Red and the Blue

Below is a poem written in the Welsh cywydd llosgyrnog metre as an honouring of Gwynn app Nudd, the medieval name for the King of the Fairies in Welsh folklore. For some of us at least Gwynn is a later understanding of an Ancient British deity whose name has survived on some altar stones from the Romano-British period, Vindos or Vindonnus (possibly two separate beings, but my intuition is that they are different titles for the same entity). I'm not sure who the artist of the inset picture is - cannot find a name as yet!

As per the explanation given in my reading of it in a YouTube recording linked at the bottom of this page (and yes, I know I misread one of the words but I don't have the time at the moment to re-record it properly), the story contained in the poem has its roots in the hagiography of a 7th century monk - the manuscript of which dates to the 1500s. The monk, Collen, sets up his hermitage on an island in the flood plains of Glastonbury that is already owned by Gwynn app Nudd. After some palaver, Collen attends a feast in the magical palace atop the Tor where he is a posed a riddle. All of the servants, noble guests and so forth are dressed in pied clothing - half in red and half in blue - and Gwynn wishes to know if Collen understands the significance of this. The hermit gives a very Christian answer before throwing holy water at his hosts, making them disappear in a puff of smoke. For those of us with a more upbeat view of Gwynn/Vindos, the answer to the riddle is somewhat different. The poem below is my answer to the riddle. I make no apologies for the geek references which some of you may spot in the final verses. It is wholly intentional and Vindos has yet to take offence and strike me with a lightning bolt.

The Red and the Blue

Cywydd Llosgyrnog metre

 

A pale tree grows on high Tor land,

Fierce coloured leaves robe branches grand,

Fairies band beneath leaf dome.

            Huntsman strides forth from out of the shade,

            Snug in brachae of blue-red plaid,

Greets monk strayed to lupine home.

 

To him the tree seems palace vast,

The pagan court leaves him aghast.

Last guest sits as servants glide,

            In robes half-red, half-blue Fair Folk

            Sit to feast as Nudd’s son bread broke,

            Sporting cloak red and blue pied.

 

This ill-graced guest, this hazel squat,

Scorns feast as mere leaves that rot!

Riddler’s slot seeks monk to teach.

            Yet his answer shows rigid mind

            To all but his own grand faith blind.

            Gwynn’s kind watch him start to preach.

 

Of burning pits and loveless cold

The former abbot makes so bold,

Have vestments told – Satan shown!

            “Enough!” cries the wolf lord of the Tor

            Fangs bared to hear such canting jaw.

            Old lore must now be made known.

 

Hellfire is not shown by the red

But is the ichor swordsmen shed,

Countless bled their kin to shield.

            Smith-fires forge their soon reddened blades.

            Guarding hearths from enemy raids,

            Offerings made, none then kneeled.

 

Corpse-rime is not shown by the blue,

But cauldron waters fresh as dew,

Healers’ brew to soothe bruised hearts.

            Kin-weavers, kith-spinners bind tight,

            Eat well in winter’s dwindling light,

            Mead-songs each night – bardic arts.

 

Two worlds joined close as night and day,

Blue makes the home, red scythes the hay.

One the way that two feet walk.

            Summer and winter, two realms rule

            Yet Gwynn stands, a foot in each school

            This monk, fool, denies such talk.

 

From both red and blue Gwynn draws might –

He is fire and ice, sun and night,

He burns bright, eye of the storm.

            Ancient and forever, Time’s lord,

            Wielder of Nudd’s swift lightning sword

            On horse soared to the star-swarm.

 

The centre of the universe

There he sits, seeing all, his curse

And gift, nurse so terrible.

            Wolf of the woods, heart of the sun,

            He is wildfire, sets all to run

            And he is so… wonderful.