dost thou not see the erlie-king?
The king with his crown and his long black train!"
"My son, 'tis a streak of the misty rain!"

"Come hither thou darling! Come, go with me!
Fine games know I that I'll play with thee;
flowers many and bright do my kingdoms hold,
my mother has a robe of gold."

"O father, dear father! And dost thou not hear
what the erlie-king whispers so low in mine ear?"
"Calm, calm thee, my boy, it is only the breeze,
As it rustles the withered leaves under the trees!"

"Wilt thou go, bonny boy, with me?
My daughters shall wait on thee daintily;
my daughters around thee shall sweep,
and rock thee, and kiss thee, and sing thee to sleep!"

"O father, dear father! And dost thou not mark
the erlie-king's daughters move by in the dark?"
"I see it, my child, bit it is not they,
'tis the old willow nodding its head so grey."

"I love thee! Thy beauty it charms me so;
and I'll take thee by force, if thou wilt not go!"
"O father, dear father! -he's grasping me,-
my heart is as cold as cold can be!"

The father rides swiftly - with terror he gasps -
the sobbing child in his arms he clasps;
He reaches the castle with spurring and dread;
but alack! In his arms the childe lay dead!

"A Vagabond Song"
Bliss Carman

There is something in Autumn that is native to my blood -
touch of manner, hint of mood;
and my heart is like a rime,
with the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time.

The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry
of bugles going by.
And my lonely spirit thrills to see the frosty asters
like smoke upon the hills.

There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir;
we must rise and follow her,
when from every hill of flame
she calls and calls each vagabond by name.

"Going Wodwo"
Neil Gaiman

Shedding my shirt, my book, my coat, my life,
Leaving them, empty husks and fallen leaves,
Going in search of food and for a spring
Of sweet water.

I'll find a tree as wide as ten fat men,
Clear water rilling over its grey roots.
Berries I'll find, and crab apples and nuts,
And call it home.

I'll tell the wind my name, and no one else.
True madness takes or leave us in the wood
halfway through all our lives. My skin will be
my face now.

I must be nuts. Sense left with shoes and house,
my guts are cramped. I'll stumble through the green
back to my roots, and leaves, and thorns, and buds,
and shiver.

I'll leave the way of words to walk the wood.
I'll be the forest's man, and greet the sun,
And feel the silence blossom on my tongue
like language.

Tall Tales

2005-02-04T21:57:00.000-07:00

Here's a good one I found on deviantArt. Hope you all enjoy!
A myth-based tale based on the origin of werewolves.

PS - sorry about the horrible spacing. It's a copy-paste, none of the paragraph indentions transferred over. I could fix it but... well... I'm lazy. Very. Lazy.

Tall tales

Nektarios “mistseeker” Chrissos, based on an idea by Ig Guara Teles Barros.
Greece, 4/2/2005.

It was a bright night, the fullmoon shining defiantly in the sky, its pale light reflected on the snow-capped roofs, trees, and dark roads of the small village of Hirrburg, when the hunt began.The village’s bravest men had managed to persuade the rest -using threats, or omens of ill fortune for the village, or insults of cowardice- into finally deciding to take action against the Demon. So, using whatever kind of weapon each could find, blunt swords and knives, rakes, pickaxes and spades, as well as torches of purifying, orange flame, the village’s men set out to vanquish evil, at least in the form that had been terrifying them for the past few months.Organized in teams, they flooded each and every road and alley of the village, entered each and every house their wives had opened to them to be searched. They were calling out the name of the Lord as they stormed the houses, cursing at the same time against Satan and his minions. Their prey had been the hunter for some time now, killing their beasts, destroying their traps, terrorizing their lives. Yet they would have never decided to act against it, preferring to pray in the village’s small church for God’s wrath to fall on the hated creature, hadn’t it committed its most recent crime of slaughter.Two women and their three children had been found torn in pieces two nights ago, their blood spilled on the thick carpet of snow –every winter’s gift to Hirrburg- that had covered everything, at a small street near their house. People that had heard their screams of futile agony took sneak peeks through the jalusies of their windows, only to see a horrible beast that could stand on its rear legs, clawing the poor women with its front ones as they -cornered, their children hiding in their lap- were begging for mercy. Their end was swift- no more than two or three quick clawings each, and their cries had soon ceased; fear had filled the hearts of the witnesses to those deaths."The Demon has grown bold," the local priest exclaimed at the Church’s mass the next day, just after the funeral. "Evil has invaded this peaceful community."Angry men had raised their fists high then, swearing to be the Lord’s vessels of revenge against the beast and had immediately started to recruit others to their cause. And thus the events had evolved to become a relentless witch- or demon- hunt that carried on for the whole of the next night.That night was almost at an end, twilight giving its place to an eerie, white dawn, when snow became red again, near the outskirts of the village, as a villager dropped dead, screaming, his entrails falling out of his open gut. Red eyes looked at the gory sight, eyes that belonged to the hunted beast, and those eyes saw fear and horror spread with speed amongst the spectators of the attack. Looking at the sky as if the moon itself was giving strength to it, the beast roared in triumph, then naked its wolflike teeth at the assembled villagers. The terrified peasants fled in all directions as the beast laughed loud satanically, its hulking outline standing out amidst the snowy landscape of houses and trees like a patch of black color against a white wall; its body hair was similar to a wolf’s, as were its head and facial characteristics. The body was human though, or at least humanoid in appearance, muscular like a young man’s and over ten feet tall.The werewolf roared once more, ready to attack the villagers that were rushing to the site of the carnage eagerly- but then decided to turn back. Thus he leaped on a rough wall which he climbed. He easily avoided a torch and a rake that were thrown at him and started running on the rooftops, snarling, easily avoiding more projectiles, leaving the furious but confused villagers behind with every step and leap.Finally, leaving the last rooftop behind him, the wolf-like human jumped one last time and landed on the snow with a roll. He looked back with wild joy and howled to the moon before rushing to the woods running on all fours; the morning’s thickly falling snow had soon covered his tracks.A single figure however, crouched on a rooftop of a house hidden between higher ones, observed the beast that was running away and jumped too, landing on the snow with grace. Then it ran to the woods after the demon, smelling the cold air for guidance. So the first villagers that arrived at the village’s end, panting, saw not one, but two beasts entering the woods.**The hunted beast looked at the village in the distance cautiously, trying to see if a villager was daring enough to leave the village’s relative safety and enter the woods to give chase. Some distant lights could barely be seen at the village borders but they were unmoving and soon dispersed, fading in the distance.The werewolf eased for some moments and started to walk deeper in the woods. Then he smelled something and stopped again. He looked nervously around him, preparing for a fight.Some trees shook, snow falling off them, as another werewolf ran between them and attacked him, throwing him on a tree with force.The two beasts entangled themselves in a game of strength, each one trying to overpower the other.<> the attacker growled in a language that was both human and beast-like.<> the hunted werewolf answered, his breath becoming more agonized, as he threw his attacker away and stood steadily on his feet.<> the attacker said in return, preparing to charge again.<><> <><><>Heinrich howled in scorn and attacked his attacker, who took an attacking leap as well. The two beasts crashed in midair and fell on the ground. Both immediately stood on their feet, shaking the snow off their hides and prepared to attack or be attacked anew.<> Ditter said, panting.<> Heinrich answered, pointing his hand towards the distant village. <><><><>Claws slashed the air, tearing flesh in their path, and white became red as blood colored the snow around the combatants.Heinrich retreated, shaken, blood oozing from wounds that should have healed immediately, but instead remained open. <><><>Ditter showed his claws- They were blooded, but they gleamed underneath the layer of blood- gleamed of silver.<><><><><><>Heinrich Miller fell to his knees, his blood spraying the ground and trees around him. He tried to stand up again, but his legs betrayed him; numbness spread on his body.The other werewolf, Ditter Schnebels, looked at his defeated foe with pity and turned away. <> he said. <>Looking one last time behind him, Ditter, Knight of Science, gave a last hail to his former fellow scientist. <> he added, and left the woods.<> he heard Heinrich’s curses in the distance, as he walked out of the woods. And he was sad.***There is a local legend at the village of Hirrburg that lives by word of mouth to this day: It tells of a God’s angel taking the form of a demon to fight and defeat another demon that had been sent to inspire fear to the hearts of the village folk of the time. And it tells of the village’s bravest men, alerted by a passing traveler -a spectator to that fight-, entering the forest nearby, finishing off the evil beast that had been struck there by the Lord’s furious anger.An article appearing in various sites on the internet recently wrote: “Many historians of folklore, archaeologists, as well as independent searchers have taken interest to the story of Das Monstrum von Hirrburg, visiting a village in Northern Germany to see the grave of a so-called Demon who, according to the aforementioned local tale, terrorized that village -called Hirrburg- during the Victorian Age. The grave lies in a vault under a very old local church and would have been hidden forever, hadn’t parts of that church collapsed during the building of a commercial center nearby. Even scientists, biologists of an independent organization calling themselves “Knights of Science” recently gained a permit to conduct a scientific search in the grave. They searched for organic evidence to the mysterious beast’s supposed existence, but the only thing they’ve found to date, in cooperation with excavation teams, are the remains of a human body viciously slain, as the excavations coordinator reported. In all probability, the researchers say, this is just another “actual event” of the past proving to be just a tall tale that transcended from generation to generation, becoming even taller with the passage of time.”

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Fable of the Moths

2005-01-29T22:29:00.000-07:00

I looked around the internet a little to find something interesting for a first short story. I have better ones in my library, but I'm a bit lazy today and don't want to copy them out. So this is just something I found on the web after a search. Grab a beverage and enjoy! =3

THE FABLE OF THE MOTHS
by Peter S. Beagle

Once there was a young moth who did not believe that the proper end for all mothkind was a zish and a frizzle. Whenever he saw a friend or a cousin or a total stranger rushing to a rendezvous with a menorah or a Coleman stove, he could feel a bit of his heart blacken and crumble. One evening, he called all the moths of the world together and preached to them.

"Consider the sweetness of the world," he cried passionately. "Consider the moon, consider wet grass, consider company. Consider glove linings, camel's-hair coats, fur stoles, feather boas, consider the heartbreaking, lost-innocence flavor of cashmere. Life is good, and love is all that matters. Why will we seek death, why do we truly hunger for nothing but the hateful hug of the candle, the bitter kiss of the filament? Accidents of the universe we may be, but we are beautiful accidents and we must not live as though we were ugly. The flame is a cheat, and love is the only."All the other moths wept. They pressed around him by the billions, calling him a saint and vowing to change their lives. "What the world needs now is love," they cried as one bug.

But then the lights begin to come on all over the world, for it was nearing dinnertime. Fires were kindled, gas rings burned blue, electric coils glowed red, floodlights and searchlights and flashlights and porch lights blinked and creaked and blazed their mystery. And as one bug, as though nothing had been said, every moth at that historic assembly flew off on their nightly quest for cremation. The air sang with their eagerness."Come back! Come back!" called the poor moth, feeling his whole heart sizzle up this time. "What have I been telling you? I said that this was no way to live, that you must keep yourselves for love - and you knew the truth when you heard it. Why do you continue to embrace death when you know the truth?"

An old gypsy moth, her beauty ruined by a lifetime of singeing herself against nothing but arclights at night games, paused by him for a moment. "Sonny, we couldn't agree with you more," she said. "Love is all that matters, and all that other stuff is as shadow. But there's just something about a good fire."

*MORAL: Everybody knows better. That's the problem, not the answer.*

Come in...

2005-01-28T22:28:00.000-07:00

So this is bringing together two of my favourite things, coffee and mythology of all sorts.

I'll post some things of interest along the way, maybe something or two of my own. If you have a good short story to share based on mythology, folklore, or faerie tales, email it to me and I'll post it here! The purpose of this blog is to post good stories that you can read over a nice cup of coffee in the morning, afternoon, night, et cetera.

Grab a mug of java or any other caffeinated beverage of your choosing, and enjoy!