ravenous reader Posted January 23, 2017 Author Share Posted January 23, 2017 On 1/22/2017 at 11:14 AM, Pain killer Jane said: Quote the red wanderer that septons preached was sacred to their Smith up here was called the Thief. And when the Thief was in the Moonmaid, that was a propitious time for a man to steal a woman, - Jon III, aSoS The name always reminds me of two different songs. The Wander sung by Dion and the Belmonts. Oh well I'm the type of guy who will never settle down Where pretty girls are well, you know that I'm around I kiss 'em and I love 'em 'cause to me they're all the same I hug 'em and I squeeze 'em they don't even know my name They call me the wanderer, yeah the wanderer I roam around around around Oh well there's Flo on my left and there's Mary on my right And Janie is the girl with that I'll be with tonight And when she asks me which one I love the best I tear open my shirt I got Rosie on my chest 'Cause I'm the wanderer yeah the wanderer I roam around around around Oh well I roam from town to town I go through life without a care 'Til I'm as happy as a clown With my two fists of iron and I'm going nowhere I'm the type of guy that likes to roam around I'm never in one place I roam from town to town And when I find myself a-fallin' for some girl, yeah I hop right into that car of mine and ride around the world Yeah I'm the wanderer, yeah the wanderer I roam around around around, let's go Oh yeah I'm the type of guy that likes to roam around I'm never in one place I roam from town to town And when I find myself a-fallin' for some girl I hop right into that car of mine and ride around the world 'Cause I'm a wanderer, yeah a wanderer I roam around around around, around, around 'Cause I'm a wanderer, yeah a wanderer I roam around around around, aroundm around - Dion DiMucci Papa was a Rolling Stone sung by the Temptations It was the third of September; that day I'll always remember, 'Cause that was the day that my daddy died. I never got a chance to see him; never heard nothin' but bad things about him. Mama I'm depending on you to tell me the truth. Mama just looked at him and said, "Son, Papa was a rollin' stone. Wherever he laid his head was his home. And when he died, all he left us was alone." Papa was a rollin' stone. Wherever he laid his head was his home. And when he died, all he left us was alone." Hey, Mama, is it true what the say, that Papa never worked a day in his life? And Mama, they talk all around town say that Papa had three outside children and another wife And that ain't right. Heard them talkin' about Papa doing some storefront preachin' Talkin' about saving your souls and all the time weak, dealin' in death And stealin' in the name of the Lord Mama just hung her head and said, Papa was a rollin' stone. Wherever he laid his head was his home. And when he died, all he left us was alone." Papa was a rollin' stone. Wherever he laid his head was his home. And when he died, all he left us was alone." Hey, Mama, I heard Papa call himself a jack of all trades. Tell me, is that what sent Papa to an early grave? Folks say Papa would beg; borrow or steal to pay his bills. Hey, Mama, folks say Papa was never much on thinkin'; Spend most of his time chasin' women and drinkin'! Mama, I'm depending on you to tell me the truth. Mama just hung her head and said, "Son, Papa was a rollin' stone. Wherever he laid his head was his home. And when he died, all he left us was alone." Papa was a rollin' stone. Wherever he laid his head was his home. And when he died, all he left us was alone." Papa was a rollin' stone. Wherever he laid his head was his home. And when he died, all he left us was alone." Papa was a rollin' stone. Wherever he laid his head was his home. And when he died, all he left us was alone." ETA: And of course Rolling Stone leads me to the proverb "A Rolling Stone gathers no Moss" as a euphemism for progress and stagnation. And if we have some comets coming to Planetos and some at least did gather moss and turned green. LOL. @Pain killer Jane You are a witty one! And, talking of wanderers, not to forget Johnny Cash (with U2): "The Wanderer" I went out walking through the streets paved with gold Lifted some stones Saw the skin and bones Of a city without a soulI went out walking under an atomic sky Where the ground won't turn And the rain it burnsLike the tears when I said goodbye Yeah I went with nothing Nothing but the thought of you I went wandering I went drifting through the capitals of tin Where men can't walk Or freely talk And sons turn their fathers in I stopped outside a church house Where the citizens like to sit They say they want the kingdom But they don't want God in it Yeah I went with nothing Nothing but the thought of you I went wandering I went drifting through the capitals of tin Where men can't walk Or freely talk And sons turn their fathers in I went out with nothing Nothing but the thought of you I went wandering I went out walking Down that winding road Where no one's trusting no one And conscience...a too heavy load I went out riding, down that ol'eight lane I passed by a thousand signs Looking for my own name Yeah I went with nothing Nothing but the thought of you I went wandering I went drifting through the capitals of tin Where men can't walk Or freely talk And sons turn their fathers in I went with nothing But the thought you'd be there, too Looking for you I went out there in search of experience To taste and to touch and to feel's as much As a man can before he repents I went out searching, looking for one good man A spirit who would not bend or break Who could sit at his father's right hand I went out walking with a bible and a gun The word of God lay heavy on my heart I was sure I was the one Now Jesus, don't you wait up Jesus, I'll be home soon Yea I went out for the papers Told her I'd be back by noon Yeah I left with nothing But the thought you'd be there too Looking for you... Yeah I left with nothing Nothing but the thought of you... I went wandering Quote This leads me to the Rolling Stones even if the band itself was named for the Muddy Waters song "Rollin' Stone' I see a red door and I want it painted black This may well be my all-time favorite quote of all the poetic allusions, given my taste for the tragic and absurd! Also, by night the red weirwood leaves are black; and LmL is so fond of painting red swords black, or is it black swords red, or black white..?... that it addles my brain! But -- what about Dany's lemons..? Maybe we can paint them purple... Quote No colours anymore, I want them to turn black I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes I have to turn my head until my darkness goes I see a line of cars and they're all painted black With flowers and my love, both never to come back I see people turn their heads and quickly look away Like a newborn baby, it just happens everyday I look inside myself and see my heart is black I see my red door and must have it painted black Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts It's not easy facing up when your whole world is black No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue I could not foresee this thing happening to you The 'green sea' appeals to me for obvious reasons... Quote If I look hard enough into the setting sun My love will laugh with me before the morning comes I see a red door and I want it painted black No colours anymore, I want them to turn black I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes I have to turn my head until my darkness goes I wanna see it painted, painted black Black as night, black as coalI wanna see the sun blotted out from the skyI wanna see it painted, painted, painted, painted black Yeah Quote "Your Grace?" Missandei stood at her elbow wrapped in a bedrobe, wooden sandals on her feet. "I woke, and saw that you were gone. Did you sleep well? What are you looking at?" "My city," said Dany. "I was looking for a house with a red door, but by night all the doors are black." "A red door?" Missandei was puzzled. "What house is this?" "No house. It does not matter." Dany took the younger girl by the hand. "Never lie to me, Missandei. Never betray me." -Dany VI, aSoS ETA: Exodus 12: 5- 5 Your lamb shall be an unblemished male a year old; you may take it from the sheep or from the goats. 6 'You shall keep it until the fourteenth day of the same month, then the whole assembly of the congregation of Israel is to kill it at twilight.7 'Moreover, they shall take some of the blood and put it on the two doorposts and on the lintel of the houses in which they eat it. 8 They shall eat the flesh that same night, roasted with fire, and they shall eat it with unleavened bread and bitter herbs. 9 Do not eat any of it raw or boiled at all with water, but rather roasted with fire, both its head and its legs along with its entrails.10 'And you shall not leave any of it over until morning, but whatever is left of it until morning, you shall burn with fire. 11 Now you shall eat it in thismanner: with your loins girded, your sandals on your feet, and your staff in your hand; and you shall eat it in haste-- it is the LORD'S Passover.12 'For I will go through the land of Egypt on that night, and will strike down all the firstborn in the land of Egypt, both man and beast; and against all the gods of Egypt I will execute judgments-- I am the LORD. 13 The blood shall be a sign for you on the houses where you live; and when I see the blood I will pass over you, and no plague will be fall you to destroy you when I strike the land of Egypt. Talking of 'blotting the sun out of the sky' and 'painting painting painting it black' (which ends up limewashing it white, obviously...), in 1883 a volcano on the Indonesian island of Krakatoa erupted, drowning two-thirds of the island, and turning the skies all around the world lurid red hues as the volcanic cloud of dust and debris migrated, together with prolonging the Winter globally. Many artists were inspired by this phenomenon, among them the painters J.M.W. Turner and William Ashcroft. See links RE: 'Krakatoa sunsets' (the first article listed is entitled 'Clouds of Blood' which immediately evokes 'waves of night and blood'..): http://hyperallergic.com/173597/clouds-like-blood-how-a-19th-century-volcano-changed-the-color-of-sunsets/ https://publicdomainreview.org/2012/05/28/the-krakatoa-sunsets/ Similarly, in an earlier event in 1815, weathering the eruption of yet another Indonesian volcano, Mount Tabora, while holed up with his poetic colleagues in an Italian retreat, Lord Byron wrote the following poem, with apocalyptic overtones, clearly referencing the volcano's impact: During this gloomy time, the sun was pale and the sky clouded and hazy. Temperatures dropped and thunderstorms dominated the weather. Additionally, during the solar eclipse of June 9th-10th of that year, the sun actually seemed to vanish from the sky. Similarly to the case of the Krakatoa phenomenon, many artists were inspired, including the writers Lord Byron and Mary Shelley, the writer of 'Frankenstein' (the idea for 'Frankenstein' actually coming to her during this time, brought on by the volcanic eruption!) Of course, this all reminds me of the Long Night and our speculations regarding meteoric impact and/or volcanic eruptions contributing to the cataclysmic event. Darkness George Gordon Byron, 1788 - 1824 I had a dream, which was not all a dream. The bright sun was extinguish’d, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space, Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air; Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day, And men forgot their passions in the dread Of this their desolation; and all hearts Were chill’d into a selfish prayer for light: And they did live by watchfires—and the thrones, The palaces of crowned kings—the huts, The habitations of all things which dwell, Were burnt for beacons; cities were consum’d, And men were gather’d round their blazing homes To look once more into each other’s face; Happy were those who dwelt within the eye Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch: A fearful hope was all the world contain’d; Forests were set on fire—but hour by hour They fell and faded—and the crackling trunks Extinguish’d with a crash—and all was black. The brows of men by the despairing light Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits The flashes fell upon them; some lay down And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smil’d; And others hurried to and fro, and fed Their funeral piles with fuel, and look’d up With mad disquietude on the dull sky, The pall of a past world; and then again With curses cast them down upon the dust, And gnash’d their teeth and howl’d: the wild birds shriek’d And, terrified, did flutter on the ground, And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl’d And twin’d themselves among the multitude, Hissing, but stingless—they were slain for food. And War, which for a moment was no more, Did glut himself again: a meal was bought With blood, and each sate sullenly apart Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left; All earth was but one thought—and that was death Immediate and inglorious; and the pang Of famine fed upon all entrails—men Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh; The meagre by the meagre were devour’d, Even dogs assail’d their masters, all save one, And he was faithful to a corse, and kept The birds and beasts and famish’d men at bay, Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead Lur’d their lank jaws; himself sought out no food, But with a piteous and perpetual moan, And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand Which answer’d not with a caress—he died. The crowd was famish’d by degrees; but two Of an enormous city did survive, And they were enemies: they met beside The dying embers of an altar-place Where had been heap’d a mass of holy things For an unholy usage; they rak’d up, And shivering scrap’d with their cold skeleton hands The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath Blew for a little life, and made a flame Which was a mockery; then they lifted up Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld Each other’s aspects—saw, and shriek’d, and died— Even of their mutual hideousness they died, Unknowing who he was upon whose brow Famine had written Fiend. The world was void, The populous and the powerful was a lump, Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless— A lump of death—a chaos of hard clay. The rivers, lakes and ocean all stood still, And nothing stirr’d within their silent depths; Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea, And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp’d They slept on the abyss without a surge— The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave, The moon, their mistress, had expir’d before; The winds were wither’d in the stagnant air, And the clouds perish’d; Darkness had no need Of aid from them—She was the Universe. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ravenous reader Posted January 23, 2017 Author Share Posted January 23, 2017 On 1/22/2017 at 1:48 PM, LmL said: On 1/22/2017 at 3:16 AM, ravenous reader said: SONG OF DURIN The world was young, the mountains green, No stain yet on the Moon was seen, No words were laid on stream or stone When Durin woke and walked alone. He named the nameless hills and dells; He drank from yet untasted wells; He stooped and looked in Mirrormere, And saw a crown of stars appear, As gems upon a silver thread, Above the shadow of his head. The world was fair, the mountains tall, In Elder Days before the fall Of mighty kings in Nargothrond And Gondolin, who now beyond The Western Seas have passed away: The world was fair in Durin's Day. A king he was on carven throne In many-pillared halls of stone With golden roof and silver floor, And runes of power upon the door. The light of sun and star and moon In shining lamps of crystal hewn Undimmed by cloud or shade of night There shone for ever fair and bright. There hammer on the anvil smote, There chisel clove, and graver wrote; There forged was blade, and bound was hilt; The delver mined, the mason built. There beryl, pearl, and opal pale, And metal wrought like fishes' mail, Buckler and corslet, axe and sword, And shining spears were laid in hoard. Unwearied then were Durin's folk; Beneath the mountains music woke: The harpers harped, the minstrels sang, And at the gates the trumpets rang. The world is grey, the mountains old, The forge's fire is ashen-cold; No harp is wrung, no hammer falls: The darkness dwells in Durin's halls; The shadow lies upon his tomb In Moria, in Khazad-dûm.But still the sunken stars appear In dark and windless Mirrormere; There lies his crown in water deep, Till Durin wakes again from sleep. J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring, "A Journey in the Dark" This is a Mimir's well reference, is it not? Not exactly the same, but Mirrormere has to be a play on Mimir. You can see where Martin might have drawn upon this Tolkien myth when he fashioned Hugor of the Hill's crown of stars, and seeing it in the well there makes me think of the drowned moon / sea dragon idea, the idea of drowned moon stars. I believe Hugor's crown of myth is just another version of the meteor shower story, not just because it is a story about pulling stars down, but because the stars that fell became a sign of Kingship, just as the Grey King's possession of fire did and AA's possession of LB, etc. Really beautiful poem, thanks for sharing it, I do love Tolkien's writing. I'm happy you enjoyed the poem. I definitely think it's a reference to Mimir's well and more generally to the entrance to the underworld and the idea of taking a journey by sea being synonymous with death (Frodo departing into the 'West' and disappearing beyond the horizon is akin to Ned's prediction @Blue Tiger recently referenced regarding Bran 'sailing beyond the Summer Sea', which I believe is both a reference to greenseeing as well as dying...preferably in space, and while flying an unusual kind of 'space-ship', so I become the toast of the internet ). The fact that the lake is a mirror, as reflected in its name and peculiar qualities, also reminds me of your and PK Jane's observations about the Mayans using obsidian mirrors as scrying portals. Interestingly, black mirrors have been associated with water, for example in this esoteric article about mirror scrying -- so perhaps the still, cold, black water of the pool associated with the Winterfell heart tree, and other similar bodies of water with those characteristic identifiers, can be understood in this light (or dark...). More on the Mirrormere: Quote "There like jewels sunk in the deep shone glinting stars, though sunlight was in the sky above. Of their own stooping forms no shadow could be seen." —The Fellowship of the Ring Kheled-zâram , also known as the Mirrormere, is a small lake in Azanulbizar a vale east of Moria. In The Fellowship Of The Ring it is described as following: "its waters were dark: a deep blue like clear evening sky seen from a lamp-lit room. Its face was still and unruffled. About it lay a smooth sward, shelving down on all sides to its bare umbroken rim." Geography The lake lay less than a mile east and a little below the Great Gates of Moria. It was long and oval, shaped like a great spear-head thrust deep into the northern glen of the vale. Its waters were dark: a deep blue like clear evening sky and there was a smooth sward of grass around its rim. History In the First Age, Durin the oldest of the Seven Fathers of the Dwarves wandered into Azanulbizar vale and beheld in a small, still lake a reflection of himself bearing a crown of seven stars. The stars were the constellation Durin's Crown which the elves call Valacirca and men call the Big Bear. Because of this sign Durin chose to build his great hall Moria in the mountains above that vale. The name Kheled-zâram is in Khuzdul and means "Glass-lake". In Westron it was called Mirrormere, it is probably so named because the waters of the lake were always smooth and the stars could always be seen reflected in its surface no matter the time of day. Only Durin, however, could see his own reflection. The Dwarves of Durin's Folk regarded this site as sacred and built a monument there. It was a single stone column called Durin's Stone, standing by the roadside. After Moria was abandoned it fell into disrepair, and in the last years of the Third Age it was cracked, weather-worn, and broken at the top. When Balin came to retake Moria in TA 2989 one of his companions, a dwarf named Flói was slain in a battle before the Gates and was buried in a place of honour by the banks of Kheled-zâram. Balin himself was killed here five years later, by an orc arrow, when he went alone to look into the lake. The Fellowship of the Ring stopped briefly at Kheled-zâram while Gimli, Frodo, and Sam took time to look into the lake, even though they were in great hurry. From: http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Kheled-zâram What strikes me is the fact that only Durin can see his reflection in the lake, which is reminiscent of the weirwood tree in Bran's 'coma-dream' 'brooding' on its own reflection, 'knowingly' -- as I've said before, I believe this is a 'time loop' phenomenon where Bran the greenseer resident in the tree makes eye contact both with a younger version of himself 'flying' above, as well as whatever he's 'seeing' in the 'black sea/see' (remember the 'sunless sea' in Bloodraven's cavern which represents the power of 'dark seeing'...maybe this relates to the 'dragonglass sea/see'?!) Switching gears now, to an interesting topic we don't cover frequently enough: On 1/20/2017 at 4:44 PM, LmL said: Yes, if people would show me stuff like this at the beginning, I would be much quicker to get on board with wacky ideas like whitewashing. Chuckle chuckle. That's sad, this pretty much confirms that doesn't not? If Yggdrasil is whitewashed, then we have a very solid anchor for that entire line of symbolism. I actually disagree that George is avoiding the double meaning of whitewashing however - if we think about suppressing the dark impulses of the weirwood net, whitewashing it in other words - well that's where we get the others from isn't it? The repressed Shadow consciousness of the weirwood net Not only whitewash -- LIME! Quote The World of Ice and Fire - Beyond the Free Cities: The Grasslands In the southeast the proud city-states of the Qaathi arose; in the forests to the north, along the shores of the Shivering Sea, were the domains of the woods walkers, a diminutive folk whom many maesters believe to have been kin to the children of the forest; between them could be found the hill kingdoms of the Cymmeri, the long-legged Gipps with their wicker shields and lime-stiffened hair, and the brown-skinned palehaired Zoqora, who rode to war in chariots. Quote A Clash of Kings - Prologue Collapsing into his chair, he pulled the stopper and spilled out the vial's contents. A dozen crystals, no larger than seeds, rattled across the parchment he'd been reading. They shone like jewels in the candlelight, so purple that the maester found himself thinking that he had never truly seen the color before. The chain around his throat felt very heavy. He touched one of the crystals lightly with the tip of his little finger. Such a small thing to hold the power of life and death. It was made from a certain plant that grew only on the islands of the Jade Sea, half a world away. The leaves had to be aged, and soaked in a wash of limes and sugar water and certain rare spices from the Summer Isles. Afterward they could be discarded, but the potion must be thickened with ash and allowed to crystallize. The process was slow and difficult, the necessaries costly and hard to acquire. The alchemists of Lys knew the way of it, though, and the Faceless Men of Braavos . . . and the maesters of his order as well, though it was not something talked about beyond the walls of the Citadel. All the world knew that a maester forged his silver link when he learned the art of healing—but the world preferred to forget that men who knew how to heal also knew how to kill. On 1/20/2017 at 0:44 PM, Blue Tiger said: [According to sweetsunray's chthonic classification] Urdarbrunnr The well/pool/lake of 3 main Norns – past, present and future – determining the fate of men. One Yggdrasil roots ends at Urdarbrunnr. Otherwise known as the weird/wyrd sisters in English tradition. Pour water and lime from the well each day over the world tree – whitewash. Two different sources locate it either in Midgard or Asgard. A hall where the gods gather is built nearby. We do a lot of 'over-interpretation', so I think perhaps it's time for a little 'under-interpretive' comic relief... So, this one is for you, @LmL: Laughing at ourselves and the wild absurdity of it all, laugh with me. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Bluetiger Posted January 23, 2017 Share Posted January 23, 2017 This reminds me of BE and Amethyst Empress: J.R.R.Tolkien, The Silmarillion AKALLABÊTH The Downfall of Númenor And it came to pass that Tar-Palantir grew weary of grief and died. He had no son, but a daughter only, whom he named Míriel in the Elven-tongue; and to her now by right and the laws of the Númenóreans came the sceptre. But Pharazôn took her to wife against her will, doing evil in this and evil also in that the laws of Númenor did not permit the marriage, even in the royal house, of those more nearly akin than cousins in the second degree. And when they were wedded, he seized the sceptre into his own hand, taking the title of Ar-Pharazôn (Tar-Calion in the Elven-tongue); and the name of his queen he changed to Ar-Zimraphel. The mightiest and proudest was Ar-Pharazôn the Golden of all those that had wielded the Sceptre of the Sea-Kings since the foundation of Númenor; and three and twenty Kings and Queens had ruled the Númenóreans before, and slept now in their deep tombs under the mount of Meneltarma, lying upon beds of gold. And sitting upon his carven throne in the city of Armenelos in the glory of his power, he brooded darkly, thinking of war. For he had learned in Middle-earth of the strength of the realm of Sauron, and of his hatred of Westernesse. And now there came to him the masters of ships and captains returning out of the East, and they reported that Sauron was putting forth his might, since Ar-Pharazôn had gone back from Middle-earth, and he was pressing down upon the cities by the coasts; and he had taken now the title of King of Men, and declared his purpose to drive the Númenóreans into the sea, and destroy even Númenor, if that might be. Great was the anger of Ar-Pharazôn at these tidings, and as he pondered long in secret, his heart was filled with the desire of power unbounded and the sole dominion of his will. And he determined without counsel of the Valar, or the aid of any wisdom but his own, that the title of King of Men he would himself claim, and would compel Sauron to become his vassal and his servant; for in his pride he deemed that no king should ever arise so mighty as to vie with the Heir of Eärendil. Therefore he began in that time to smithy great hoard of weapons, and many ships of war he built and stored them with his arms; and when all was made ready he himself set sail with his host into the East. And men saw his sails coming up out of the sunset, dyed as with scarlet and gleaming with red and gold, and fear fell upon the dwellers by the coasts, and they fled far away. But the fleet came at last to that place that was called Umbar, where was the mighty haven of the Númenóreans that no hand had wrought. Empty and silent were all the lands about when the King of the Sea marched upon Middle-earth. For seven days he journeyed with banner and trumpet, and he came to a hill, and he went up, and he set there his pavilion and his throne; and he sat him down in the midst of the land, and the tents of his host were ranged all about him, blue, golden, and white, as a field of tall flowers. Then he sent forth heralds, and he commanded Sauron to come before him and swear to him fealty. And Sauron came. Even from his mighty tower of Barad-dûr he came, and made no offer of battle. For he perceived that the power and majesty of the Kings of the Sea surpassed all rumour of them, so that he could not trust even the greatest of his servants to withstand them; and he saw not his time yet to work his will with the Dúnedain. And he was crafty, well skilled to gain what he would by subtlety when force might not avail. Therefore he humbled himself before Ar-Pharazôn and smoothed his tongue; and men wondered, for all that he said seemed fair and wise. But Ar-Pharazôn was not yet deceived, and it came into his mind that, for the better keeping of Sauron and of his oaths of fealty, he should be brought to Númenor, there to dwell as a hostage for himself and all his servants in Middle-earth. To this Sauron assented as one constrained, yet in his secret thought he received it gladly, for it chimed indeed with his desire. And Sauron passed over the sea and looked upon the land of Númenor, and on the city of Armenelos in the days of its glory, and he was astounded; but his heart within was filled the more with envy and hate. Yet such was the cunning of his mind and mouth, and the strength of his hidden will, that ere three years had passed he had become closest to the secret counsels of the King; for flattery sweet as honey was ever on his tongue, and knowledge he had of many things yet unrevealed to Men. And seeing the favour that he had of their lord all the councillors began to fawn upon him, save one alone, Amandil lord of Andúnië. Then slowly a change came over the land, and the hearts of the Elf-friends were sorely troubled, and many fell away out of fear; and although those that remained still called themselves the Faithful, their enemies named them rebels. For now, having the ears of men, Sauron with many arguments gainsaid all that the Valar had taught; and he bade men think that in the world, in the east and even hi the west, there lay yet many seas and many lands for their winning, wherein was wealth uncounted. And still, if they should at the last come to the end of those lands and seas, beyond all lay the Ancient Darkness. 'And out of it the world was made. For Darkness alone is worshipful, and the Lord thereof may yet make other worlds to be gifts to those that serve him, so that the increase of their power shall find no end.' And Ar-Pharazôn said: 'Who is the Lord of the Darkness?' Then behind locked doors Sauron spoke to the King, and he lied, saying: 'It is he whose name is not now spoken; for the Valar have deceived you concerning him, putting forward the name of Eru, a phantom devised in the folly of their hearts, seeking to enchain Men in servitude to themselves. For they are the oracle of this Eru, which speaks only what they will. But he that is their master shall yet prevail, and he will deliver you from this phantom; and his name is Melkor, Lord of All, Giver of Freedom, and he shall make you stronger than they.' Then Ar-Pharazôn the King turned back to the worship of the Dark, and of Melkor the Lord thereof, at first in secret, but ere long openly and in the face of his people; and they for the most part followed him. Yet there dwelt still a remnant of the Faithful, as has been told, at Rómenna and in the country near, and other few there were here and there in the land. The chief among them, to whom they looked for leading and courage in evil days, was Amandil, councillor of the King, and his son Elendil, whose sons were Isildur and Anárion, then young men by the reckoning of Númenor. Amandil and Elendil were great ship-captains; and they were of the line of Elros Tar-Minyatur, though not of the ruling house to whom belonged the crown and the throne in the city of Armenelos. In the days of their youth together Amandil had been dear to Pharazôn, and though he was of the Elf-friends he remained in his council until the coming of Sauron. Now he was dismissed, for Sauron hated him above all others in Númenor. But he was so noble, and had been so mighty a captain of the sea, that he was still held in honour by many of the people, and neither the King nor Sauron dared to lay hands on him as yet. (...) None too soon was this done; for after the assault the King yielded to Sauron and felled the White Tree, and turned then wholly away from the allegiance of his fathers. But Sauron caused to be built upon the hill in the midst of the city of the Númenóreans, Armenelos the Golden, a mighty temple; and it was in the form of a circle at the base, and there the walls were fifty feet in thickness, and the width of the base was five hundred feet across the centre, and the walls rose from the ground five hundred feet, and they were crowned with a mighty dome. And that dome was roofed all with silver, and rose glittering in the sun, so that the light of it could be seen afar off; but soon the light was darkened, and the silver became black. For there was an altar of fire in the midst of the temple, and in the topmost of the dome there was a louver, whence there issued a great smoke. And the first fire upon the altar Sauron kindled with the hewn wood of Nimloth, and it crackled and was consumed; but men marvelled at the reek that went up from it, so that the land lay under a cloud for seven days, until slowly it passed into the west. Thereafter the fire and smoke went up without ceasing; for the power of Sauron daily increased, and in that temple, with spilling of blood and torment and great wickedness, men made sacrifice to Melkor that he should release them from Death. And most often from among the Faithful they chose their victims; yet never openly on the charge that they would not worship Melkor, the Giver of Freedom, rather was cause sought against them that they hated the King and were his rebels, or that they plotted against their kin, devising lies and poisons. These charges were for the most part false; yet those were bitter days, and hate brings forth hate. But for all this Death did not depart from the land, rather it came sooner and more often, and in many dreadful guises. For whereas aforetime men had grown slowly old, and had laid them down in the end to sleep, when they were weary at last of the world, now madness and sickness assailed them; and yet they were afraid to die and go out into the dark, the realm of the lord that they had taken; and they cursed themselves in their agony. And men took weapons in those days and slew one another for little cause; for they were become quick to anger, and Sauron, or those whom he had bound to himself, went about the land setting man against man, so that the people murmured against the King and the lords, or against any that had aught that they had not; and the men of power took cruel revenge. (...) Thus Ar-Pharazôn, King of the Land of the Star, grew to the mightiest tyrant that had yet been in the world since the reign of Morgoth, though in truth Sauron ruled all from behind the throne. But the years passed, and the King felt the shadow of death approach, as his days lengthened; and he was filled with fear and wrath. Now came the hour that Sauron had prepared and long had awaited. And Sauron spoke to the King, saying that his strength was now so great that he might think to have his will in all things, and be subject to no command or ban. *** This sounds a lot like this: from The World of Ice and Fire: Dominion over mankind then passed to his eldest son, who was known as the Pearl Emperor and ruled for a thousand years. The Jade Emperor, the Tourmaline Emperor, the Onyx Emperor, the Topaz Emperor, and the Opal Emperor followed in turn, each reigning for centuries...yet every reign was shorter and more troubled than the one preceding it, for wild men and baleful beasts pressed at the borders of the Great Empire, lesser kings grew prideful and rebellious, and the common people gave themselves over to avarice, envy, lust, murder, incest, gluttony, and sloth. When the daughter of the Opal Emperor succeeded him as the Amethyst Empress, her envious younger brother cast her down and slew her, proclaiming himself the Bloodstone Emperor and beginning a reign of terror. He practiced dark arts, torture, and necromancy, enslaved his people, took a tiger-woman for his bride, feasted on human flesh, and cast down the true gods to worship a black stone that had fallen from the sky. (Many scholars count the Bloodstone Emperor as the first High Priest of the sinister Church of Starry Wisdom, which persists to this day in many port cities throughout the known world). In the annals of the Further East, it was the Blood Betrayal, as his usurpation is named, that ushered in the age of darkness called the Long Night. Despairing of the evil that had been unleashed on earth, the Maiden-Made-of-Light turned her back upon the world, and the Lion of Night came forth in all his wroth to punish the wickedness of men. Later Elendil escapes from Numenor, shortly before its destruction and settles in Middle-earth. So we should expect to see similar group of GEOTD 'rebels' settle in Westeros (maybe in Oldtown, as @LmL suggests). And name of Queen usurped by Ar-Pharazon means 'jewel-daughter'... Amethyst Empress indeed... Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
LmL Posted January 23, 2017 Share Posted January 23, 2017 Awesome @Blue Tiger, I just got totally lost reading all of that and now I really want to go re read the Silmarillion. Unfortunately I am in between work appointments so I will have to come back to comment a bit later. @ravenous reader, ditto on that, although really quickly I will say thanks for the laughs, and yes, the lime-washing in the quote about the strangler crystals cements the idea that George is aware of the role of limes in whitewashing... plus the Yggy myth refers to both limes and whitewashing it would seem. And yes, I think the dark mirror idea is probably something Martin had in mind - at least, I'm inclined to think it possible and want to dig into it further. The connection between lakes and mirrors is well established, and certainly I take the silver sea for a moon symbol. It used to be one big silver sea, now it is three smaller (but still very large) lakes, one of which seems to be the black and bottomless Womb of the World. I have always taken that for an image of the silver moon turning to three heads of the dragon meteors (just as Dany has 3 dragon chitlins), with the silver to black color change indicative of the corruption of the moon rock, it's being burned and coated in black blood and all that. That BTW is why I believe in a black sword for AA, because all signs point to it being made from the black moon meteorite that the Bloodstone Emperor worshipped, and because all the black swords in the story (including one named Blackfyre) seem to refer back to the archetype 'dark Lightbringer,' as I like to call it. That's one problem with Dawn being Lightbringer, btw (at least, Azor Ahai's Lightbringer) - it's white. And it's not warm. We don't know how much is fable in the Lightbringer myth of course, but even symbolically, LB drank Nissa Nissa's blood and soul... a white sword doesn't seem right. Ok gotta run! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
LmL Posted January 24, 2017 Share Posted January 24, 2017 So, @Blue Tiger, I'd say this is a very comparable story - the GEOTD in a Numenor type civilization, an Atlantis type deal. The idea of cutting down a white tree as a way of sealing their turn to the dark is quite suggestive, and fits well with my notion of AA as a greenseer. And I'd have to say you are quite right to see the parallel between Elendil escaping and the idea of the Daynes and or Hightowers as Amethyst Empress loyalists; if George is thinking of something along these lines, it seems likely he might have had this in mind. So what happens to Elendil? He has a sword named after him, that's the broken one Aragorn needs to get reforged right? Doesn't Isildur die fighting Sauron? Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Bluetiger Posted January 24, 2017 Share Posted January 24, 2017 6 hours ago, LmL said: So, @Blue Tiger, I'd say this is a very comparable story - the GEOTD in a Numenor type civilization, an Atlantis type deal. The idea of cutting down a white tree as a way of sealing their turn to the dark is quite suggestive, and fits well with my notion of AA as a greenseer. And I'd have to say you are quite right to see the parallel between Elendil escaping and the idea of the Daynes and or Hightowers as Amethyst Empress loyalists; if George is thinking of something along these lines, it seems likely he might have had this in mind. So what happens to Elendil? He has a sword named after him, that's the broken one Aragorn needs to get reforged right? Doesn't Isildur die fighting Sauron? From Tolkien Gateway: Elendil Quote Elendil was born in Númenor. He was the son of Amandil, Lord of Andúnië and leader of the Faithful Númenóreans. He was probably named after his ancestor, Tar-Elendil, an ancient King of Númenor; his name also signified his and his family's devotion and friendship to the Elves as Elf-friends, preserving the old beliefs in Ilúvatar and reverence for the Valar. Like his father, he stood against the barbarous practices of Ar-Pharazôn the King and Sauron his advisor. On the advice of his father, who foresaw the coming destruction of Númenor, Elendil put nine ships off the eastern coast and loaded all his people and possessions aboard them. Amandil then followed the actions of their ancestor, Eärendil and left Númenor attempting to warn the Valar of their King's folly. When the catastrophic Downfall occurred in S.A. 3319, Elendil, his sons Isildur and Anárion, and their supporters fled to Middle-earth, sailing east in the nine ships. With them they took the palantíri, the "Seeing Stones" that were given to the Lords of Andúnië by the Elves of Tol Eressëa, the Sceptre of Annúminas, the Ring of Barahir, Narsil which Elendil kept as his sword, and a seedling of Nimloth, the White Tree of Númenor. The ships became separated during the tumultuous voyage to Middle-earth; while Isildur and Anárion landed in the more southerly lands near the haven of the Faithful at Pelargir, Elendil and his people arrived at the northwest near Lindon. For this reason there were two kingdoms of the Númenóreans in exile, Arnor in the north and Gondor in the south. After Elendil finally landed in Middle-earth, he proclaimed in Quenya: "Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta" ("Out of the Great Sea to Middle-earth I am come. In this place will I abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the world"). His heir and great-grandson by 39 generations Aragorn II spoke these words again when he took up the crown of Gondor as King Elessar at the beginning of the Fourth Age. Elendil founded the city of Annúminas in Arnor. His son Anárion established the city of Minas Anor in Anórien, and Isildur founded Minas Ithil in Ithilien. Elendil however ruled as High King of the Dúnedain. In both realms were built towers for the palantíri, with which the lords kept contact. The evil lord Sauron, having lost his shape in the Downfall of Númenor, returned to Middle-earth as a shadow and a black wind over the sea. It came to Mordor, next to Gondor, where Sauron wrought a new guise. In S.A. 3429 Sauron attacked, seizing Minas Ithil. Isildur fled north to his father, leaving Anárion in charge of Gondor. In response, Elendil formed an alliance with Gil-galad, the High King of the Noldor, to repel Sauron's assault. It is said that Elendil bound the Last Alliance with an oath and invoked the name of Eru to witness it. In 3434, the combined forces returned south together and fought in the War of the Last Alliance of Elves and Men. Elendil fought valiantly at the Battle of Dagorlad. At the end of the long Siege of Barad-dûr, in the year S.A. 3441, Sauron came out to personally do battle. Gil-galad and Elendil fought Sauron and cast him down, but were both slain, and Elendil's sword Narsil was broken when he fell. His son Isildur used the broken sword to cut the One Ring from Sauron's hand. However, despite the urgings of Elrond, Isildur chose not to destroy the Ring at Mount Doom and was eventually betrayed by the Ring in the Disaster of the Gladden Fields, slain by Orcs. **** Elendil's name actually means "Devoted to the Stars" in Quenya. For the Dúnedain it was intended to signify "Elf-friend" (Adûnaic Nimruzîr), since they tended to confuse the Quenya element EL for both "Elf" and "star". From Tolkien Gateway: Isildur Quote Isildur was born in Númenor in S.A. 3209. He was the elder son of Elendil, son of Amandil, the last Lord of Andúnië. His younger brother was Anárion. While living in the island realm he married and his first son, Elendur was born in 3299. Isildur learned from Amandil that King Ar-Pharazôn, under the influence of Sauron, purposed to cut down Nimloth. One night Isildur went in disguise to Armenelos and from the courts of the King stole a fruit from the tree before it was cut down, thus preserving the line of the White Tree. It is said that he received grievous wounds from the King's guards before escaping but that they all healed when a leaf first appeared on the sapling that grew from the fruit he had taken. When Ar-Pharazôn ordered the Great Armament to assail the land of Aman, Elendil and his sons prepared ships to escape from Númenor. In the ship of Isildur was guarded the young White Tree.When the Downfall of Númenor came in 3319 Elendil and his son escaped in nine ships – four for Elendil, three for Isildur, and two for Anárion. **** After the fall of Sauron, Isildur returned to Gondor and assumed the Elendilmir, proclaiming his Kingship in Arnor and sovereign lordship over the Dúnedain in both the North and the South. He remained for a year in the South, planted the seedling of the White Tree in Minas Anor, put the realm to order, and instructed Meneldil, son of his brother Anárion, in the governance of the land. With Meneldil and a company of trusted friends, Isildur rode about the boundaries of Gondor and in Anórien created the tomb and memorial of Elendil upon the hill of Eilenaer, thereafter called Amon Anwar. While he remained there, he wrote an account on how he acquired the Ring, its significance to his House and where he transcribed a verse around the Ring while it was still hot. When Isildur finally felt free to leave he committed the rule of Gondor to Meneldil and with his three sons departed on 5 Ivanneth, T.A. 2. Instead of heading west and then north they journeyed northwards along the Anduin in order to first come to Imladris. On the thirtieth day of the journey, 5 Narbeleth, the King, his sons, and his Guard of two hundred knights and soldiers reached the northern borders of the Gladden Fields. There they were ambushed by a band of Orcs said to be ten times their number. As the Orcs closed in, Isildur sent his esquire Ohtar with one companion to fly with the shards of Narsil. The enemy charged and charged again. One by one Isildur's sons died about him; Elendur was the last and he insisted that Isildur leave with the One Ring. Isildur placed the Ring upon his finger and vanished from the battle. Isildur ran to the Anduin and swam across the river. It was during this effort that the One Ring slipped from his finger. As he struggled to escape the reeds and rushes on the shore a small party of Orcs spotted him and shot him. He fell back into the water and no trace of him was found by Elves or Men. **** The line of Isildur continued, for Valandil became king of Arnor. Isildur's line continued unbroken throughout the Third Age until it formed the basis for Aragorn's claim to the kingship of Arnor and Gondor after the downfall of Sauron.[8] In the riddling rhyme "Seek for the Sword that was Broken" the Ring is referred to cryptically as Isildur's Bane. After the War of the Ring the tower of Orthanc was opened, for King Elessar desired its restoration. Behind a hidden door in a steel closet was found Isildur's Elendilmir. It was surmised that Saruman had found the bones of the long-lost king and had taken the mithril fillet with its jewel for his own, possibly destroying the king's remains afterwards. **** Isildur is a Quenya name, meaning "Devoted to the Moon" One of Lord Lothar Mallery's and Beric's companions was Ser GLADDEN Wylde... and just like Isildur, they were ambushed near a river... From Tolkien Gateway: Narsil Quote The sword was forged during the First Age by the famed Dwarven-smith Telchar. In the Second Age, Narsil was an heirloom of the descendants of Elros, the first King of Númenor. Although nothing is said of Narsil during this period, it eventually came into the hands of Elendil, a distant descendant, towards the close of the Second Age. Elendil carried Narsil in the Siege of Barad-dûr, but Sauron killed him and the sword broke into two pieces under him as he fell. Elendil's son Isildur took up the sword and used its shard to cut the One Ring from the hand of Sauron. Isildur took the shards home with him. Shortly before Isildur was killed in the second year of the Third Age in the Disaster of the Gladden Fields, the shards were rescued by Ohtar, esquire of Isildur. He took them to Rivendell, where Isildur's youngest son Valandil was fostered. The Shards of Narsil were one of the heirlooms of the Kings of Arnor, and after the Northern Kingdom was destroyed they remained an heirloom of the Rangers of the North. It was not reforged until the War of the Ring at the end of the Third Age in Rivendell as Andúril, the "Flame of the West", for Aragorn, who was by that time the Chieftain of the Dúnedain and heir of Isildur. He carried the sword during his journey south as part of the Fellowship of the Ring, and fought with it in many instances. He referred to it as the "Sword That Was Broken" or "The Sword Reforged". **** Narsil is a Quenya name meaning "red and white flame". The name is said to consist of the stems NAR ("fire"; cf. nár "fire") + THIL ("white light"). It was a symbolic name, pointing to the Sun and the Moon, the "chief heavenly lights, as enemies of darkness". Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Bluetiger Posted January 24, 2017 Share Posted January 24, 2017 But there's another sword that sounds more like Lightbringer - From Tolkien Gateway: Anglachel: Quote Anglachel was the sword forged by Eöl the Dark Elf from a meteorite. Its mate was Anguirel. The blade was black but also glowed and was so hard that it could easily slice through iron. It was said that it was imbued with Eöl's malice and was apparently sentient. Eöl gave Anglachel to his lord, King Thingol of Doriath, as payment for letting him dwell in the Forest of Nan Elmoth. Thingol would not bear it, as Melian warned him that there was malice in the blade, so it stayed in the armoury of Menegroth. In F.A. 487 Thingol allowed Beleg Strongbow to take any weapon in his search of his friend Túrin Turambar, and he took Anglachel. He tracked down the Orcs taking Túrin captive to Angband and in the dead of night, sought to free him in secret. But when he used Anglachel to cut the bonds of Túrin, due to the spite of its forger it slipped and pricked the unconscious body of Túrin. Awakening from his stupor, Túrin thought the Orcs had returned to torture him, and during the struggle he slew Beleg with the blade. After the fight, Anglachel's edges became dull and turned a dead black and for that time ceased to glow with a 'pale fire'. This was attributed to its apparent sentience as Anglachel was in a state of mourning over the slaying of Beleg. Túrin later reforged the sword with the help of the smiths of Nargothrond. The blade remained black, however, and Túrin renamed it Gurthang, meaning 'iron of death'. Anglachel was the sword that Túrin used to kill Glaurung Christopher Tolkien notes that Anglachel contains the Sindarin word ang ("iron") and probably the element lhach ("leaping flame"). This would give the meaning "Flaming Iron". The last element in Anglachel could be êl ("star"). And Anguirel: Quote Anguirel was one of a pair of iron-cutting swords forged by Eöl, the Dark Elf, from an iron meteorite. Anguirel's mate was Anglachel, which Eöl gave to Thingol in payment for leave to dwell in Nan Elmoth. Anguirel's history is far more mysterious. The only specific detail we have is that Eöl kept it for himself, but it was stolen by his son Maeglin. This must have happened when Maeglin and his mother Aredhel fled Nan Elmoth for Gondolin, so presumably the sword was taken to Turgon's hidden city. What became of it after that is unknown. The etymology of Anguirel is not as clear as its mate. It might mean "Iron of the Eternal Star", from ang "iron", uir "eternal" and el "star". Hmmm.... I think it'd be a good idea to move this discussion to Amber Compendium thread... Tolkien wanted to create mythology and he did, so it's fitting to talk about it among Norse, Celtic, Baltic, Arthutian etc. stuff. Btw, this quote from JRRT is quite similar to Campbell's ideas: Quote We have come from God, and inevitably the myths woven by us, though they contain error, will also reflect a splintered fragment of the true light, the eternal truth that is with God. Indeed only by myth-making, only by becoming 'sub-creator' and inventing stories, can Man aspire to the state of perfection that he knew before the Fall. Our myths may be misguided, but they steer however shakily towards the true harbour, while materialistic 'progress' leads only to a yawning abyss and the Iron Crown of the power of evil. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Pain killer Jane Posted January 25, 2017 Share Posted January 25, 2017 On 1/23/2017 at 1:36 PM, ravenous reader said: Laughing at ourselves and the wild absurdity of it all, laugh with me. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
LmL Posted January 25, 2017 Share Posted January 25, 2017 22 hours ago, Blue Tiger said: Narsil is a Quenya name meaning "red and white flame". The name is said to consist of the stems NAR ("fire"; cf. nár "fire") + THIL ("white light"). It was a symbolic name, pointing to the Sun and the Moon, the "chief heavenly lights, as enemies of darkness". Alright, all very interesting reading (really need to re read the Silmarillion!), but this stood out. A red and white fire sword, and it's the one which breaks. Dawn breaks, right? That's the saying, right? Last Hero's sword, broken, Waymar's sword, broken, Beric's sword, broken, Ned's sword, broken (split). Maybe one day we will get an answer to this stuff. There is SOMETHING going on with broken swords and reforged swords in this story, but it is very hard to suss it out with all the damn inversions and contradictions. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ravenous reader Posted January 26, 2017 Author Share Posted January 26, 2017 3 hours ago, Daendrew said: Thanks " In essence, by slaying the “bull,” Mithras was acting as a “corn king”. For those unfamiliar, a Corn King is a catchall term for a king or god who is sacrificed for the greater good of his people. The term is often associated with Sir James Frazer’s thesis of a sacred, sacrificial god-king, which he explored in his famous work The Golden Bough. Commonly, the Corn King’s sacrifice is intended to usher in a fruitful harvest before the winter comes. As already noted, the slaying of the white bull results in the first grain and grapes – the first harvest. Jon is directly tied to the “corn king” mythos in the text: " "John Barleycorn" -- Traffic There were three men came out of the West, Their fortunes for to try, And these three men made a solemn vow: John Barleycorn must die. They've ploughed, they've sown, they've harrowed him in, Threw clods upon his head, And these three men made a solemn vow: John Barleycorn was dead. They've let him lie for a very long time, Till the rains from heaven did fall, And little Sir John sprung up his head, And so amazed them all. They've let him stand till midsummer's day, Till he looked both pale and wan, And little Sir John's grown a long, long beard, And so become a man. They've hired men with the scythes so sharp, To cut him off at the knee, They've rolled him and tied him by the way, Serving him most barbarously. They've hired men with the sharp pitchforks, Who pricked him to the heart, And the loader he has served him worse than that, For he's bound him to the cart They've wheeled him around and around the field, Till they came unto a barn, And there they made a solemn oath, On poor John Barleycorn. They've hired men with the crab-tree sticks, To cut him skin from bone, And the miller he has served him worse than that, For he's ground him between two stones. And little Sir John and the nut-brown bowl, And he's brandy in the glass; And little Sir John and the nut-brown bowl, Proved the strongest man at last. The huntsman, he can't hunt the fox, Nor so loudly to blow his horn, And the tinker he can't mend kettle nor pot, Without a little Barleycorn John Barleycorn: A Ballad 1782 There was three kings into the east, Three kings both great and high, And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn should die. They took a plough and plough'd him down, Put clods upon his head, And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn was dead. But the cheerful Spring came kindly on, And show'rs began to fall; John Barleycorn got up again, And sore surpris'd them all. The sultry suns of Summer came, And he grew thick and strong; His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears, That no one should him wrong. The sober Autumn enter'd mild, When he grew wan and pale; His bending joints and drooping head Show'd he began to fail. His colour sicken'd more and more, He faded into age; And then his enemies began To show their deadly rage. They've taen a weapon, long and sharp, And cut him by the knee; Then tied him fast upon a cart, Like a rogue for forgerie. They laid him down upon his back, And cudgell'd him full sore; They hung him up before the storm, And turned him o'er and o'er. They filled up a darksome pit With water to the brim; They heaved in John Barleycorn, There let him sink or swim. They laid him out upon the floor, To work him farther woe; And still, as signs of life appear'd, They toss'd him to and fro. They wasted, o'er a scorching flame, The marrow of his bones; But a miller us'd him worst of all, For he crush'd him between two stones. And they hae taen his very heart's blood, And drank it round and round; And still the more and more they drank, Their joy did more abound. John Barleycorn was a hero bold, Of noble enterprise; For if you do but taste his blood, 'Twill make your courage rise. 'Twill make a man forget his woe; 'Twill heighten all his joy; 'Twill make the widow's heart to sing, Tho' the tear were in her eye. Then let us toast John Barleycorn, Each man a glass in hand; And may his great posterity Ne'er fail in old Scotland! ROBERT BURNS Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
LmL Posted January 26, 2017 Share Posted January 26, 2017 10 hours ago, ravenous reader said: "John Barleycorn" -- Traffic There were three men came out of the West, Their fortunes for to try, And these three men made a solemn vow: John Barleycorn must die. They've ploughed, they've sown, they've harrowed him in, Threw clods upon his head, And these three men made a solemn vow: John Barleycorn was dead. They've let him lie for a very long time, Till the rains from heaven did fall, And little Sir John sprung up his head, And so amazed them all. They've let him stand till midsummer's day, Till he looked both pale and wan, And little Sir John's grown a long, long beard, And so become a man. They've hired men with the scythes so sharp, To cut him off at the knee, They've rolled him and tied him by the way, Serving him most barbarously. They've hired men with the sharp pitchforks, Who pricked him to the heart, And the loader he has served him worse than that, For he's bound him to the cart They've wheeled him around and around the field, Till they came unto a barn, And there they made a solemn oath, On poor John Barleycorn. They've hired men with the crab-tree sticks, To cut him skin from bone, And the miller he has served him worse than that, For he's ground him between two stones. And little Sir John and the nut-brown bowl, And he's brandy in the glass; And little Sir John and the nut-brown bowl, Proved the strongest man at last. The huntsman, he can't hunt the fox, Nor so loudly to blow his horn, And the tinker he can't mend kettle nor pot, Without a little Barleycorn John Barleycorn: A Ballad 1782 There was three kings into the east, Three kings both great and high, And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn should die. They took a plough and plough'd him down, Put clods upon his head, And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn was dead. But the cheerful Spring came kindly on, And show'rs began to fall; John Barleycorn got up again, And sore surpris'd them all. The sultry suns of Summer came, And he grew thick and strong; His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears, That no one should him wrong. The sober Autumn enter'd mild, When he grew wan and pale; His bending joints and drooping head Show'd he began to fail. His colour sicken'd more and more, He faded into age; And then his enemies began To show their deadly rage. They've taen a weapon, long and sharp, And cut him by the knee; Then tied him fast upon a cart, Like a rogue for forgerie. They laid him down upon his back, And cudgell'd him full sore; They hung him up before the storm, And turned him o'er and o'er. They filled up a darksome pit With water to the brim; They heaved in John Barleycorn, There let him sink or swim. They laid him out upon the floor, To work him farther woe; And still, as signs of life appear'd, They toss'd him to and fro. They wasted, o'er a scorching flame, The marrow of his bones; But a miller us'd him worst of all, For he crush'd him between two stones. And they hae taen his very heart's blood, And drank it round and round; And still the more and more they drank, Their joy did more abound. John Barleycorn was a hero bold, Of noble enterprise; For if you do but taste his blood, 'Twill make your courage rise. 'Twill make a man forget his woe; 'Twill heighten all his joy; 'Twill make the widow's heart to sing, Tho' the tear were in her eye. Then let us toast John Barleycorn, Each man a glass in hand; And may his great posterity Ne'er fail in old Scotland! ROBERT BURNS A good illustration of the concept of the fertility god as an embodiment of the harvest, very nice. Here's a somewhat similar ditty, by Jethro Tull (the band my dad raised me on as a young child): Have you seen Jack-in-the-Green? With his long tail hanging down. He sits quietly under every tree In the folds of his velvet gown. He drinks from the empty acorn cup. The dew that dawn sweetly bestows. And taps his cane upon the ground - Signals the snow drops, it's time to grow It's no fun being Jack-in-the-Green: No place to dance, no time for song. He wears the colours of the summer soldier; And carries the green flag all the winter long. Jack do you never sleep - does the green still run deep in your heart? Or will these changing times, motorways, powerlines, keep us apart? Well, I don't think so. I saw some grass growing through the pavements today. The Rowan, the Oak and the Holly tree Are the charges left for him to groom. Each blade of grass whispers, "Jack-in-the-Green." "Oh Jack, please help me through my winter's night." And - "We are the berries on the Holly tree: Oh, the Mistle Thrush is coming. Jack, put out the light!" Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ravenous reader Posted January 26, 2017 Author Share Posted January 26, 2017 22 hours ago, LmL said: On 1/26/2017 at 0:57 AM, ravenous reader said: "John Barleycorn" -- Traffic Reveal hidden contents There were three men came out of the West, Their fortunes for to try, And these three men made a solemn vow: John Barleycorn must die. They've ploughed, they've sown, they've harrowed him in, Threw clods upon his head, And these three men made a solemn vow: John Barleycorn was dead. They've let him lie for a very long time, Till the rains from heaven did fall, And little Sir John sprung up his head, And so amazed them all. They've let him stand till midsummer's day, Till he looked both pale and wan, And little Sir John's grown a long, long beard, And so become a man. They've hired men with the scythes so sharp, To cut him off at the knee, They've rolled him and tied him by the way, Serving him most barbarously. They've hired men with the sharp pitchforks, Who pricked him to the heart, And the loader he has served him worse than that, For he's bound him to the cart They've wheeled him around and around the field, Till they came unto a barn, And there they made a solemn oath, On poor John Barleycorn. They've hired men with the crab-tree sticks, To cut him skin from bone, And the miller he has served him worse than that, For he's ground him between two stones. And little Sir John and the nut-brown bowl, And he's brandy in the glass; And little Sir John and the nut-brown bowl, Proved the strongest man at last. The huntsman, he can't hunt the fox, Nor so loudly to blow his horn, And the tinker he can't mend kettle nor pot, Without a little Barleycorn John Barleycorn: A Ballad 1782 There was three kings into the east, Three kings both great and high, And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn should die. They took a plough and plough'd him down, Put clods upon his head, And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn was dead. But the cheerful Spring came kindly on, And show'rs began to fall; John Barleycorn got up again, And sore surpris'd them all. The sultry suns of Summer came, And he grew thick and strong; His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears, That no one should him wrong. The sober Autumn enter'd mild, When he grew wan and pale; His bending joints and drooping head Show'd he began to fail. His colour sicken'd more and more, He faded into age; And then his enemies began To show their deadly rage. They've taen a weapon, long and sharp, And cut him by the knee; Then tied him fast upon a cart, Like a rogue for forgerie. They laid him down upon his back, And cudgell'd him full sore; They hung him up before the storm, And turned him o'er and o'er. They filled up a darksome pit With water to the brim; They heaved in John Barleycorn, There let him sink or swim. They laid him out upon the floor, To work him farther woe; And still, as signs of life appear'd, They toss'd him to and fro. They wasted, o'er a scorching flame, The marrow of his bones; But a miller us'd him worst of all, For he crush'd him between two stones. And they hae taen his very heart's blood, And drank it round and round; And still the more and more they drank, Their joy did more abound. John Barleycorn was a hero bold, Of noble enterprise; For if you do but taste his blood, 'Twill make your courage rise. 'Twill make a man forget his woe; 'Twill heighten all his joy; 'Twill make the widow's heart to sing, Tho' the tear were in her eye. Then let us toast John Barleycorn, Each man a glass in hand; And may his great posterity Ne'er fail in old Scotland! ROBERT BURNS A good illustration of the concept of the fertility god as an embodiment of the harvest, very nice. Yes, GRRM is definitely referencing that old folksong by naming one of the rangers 'Tom Barleycorn.' In addition, I believe we're supposed to relate 'Jon' and 'Tom', due to the assonance and consonance of the names, which means that they almost rhyme, to add to the cumulative evidence of Jon Snow as our main sacrificial 'John Barleycorn' figure at the Wall. When Jon smells 'Tom Barleycorn' before he sees him, that echoes all the times the direwolves sniff at the wights and seem to recognize the smell of death, e.g. in Jon's so-called 'weirwood sapling' dream when Ghost discerns the smell of death emanating from the cave where his brother Summer is holed up. Therefore, 'Tom Barleycorn' and 'barleycorn' in general can be considered symbolic of the fertility god as well as the darker aspects of the deity, the bounty and sacrifice of course being related to each other -- one might say 'feeding off' one another: Quote The World of Ice and Fire - The Reach: Garth Greenhand There is disagreement even on his name. Garth Greenhand, we call him, but in the oldest tales he is named Garth Greenhair, or simply Garth the Green. Some stories say he had green hands, green hair, or green skin overall. (A few even give him antlers, like a stag.) Others tell us that he dressed in green from head to foot, and certainly this is how he is most commonly depicted in paintings, tapestries, and sculptures. More likely, his sobriquet derived from his gifts as a gardener and a tiller of the soil—the one trait on which all the tales agree. "Garth made the corn ripen, the trees fruit, and the flowers bloom," the singers tell us. A few of the very oldest tales of Garth Greenhand present us with a considerably darker deity, one who demanded blood sacrifice from his worshippers to ensure a bountiful harvest. In some stories the green god dies every autumn when the trees lose their leaves, only to be reborn with the coming of spring. This version of Garth is largely forgotten. Quote A Dance with Dragons - Jon VII Ghost bounded toward the trees, slipped between two white-cloaked pines, and vanished in a cloud of snow. He wants to hunt, but what? Jon did not fear for the direwolf so much as for any wildlings he might encounter. A white wolf in a white wood, silent as a shadow. They will never know he's coming. He knew better than to go chasing him. Ghost would return when he wanted to and not before. Jon put his heels into his horse. His men fell in around them, the hooves of their garrons breaking through the icy crust to the softer snow beneath. Into the woods they went, at a steady walking pace, as the Wall dwindled behind them. 'Into the woods they went...' LOL [subtext: and mayhaps never to re-emerge...'Good men have gone into those woods before, and never come out. All Bran could think of was Old Nan's story of the Others and the last hero...' (AGOT-BranIV)]. (also funny in light of the Jethro Tull album from which you quoted, very appositely entitled 'Songs from the Wood'...) Quote The soldier pines and sentinels wore thick white coats, and icicles draped the bare brown limbs of the broadleafs. Jon sent Tom Barleycorn ahead to scout for them, though the way to the white grove was oft trod and familiar. Big Liddle and Luke of Longtown slipped into the brush to east and west. They would flank the column to give warning of any approach. All were seasoned rangers, armed with obsidian as well as steel, warhorns slung across their saddles should they need to summon help. The others were good men too. Good men in a fight, at least, and loyal to their brothers. Jon could not speak for what they might have been before they reached the Wall, but he did not doubt that most had pasts as black as their cloaks. Up here, they were the sort of men he wanted at his back. Their hoods were raised against the biting wind, and some had scarves wrapped about their faces, hiding their features. Jon knew them, though. Every name was graven on his heart. They were his men, his brothers. 'The others were good men too...' [depending on your threshold for suspicion regarding GRRM's intentions, this echoes the other 'good men' he referenced, and I cited above, who go into the wood and never come out...those ones, right? ]-- another of GRRM's sly witticisms likewise 'slipped into the brush,' so that if we're not paying attention we might just miss it! As Jon notes, their pasts may have been 'black', but in the gruelling crucible of the Watch they've been transformed -- and now they're the sort one wants at ones back ('the sort' of skinchanger zombies who can withstand the burning cold, no doubt). These 'good others' have become featureless, with their hoods raised and scarves wrapped around their faces -- a bit like Coldhands -- so that to a casual glance one might not be able to discern if such a good one is breathing or not! Quote A Dance with Dragons - Jon VII Half a mile from the grove, long red shafts of autumn sunlight were slanting down between the branches of the leafless trees, staining the snowdrifts pink. As if there's been a sacrifice in the hallowed forest, echoing the one which began AGOT in which the beheaded ranger's blood is compared to a spray of 'summerwine' watering the ground around the ironwood stump, and which is swallowed by the snow and the tree's roots presumably. This might introduce a new interpretation of the lines 'For the Watch' repeated with each dagger thrust as the brothers ritually take turns to stab Jon to death. Perhaps it's necessary for the survival of the Watch and the realm that a 'chosen' ranger (i.e. a 'Jon Barleycorn') must be ritually sacrificed, in order to be 'wighted' so that he can take on the 'Wild Hunt' at the helm of his own wild band of brothers. A few must die so that the many can survive. Quote A Dance with Dragons - Jon XIII Then Bowen Marsh stood there before him, tears running down his cheeks. "For the Watch." He punched Jon in the belly. When he pulled his hand away, the dagger stayed where he had buried it. Jon fell to his knees. He found the dagger's hilt and wrenched it free. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. "Ghost," he whispered. Pain washed over him. Stick them with the pointy end. When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold … Returning to the passage we were parsing: Quote The riders crossed a frozen stream, between two jagged rocks armored in ice, then followed a twisting game trail to the northeast. Whenever the wind kicked up, sprays of loose snow filled the air and stung their eyes. Jon pulled his scarf up over his mouth and nose and raised the hood on his cloak. "Not far now," he told the men. No one replied. Jon smelled Tom Barleycorn before he saw him. Or was it Ghost who smelled him? Of late, Jon Snow sometimes felt as if he and the direwolf were one, even awake. The great white wolf appeared first, shaking off the snow. A few moments later Tom was there. "Wildlings," he told Jon, softly. "In the grove." Jon brought the riders to a halt. "How many?" Given that Tom Barleycorn's 'arrival' represents the advent of Jon's death by ritual sacrifice, I find it highly significant that Jon's wolf Ghost symbolically outwits him, getting a whiff of the danger and arriving before him. Ghost's arrival just before the euphemistic 'Tom' who arrives at the scene a few moments later, together with Jon's recognition that 'he and the direwolf were one even awake' might support your 'soul jar' theory, whereby Ghost would safeguard Jon's spirit, preventing the usual process of mindless zombification, or at least ameliorate it. Significantly, 'Ghost' is also the last word and therefore last thought Jon has when he's lying there, dying. With respect to the folk song 'John Barleycorn,' it's also useful to consider that the song is primarily about fermenting grain in order to make spirits, most notably whiskey (the poem I provided following the 'Traffic' version is written by Scotland's national poet Robert Burns, and describes the Scottish national drink). In a stepwise process similar to alchemy, the mixture undergoes 'malting' -- drowning; 'mashing' -- wounding; 'fermentation' -- transformation ; 'distillation' -- firing, purification; 'maturation' -- in OAK barrels (literally a 'spirit' in a tree!) 'Distilling the spirit' can therefore be understood figuratively in terms of opening ones third eye. Moreover, this 'spirit' represents the blood of the chosen one sacrificed in aid of the welfare and regeneration of those who then partake thereof and 'drink from the cup of fire [and perhaps also ice]...'-- almost in Holy Communion (and note, 'welfare' or 'well-being' is related to drinking from the 'well', which might very well be a person): They wasted, o'er a scorching flame, The marrow of his bones; But a miller us'd him worst of all, For he crush'd him between two stones. And they hae taen his very heart's blood, And drank it round and round; And still the more and more they drank, Their joy did more abound. The fact that barleycorn is associated with ritual sacrifice does not bode well for Sweetrobin or Bran either: Quote A Feast for Crows - Alayne II "This descent . . . my lady, it might be safest if I mixed his lordship some milk of the poppy. Mya Stone could lash him over the back of her most surefooted mule whilst he slumbered." "The Lord of the Eyrie cannot descend from his mountain tied up like a sack of barleycorn." Of that Alayne was certain. They dare not let the full extent of Robert's frailty and cowardice become too widely known, her father had warned her. I wish he were here. He would know what to do. A Dance with Dragons - Bran III Under the hill they still had food to eat. A hundred kinds of mushrooms grew down here. Blind white fish swam in the black river, but they tasted just as good as fish with eyes once you cooked them up. They had cheese and milk from the goats that shared the caves with the singers, even some oats and barleycorn and dried fruit laid by during the long summer. And almost every day they ate blood stew, thickened with barley and onions and chunks of meat. Jojen thought it might be squirrel meat, and Meera said that it was rat. Bran did not care. It was meat and it was good. The stewing made it tender. The Children have some barleycorn stashed away in order to survive the Winter; guess now they have some 'bran' to tide them over too... Quote Here's a somewhat similar ditty, by Jethro Tull (the band my dad raised me on as a young child): That's a nice memory! Quote Have you seen Jack-in-the-Green? With his long tail hanging down. He sits quietly under every tree In the folds of his velvet gown. He drinks from the empty acorn cup. The dew that dawn sweetly bestows. And taps his cane upon the ground - Signals the snow drops, it's time to grow It's no fun being Jack-in-the-Green: No place to dance, no time for song.He wears the colours of the summer soldier; And carries the green flag all the winter long. Jack do you never sleep - does the green still run deep in your heart? Beautiful. Especially the 'green still runs deep in your heart' which reminds me of the eternal godswood and the 'green blood' of Garth the Green flowing through the veins of so many. In that Jack-in-the-Green is compared to a soldier who gets no rest, I'm reminded of the Night's Watch brothers, who must go on fighting, even after death, as Ed quips in that delightful quote you found: Quote A Storm of Swords - Samwell II Sun or snow. Sam glanced up anxiously at the sky. "Snow?" he squeaked. "We . . . ride? All of us?" "Well, no, some will need to walk." He shook himself. "Dywen now, he says we need to learn to ride dead horses, like the Others do. He claims it would save on feed. How much could a dead horse eat?" Edd laced himself back up. "Can't say I fancy the notion. Once they figure a way to work a dead horse, we'll be next. Likely I'll be the first too. 'Edd,' they'll say, 'dying's no excuse for lying down no more, so get on up and take this spear, you've got the watch tonight.' Well, I shouldn't be so gloomy. Might be I'll die before they work it out." Might be we'll all die, and sooner than we'd like, Sam thought, as he climbed awkwardly to his feet. Quote Or will these changing times, motorways, powerlines, keep us apart? Well, I don't think so. I saw some grass growing through the pavements today. The Rowan, the Oak and the Holly tree Are the charges left for him to groom. Each blade of grass whispers, "Jack-in-the-Green." "Oh Jack, please help me through my winter's night." And - "We are the berries on the Holly tree: Oh, the Mistle Thrush is coming. Jack, put out the light!" Edited 2 hours ago by LmL Interesting that those three trees are named specifically: referencing the mythic import of the Holly vs. Oak kings in their eternal battle, passing the baton between Winter and Summer respectively; and the Rowan which is just another name for the mountain Ash, invoking Yggdrasil once again. What do you think is meant by the last two lines? Why do the berries of the Holly tree beseech Jack to 'put out the light'? What light? I'm not completely sure of the interpretation, but I'll take a stab at it, beginning with the folklore of the mistle thrush, the bird referenced in the poem. The 'mistle thrush' is so named because it's so fond of eating mistletoe (in addition to holly) berries. It's a common sight and sound in Winter, and actually prefers that season, so its harsh cry -- compared to a (?death) 'rattle' or 'harlot's chortle' (reminiscent of the 'devil's bluster')-- is deemed to herald the Winter season. Since holly berries represent the blood of the Winter sacrifice (analogous to the drops of Christ's blood accompanying the garland or wreath of thorns), as the white mistletoe berries harvested by the druids around the Winter Solstice represent the semen from the castrated male fertility god; when the speaker says 'We are the berries...' I think he's referring to human beings as berries yearning to survive the Winter -- in ASOIAF terms the Long Night. Just as the grass with which we coexist in nature desires to preserve its 'green'...beseeching 'Jack', almost in prayer to the deity, 'Oh Jack, please help me through my winter's night.' The grim truth behind the green fertility deity, however, just as in the case of Garth the Green -- the truth that has been conveniently forgotten -- is that one entity can only make it through the proverbial long night to re-emerge in spring at the expense of the sacrifice of another. Thus, the selfsame 'green god' who preserves the grass is also simultaneously nurturing the 'mistle thrush', who depends on the mistletoe berry savior in order to successfully make it through the Winter. Quote They call him everything from mizzly Dick to Jeremy joy and he’s said to be deaf, speak seven languages and grow a new set of legs every decade. What is certain is that Britain’s largest songbird, the mistle thrush, maintains a powerful treetop presence throughout the cold months and is, effectively, our countryside’s winter clarion. That's like the blasts on the horn announcing the others... Quote Turdus viscivorus (the Linnaean name signifies ‘devourer of mistletoe’) belongs to a group of birds that appears on every Continent, from the Arctic to Cape Horn, and he is distributed widely in Europe and across to Siberia. Most of our population is sedentary, although there is partial migration south during harsh weather. With a penchant for open parkland, orchards and suburban gardens, mistles occasionally roam in small flocks, but by autumn’s end, they are already roosting in pairs. Sometimes known as big Mavis or the bull thrush, at 11in long, both sexes are noticeably larger than their much commoner cousin the song thrush, with whom they are frequently confused. The overall appearance of viscivorus is paler colder, even featuring ash-brown upper parts, a buff breast heavily marked with chestnut wedges (another sobriquet is marble thrush) and, in flight, telltale white flashes to the underwings. Like its fellow turdine the fieldfare, its wings are occasionally closed between beats, imparting a bounding rhythm to the aerial progress. A statuesque and spirited bird, the mistle’s upright stance on the ground bespeaks avian alertness. The dry, clattering alarm call has been compared to wood being scraped against a comb and gives rise to such local nicknames as skrite and jercock. That early Christian killjoy Clement of Alexandria likened this sound to ‘a harlot’s chortle’, although one wonders which hedgerows he frequented. The actual song, which one can hear from October through to May, is often described as wild or broken; a far-carrying, semi-continuous series of rough notes, it lacks both the rich musicality of the familiar song thrush and the blackbird’s fluting quality, but seems uniquely to defy the elements. The mistle famously eschews the onset of inclement weather, raising a welcome voice even during squalls of snow. This hibernal soloist is often dubbed the stormcock for its unseasonal boldness. A Renaissance poem, The Harmony of Birds, has it caroling ‘Sanctus, sanctus’ an improvement on whatever they heard down Alexandria way. As far back as Aristotle, these birds were described as feeding off mistle-toe although, in Mediterranean vine-yards, the hemiparasite bears red berries. English folk belief maintains the viscous fruits can only germinate once they have passed through a thrush’s system the plant’s name derives from an ancient word for ‘dung twig’ but just as likely a method is the wiping of sticky beaks on branches. Oh, by the way, I also read they enjoy the hawthorn. Quote The big Mavis is actually an omnivore; as well as gorging on berries from ivy, mountain ash and holly (holm screech is yet another name), it seeks out beetles and worms and occasionally breaks snails on a stone anvil. Ted Hughes celebrated its mechanical feeding energy: ‘Nothing but bounce and stab.’ It requires a wide foraging territory of up to 40 acres per pair and, although rather shy during most of the year, has a pugnacious reputation for protecting its food sites, particularly in raw weather. Such ‘resource guarding’ has earned it the Welsh title Pen y Llwyn or ‘master of the coppice’. Any cock bird calling from atop a winter food supply is likely to attract a ready mate one reason mistle thrushes are notably early breeders. With courtship beginning before any other garden species, they may begin nidification in February and aren’t fussy about sites. Rock ledges and even buildings may be selected, but the preferred location is the fork of a branch a safe distance above ground. Since this may involve a deciduous tree still bare before spring, the nest is uncommonly conspicuous ‘you do not find a mistle thrush’s nest; it finds you’, wrote Viscount Grey of Fallodon. Its large mossy cup is reinforced with mud and may incorporate what one ornithologist terms ‘the rejectamenta’ of human untidiness scraps of paper, plastic or wool. Often double-brooded, between March and June the mistle lays a clutch of five or six greenish eggs, intensely spotted with lilac and brown. The bulky nest is a target for jackdaws, cats and other predators, which the parents combat ferociously; they are said to take on human intruders and even to slay various fledgling cousins. Under such circumstances, the ‘butcher bird’ does not sound like such a misnomer. Although toxic to us, mistletoe has long been credited with medicinal properties and its identification with this bird meant mizzly Dick was once hunted for his flesh as a cure for epilepsy. Thrushes have historically been trapped for the table and Erasmus records a Latin proverb to the effect that ‘the thrush excretes trouble for itself’—the mistletoe gum was a key ingredient in manufacturing birdlime. Cooked like quail casseroled in Madeira, perhaps, or roasted with fines herbes they are reputedly delicious. I once enjoyed a luncheon of pâté de grives, with a carafe of Château des Moines claret. Old Clement would surely have disapproved. LOL. Now we've got to potentially worry about 'birdlime' too... Because the holly berries fear the advent of the 'butcher bird', they beg Jack-in-the-green to 'put out the light, ' not realising that the light he guards all winter long depends on someone going underground (i.e. dying in order to bring back the light) -- equivalent to the motif of the underground son/sun in the cave -- or if realising that a sacrifice is necessary, beg Jack not to sacrifice them and to shine his light someone else's way! Alternatively, the injunction to 'put out the light' may refer to the consuming aspect of a fire rather than its illumination. Essentially, the berries are saying: 'Please don't burn us!' We may conclude the distress that 'the mistle thrush is coming' = 'Winter is coming!' Needless to say, it's also ironic that the one whose light is about to be put out (a euphemism for ones lifeforce being extinguished) is the same one entreating Jack to 'put out the light'... Likewise, Jethro Tull explores the 'darker side of the deity' (which paradoxically may involve someone getting burnt) in another song (rather an upbeat little jig for such a dark theme!). 'Crimson wonder' refers to the sacrificial cup of blood by which the season is renewed at Beltane ('drink from the cup of ice... drink from the cup of fire'), although I've read the songwriter himself, Ian Anderson, insists it's mainly about getting jolly on red wine (and that the Jack-in-the-Green figure is one of many little woodland sprites that care for plants)! This is the reason I would caution you not to insist we only stick to allusions which GRRM 'intended,' since language has a habit -- as a communal, inherited, archetypal archaeology -- to express its history, and perhaps even its future, without us realizing it. (Actually, there are a few 'heretics' who spring to mind who would also argue that GRRM never intended to foreground anything to do with 'meteors,' and that accordingly you ...and I suppose indeed I... are/am barking up the wrong tree -- yet the myth clearly operates in the background, nevertheless). Cup of Wonder May I make my fond excuses for the lateness of the hour, but we accept your invitation, and we bring you Beltane’s flower. For the May Day is the great day, sung along the old straight track. And those who ancient lines did ley [sic] will heed the song that calls them back. Pass the word and pass the lady, pass the plate to all who hunger. Pass the wit of ancient wisdom, pass the cup of crimson wonder. Ask the Green Man where he comes from, ask the cup that fills with red. Ask the old grey standing stones that show the sun its way to bed. Question all as to their ways, and learn the secrets that they hold. Walk the lines of nature’s palm crossed with silver and with gold. Pass the cup and pass the lady, pass the plate to all who hunger. Pass the wit of ancient wisdom, pass the cup of crimson wonder. Join in black December’s sadness, lie in August’s welcome corn. Stir the cup that’s ever-filling with the blood of all that’s born. But the May Day is the great day, sung along the old straight track. And those who ancient lines did lay will heed this song that calls them back. Pass the word and pass the lady, pass the plate to all who hunger. Pass the wit of ancient wisdom, pass the cup of crimson wonder. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
LmL Posted January 27, 2017 Share Posted January 27, 2017 4 hours ago, ravenous reader said: Into the woods they went...' LOL [subtext: and mayhaps never to re-emerge...'Good men have gone into those woods before, and never come out. All Bran could think of was Old Nan's story of the Others and the last hero...' (AGOT-BranIV)]. The other phrase to look for is "beneath the trees," a similar type idea. Coldhands is standing beneath the trees when they meet, him Ghost emerges from beneath the trees, that sort of thing. And yes, that line you noticed about goodmen going into the wood seems like a Garth-trap idea. 4 hours ago, ravenous reader said: 'The others were good men too...' [depending on your threshold for suspicion regarding GRRM's intentions, this echoes the other 'good men' he referenced, and I cited above, who go into the wood and never come out...those ones, right? ]-- another of GRRM's sly witticisms likewise 'slipped into the brush,' so that if we're not paying attention we might just miss it! As Jon notes, their pasts may have been 'black', but in the gruelling crucible of the Watch they've been transformed -- and now they're the sort one wants at ones back ('the sort' of skinchanger zombies who can withstand the burning cold, no doubt). These 'good others' have become featureless, with their hoods raised and scarves wrapped around their faces -- a bit like Coldhands -- so that to a casual glance one might not be able to discern if such a good one is breathing or not! There's an awful lot going on in this scene, I've actually broken it down extensively before... but that was a long time ago. What I remember is that some of the wildlings seem to symbolize Others - the ice rivers clans whose snow shoes allow them to walk on top of the snow, like the Others. I'd have to go back over the chapter again, I wasn't looking for undead NW clues last time. I definitely got the sense that the Others and the NW are kind of like long lost brothers though. 5 hours ago, ravenous reader said: This might introduce a new interpretation of the lines 'For the Watch' repeated with each dagger thrust as the brothers ritually take turns to stab Jon to death. Perhaps it's necessary for the survival of the Watch and the realm that a 'chosen' ranger (i.e. a 'Jon Barleycorn') must be ritually sacrificed, in order to be 'wighted' so that he can take on the 'Wild Hunt' at the helm of his own wild band of brothers. A few must die so that the many can survive. Yes, exactly. For the watch, very good. That fits well. 5 hours ago, ravenous reader said: With respect to the folk song 'John Barleycorn,' it's also useful to consider that the song is primarily about fermenting grain in order to make spirits, most notably whiskey (the poem I provided following the 'Traffic' version is written by Scotland's national poet Robert Burns, and describes the Scottish national drink). In a stepwise process similar to alchemy, the mixture undergoes 'malting' -- drowning; 'mashing' -- wounding; 'fermentation' -- transformation ; 'distillation' -- firing, purification; 'maturation' -- in OAK barrels (literally a 'spirit' in a tree!) 'Distilling the spirit' can therefore be understood figuratively in terms of opening ones third eye. Moreover, this 'spirit' represents the blood of the chosen one sacrificed in aid of the welfare and regeneration of those who then partake thereof and 'drink from the cup of fire [and perhaps also ice]...'-- almost in Holy Communion (and note, 'welfare' or 'well-being' is related to drinking from the 'well', which might very well be a person): Great analysis, i like the distilled spirit thing. In an oak barrel, of course. Ghost will be a spirit vessel, ha ha. Remember that they keep fermented beer and corn in the ice cells where Jon will be placed. 5 hours ago, ravenous reader said: The Children have some barleycorn stashed away in order to survive the Winter; guess now they have some 'bran' to tide them over too... Yes, agree again here, and I would say that @sweetsunray's analysis about cannibalism in the North has convinced me that eating wight-meat would have been the only way to survive in some instances. And of course, the Holy Communion is ritual cannibalism and death paying for life. 5 hours ago, ravenous reader said: Beautiful. Especially the 'green still runs deep in your heart' which reminds me of the eternal godswood and the 'green blood' of Garth the Green flowing through the veins of so many. In that Jack-in-the-Green is compared to a soldier who gets no rest, I'm reminded of the Night's Watch brothers, who must go on fighting, even after death, as Ed quips in that delightful quote you found: Yes, you have to understand that Jack's role is to safeguard the green things so they can return... it's that lonely watch thing that COldhands has going on. It's no fun being.. the Coldhands in the green... haha. Glad you know Jethro Tull, that's awesome. Thanks for taking the symbolism to the next level there with the thrush, that was really awesome and interesting. I could almost hear the sound of its rattling call, ha ha. And thanks for bringing Cup of Wonder to my attention - I haven't looked at the lyrics to some of these songs since I was a kid. Wowzer! Yeah, it's about wine, ha ha! That's good marketing, I think. "It's about human sacrifice rituals and drinking blood, but you know, in a friendly, folkloric kinda way" probably wouldn't have gone over as well. But yeah, there it is, pretty clear. And I think we both know Martin is using wine to symbolize blood in places. The Dornishman's blade was made of black steel, and it's always thirsty for some Dornish red. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Pain killer Jane Posted January 31, 2017 Share Posted January 31, 2017 On 1/26/2017 at 7:48 PM, LmL said: On 1/26/2017 at 2:37 PM, ravenous reader said: With respect to the folk song 'John Barleycorn,' it's also useful to consider that the song is primarily about fermenting grain in order to make spirits, most notably whiskey (the poem I provided following the 'Traffic' version is written by Scotland's national poet Robert Burns, and describes the Scottish national drink). In a stepwise process similar to alchemy, the mixture undergoes 'malting' -- drowning; 'mashing' -- wounding; 'fermentation' -- transformation ; 'distillation' -- firing, purification; 'maturation' -- in OAK barrels (literally a 'spirit' in a tree!) 'Distilling the spirit' can therefore be understood figuratively in terms of opening ones third eye. Moreover, this 'spirit' represents the blood of the chosen one sacrificed in aid of the welfare and regeneration of those who then partake thereof and 'drink from the cup of fire [and perhaps also ice]...'-- almost in Holy Communion (and note, 'welfare' or 'well-being' is related to drinking from the 'well', which might very well be a person): Great analysis, i like the distilled spirit thing. In an oak barrel, of course. Ghost will be a spirit vessel, ha ha. Remember that they keep fermented beer and corn in the ice cells where Jon will be placed. This is in line with the drinking of blood for power symbolism we keep seeing which is an allusion to the wine being the blood of Christ. And this is related to us by our fave Dolorous Edd Quote Edd stood over the kettle swishing the eggs about with a spoon. "I envy those eggs," he said. "I could do with a bit of boiling about now. If the kettle were larger, I might jump in. Though I would sooner it were wine than water. There are worse ways to die than warm and drunk. I knew a brother drowned himself in wine once. It was a poor vintage, though, and his corpse did not improve it." "You drank the wine?" "It's an awful thing to find a brother dead. You'd have need of a drink as well, Lord Snow." Edd stirred the kettle and added a pinch more nutmeg. - Jon V, aCoK And here is a bit of history. George Plantagenet(a white rose brother), duke of Clarence, brother of Edward the IV of England after being convicted of treason was drowned in a butt (barrel) of Malmsey wine. A lot of people have mentioned that the Baratheon Brothers seem like the York brothers with a twist. So if Robert is Edward IV and Stannis is Richard III then Renly is George and @LmL, the drowning in wine and then drinking blood fits in with the sacrifice of a horned lord. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Pain killer Jane Posted January 31, 2017 Share Posted January 31, 2017 On 1/26/2017 at 2:37 PM, ravenous reader said: that old folksong by naming one of the rangers 'Tom Barleycorn.' In addition, I believe we're supposed to relate 'Jon' and 'Tom', due to the assonance and consonance of the names, which means that they almost rhyme, to add to the cumulative evidence of Jon Snow as our main sacrificial 'John Barleycorn' figure at the Wall. Hmm...I thought that if Jon is mirroring Jesus then Tom would be St. Thomas the apostle. Just waiting to see if he doubts Jon's resurrection. And you are correct on associating Jon and Tom not because of the alliteration of their names but the name Thomas does mean twin. P.S. sorry I've been absent. Classes started again for me. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Frey family reunion Posted February 1, 2017 Share Posted February 1, 2017 An ode to hollow knights and scarecrow sentinels: The Hollow Men Mistah Kurtz-he dead A penny for the Old Guy I We are the hollow men We are the stuffed men Leaning together Headpiece filled with straw. Alas! Our dried voices, when We whisper together Are quiet and meaningless As wind in dry grass Or rats' feet over broken glass In our dry cellar Shape without form, shade without colour, Paralysed force, gesture without motion; Those who have crossed With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom Remember us-if at all-not as lost Violent souls, but only As the hollow men The stuffed men. II Eyes I dare not meet in dreams In death's dream kingdom These do not appear: There, the eyes are Sunlight on a broken column There, is a tree swinging And voices are In the wind's singing More distant and more solemn Than a fading star. Let me be no nearer In death's dream kingdom Let me also wear Such deliberate disguises Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves In a field Behaving as the wind behaves No nearer- Not that final meeting In the twilight kingdom III This is the dead land This is cactus land Here the stone images Are raised, here they receive The supplication of a dead man's hand Under the twinkle of a fading star. Is it like this In death's other kingdom Waking alone At the hour when we are Trembling with tenderness Lips that would kiss Form prayers to broken stone. IV The eyes are not here There are no eyes here In this valley of dying stars In this hollow valley This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms In this last of meeting places We grope together And avoid speech Gathered on this beach of the tumid river Sightless, unless The eyes reappear As the perpetual star Multifoliate rose Of death's twilight kingdom The hope only Of empty men. V Here we go round the prickly pear Prickly pear prickly pear Here we go round the prickly pear At five o'clock in the morning. Between the idea And the reality Between the motion And the act Falls the Shadow For Thine is the Kingdom Between the conception And the creation Between the emotion And the response Falls the Shadow Life is very long Between the desire And the spasm Between the potency And the existence Between the essence And the descent Falls the Shadow For Thine is the Kingdom For Thine is Life is For Thine is the This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends Not with a bang but a whimper. T.S. Eliot Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Pain killer Jane Posted February 1, 2017 Share Posted February 1, 2017 On 1/26/2017 at 7:48 PM, LmL said: On 1/26/2017 at 2:37 PM, ravenous reader said: With respect to the folk song 'John Barleycorn,' it's also useful to consider that the song is primarily about fermenting grain in order to make spirits, most notably whiskey (the poem I provided following the 'Traffic' version is written by Scotland's national poet Robert Burns, and describes the Scottish national drink). In a stepwise process similar to alchemy, the mixture undergoes 'malting' -- drowning; 'mashing' -- wounding; 'fermentation' -- transformation ; 'distillation' -- firing, purification; 'maturation' -- in OAK barrels (literally a 'spirit' in a tree!) 'Distilling the spirit' can therefore be understood figuratively in terms of opening ones third eye. Moreover, this 'spirit' represents the blood of the chosen one sacrificed in aid of the welfare and regeneration of those who then partake thereof and 'drink from the cup of fire [and perhaps also ice]...'-- almost in Holy Communion (and note, 'welfare' or 'well-being' is related to drinking from the 'well', which might very well be a person): Great analysis, i like the distilled spirit thing. In an oak barrel, of course. Ghost will be a spirit vessel, ha ha. Remember that they keep fermented beer and corn in the ice cells where Jon will be placed. Hotel California by The Eagles On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the airUp ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim I had to stop for the night There she stood in the doorway I heard the mission bell And I was thinking to myself 'This could be heaven or this could be Hell Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way There were voices down the corridor I thought I heard them say Welcome to the Hotel California Such a lovely place (such a lovely place) Such a lovely face Plenty of room at the Hotel California Any time of year (any time of year) you can find it here Her mind is Tiffany-twisted, she got the Mercedes bendsShe got a lot of pretty, pretty boys, that she calls friends How they dance in the courtyard, sweet summer sweat Some dance to remember, some dance to forget So I called up the Captain 'Please bring me my wine He said, "we haven't had that spirit here since nineteen sixty-nineAnd still those voices are calling from far away Wake you up in the middle of the night Just to hear them say" Welcome to the Hotel California Such a lovely place (such a lovely place) Such a lovely face They livin' it up at the Hotel California What a nice surprise (what a nice surprise), bring your alibis Mirrors on the ceiling The pink champagne on iceAnd she said, 'we are all just prisoners here, of our own device And in the master's chambers They gathered for the feast They stab it with their steely knives But they just can't kill the beast Last thing I remember, I was Running for the door I had to find the passage back to the place I was before 'Relax' said the night man 'We are programmed to receive You can check out any time you like But you can never leave! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ravenous reader Posted February 1, 2017 Author Share Posted February 1, 2017 @Pain killer Jane Hi PK, no need to apologize for your absence, though your presence is always valued (and missed when you're not available to contribute). 22 hours ago, Pain killer Jane said: This is in line with the drinking of blood for power symbolism we keep seeing which is an allusion to the wine being the blood of Christ. In terms of the Holy Communion motif, this scene at the Wall stands out, presided over by Lord Commander Mormont at the 'altar' like the high priest administering the rites of Communion, at which the new recruits themselves represent the 'bread' and the 'wine' about to be sacrificed at the well for the welfare of the realm, as they prepare to give up all their worldly claims to names, fortunes, lands, families, women, children, etc. and become 'brothers' (another name for monks or priests) of the Night's Watch: Quote A Game of Thrones - Jon VI The high officers arrived in a body; Maester Aemon leaning on Clydas, Ser Alliser cold-eyed and grim, Lord Commander Mormont resplendent in a black wool doublet with silvered bearclaw fastenings. Behind them came the senior members of the three orders: red-faced Bowen Marsh the Lord Steward, First Builder Othell Yarwyck, and Ser Jaremy Rykker, who commanded the rangers in the absence of Benjen Stark. Mormont stood before the altar, the rainbow shining on his broad bald head. "You came to us outlaws," he began, "poachers, rapers, debtors, killers, and thieves. You came to us children. You came to us alone, in chains, with neither friends nor honor. You came to us rich, and you came to us poor. Some of you bear the names of proud houses. Others have only bastards' names, or no names at all. It makes no matter. All that is past now. On the Wall, we are all one house. "At evenfall, as the sun sets and we face the gathering night, you shall take your vows. From that moment, you will be a Sworn Brother of the Night's Watch. Your crimes will be washed away, your debts forgiven. So too you must wash away your former loyalties, put aside your grudges, forget old wrongs and old loves alike. Here you begin anew. Quote And this is related to us by our fave Dolorous Edd Quote Edd stood over the kettle swishing the eggs about with a spoon. "I envy those eggs," he said. "I could do with a bit of boiling about now. If the kettle were larger, I might jump in. Though I would sooner it were wine than water. There are worse ways to die than warm and drunk. I knew a brother drowned himself in wine once. It was a poor vintage, though, and his corpse did not improve it." "You drank the wine?" "It's an awful thing to find a brother dead. You'd have need of a drink as well, Lord Snow." Edd stirred the kettle and added a pinch more nutmeg. - Jon V, aCoK Great example! Dolorous Edd's anecdotes are a veritable treasure trove. Drowning in wine is therefore a bit like falling into a well in terms of the sacrificial/rebirth aspect. And his notion of jumping into the pot himself is reminiscent of all of GRRM's disturbing cannibalism references, especially surrounding such dubious concoctions as 'bowls of brown,' 'sister's soup,' weirwood 'bole/bowl', etc....The fact that Edd imagines being an egg is also an obvious rebirth symbol. Additionally, the idea of dying 'warm and drunk' is paradoxically the way a death by ice/snow is described in the Prologue. So 'wightification' -- or succumbing to the 'burning cold' -- is akin to drowning in boiling wine. Quote A Game of Thrones - Prologue The young knight turned back to his grizzled man-at-arms. Frost-fallen leaves whispered past them, and Royce's destrier moved restlessly. "What do you think might have killed these men, Gared?" Ser Waymar asked casually. He adjusted the drape of his long sable cloak. "It was the cold," Gared said with iron certainty. "I saw men freeze last winter, and the one before, when I was half a boy. Everyone talks about snows forty foot deep, and how the ice wind comes howling out of the north, but the real enemy is the cold. It steals up on you quieter than Will, and at first you shiver and your teeth chatter and you stamp your feet and dream of mulled wine and nice hot fires. It burns, it does. Nothing burns like the cold. But only for a while. Then it gets inside you and starts to fill you up, and after a while you don't have the strength to fight it. It's easier just to sit down or go to sleep. They say you don't feel any pain toward the end. First you go weak and drowsy, and everything starts to fade, and then it's like sinking into a sea of warm milk. Peaceful, like." "Such eloquence, Gared," Ser Waymar observed. "I never suspected you had it in you." Quote And here is a bit of history. George Plantagenet(a white rose brother), duke of Clarence, brother of Edward the IV of England after being convicted of treason was drowned in a butt (barrel) of Malmsey wine. A lot of people have mentioned that the Baratheon Brothers seem like the York brothers with a twist. So if Robert is Edward IV and Stannis is Richard III then Renly is George and @LmL, the drowning in wine and then drinking blood fits in with the sacrifice of a horned lord. That's interesting. In support of Renly as George Plantagenet, particularly regarding his manner of death and the motif of the sacrifice of the horned lord you've additionally identified, there are also a lot of drowning references surrounding Renly: Quote A Clash of Kings - Catelyn II Beside the entrance, the king's armor stood sentry; a suit of forest-green plate, its fittings chased with gold, the helm crowned by a great rack of golden antlers. The steel was polished to such a high sheen that she could see her reflection in the breastplate, gazing back at her as if from the bottom of a deep green pond. The face of a drowned woman, Catelyn thought. Can you drown in grief? She turned away sharply, angry with her own frailty. She had no time for the luxury of self-pity. She must wash the dust from her hair and change into a gown more fitting for a king's feast. A Clash of Kings - Catelyn IV "Cold," said Renly in a small puzzled voice, a heartbeat before the steel of his gorget parted like cheesecloth beneath the shadow of a blade that was not there. He had time to make a small thick gasp before the blood came gushing out of his throat. "Your Gr—no!" cried Brienne the Blue when she saw that evil flow, sounding as scared as any little girl. The king stumbled into her arms, a sheet of blood creeping down the front of his armor, a dark red tide that drowned his green and gold. More candles guttered out. Renly tried to speak, but he was choking on his own blood. His legs collapsed, and only Brienne's strength held him up. She threw back her head and screamed, wordless in her anguish. The shadow. Something dark and evil had happened here, she knew, something that she could not begin to understand. Renly never cast that shadow. Death came in that door and blew the life out of him as swift as the wind snuffed out his candles. The other character who GRRM possibly configures as a Plantagenet is Tyrion (instead of Stannis) as the famous 'hunchback' Richard III, who Sir Thomas More described as "little of stature, ill-featured of limbs, crook-backed," which is certainly reminiscent of Tyrion's twisted disfigurement. Tywin's characterisation of Tyrion as somehow 'ill-made' certainly echoes that idea, introducing an accompanying 'moral disfigurement' to the idea of being 'ill-made,' also developed by Shakespeare in his play 'Richard III', in which the eponymous anti-hero/villain refers to himself as 'rudely stamped...curtailed of fair proportion...not shaped for sportive tricks...not made to court an amorous looking glass..deformed...unfinished...cheated by nature' etc. Quote A Storm of Swords - Tyrion I I knew the answer before I asked, Tyrion said. Eighteen years since Jaime joined the Kingsguard, and I never once raised the issue. I must have known. I must always have known. "Why?" he made himself ask, though he knew he would rue the question. "You ask that? You, who killed your mother to come into the world? You are an ill-made, devious, disobedient, spiteful little creature full of envy, lust, and low cunning. Men's laws give you the right to bear my name and display my colors, since I cannot prove that you are not mine. To teach me humility, the gods have condemned me to watch you waddle about wearing that proud lion that was my father's sigil and his father's before him. But neither gods nor men shall ever compel me to let you turn Casterly Rock into your whorehouse." The famous Shakespeare passage which stands out: ORIGINAL TEXT MODERN TEXT Enter RICHARD, Duke of Gloucester, solus RICHARD, Duke of Gloucester, enters alone. 5 10 15 20 25 RICHARD Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this son of York, And all the clouds that loured upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths, Our bruisèd arms hung up for monuments, Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barbèd steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady’s chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking glass; I, that am rudely stamped and want love’s majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them— Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to see my shadow in the sun And descant on mine own deformity. RICHARD Now all of my family’s troubles have come to a glorious end, thanks to my brother, King Edward IV. All the clouds that threatened the York family have vanished and turned to sunshine. Now we wear the wreaths of victory on our heads. We’ve taken off our armor and weapons and hung them up as decorations. Instead of hearing trumpets call us to battle, we dance at parties. We get to wear easy smiles on our faces rather than the grim expressions of war. Instead of charging toward our enemies on armored horses, we dance for our ladies in their chambers, accompanied by sexy songs on the lute. But I’m not made to be a seducer, or to make faces at myself in the mirror. I was badly made and don’t have the looks to strut my stuff in front of pretty sluts. I’ve been cheated of a nice body and face, or even normal proportions. I am deformed, spit out from my mother’s womb prematurely and so badly formed that dogs bark at me as I limp by them. I’m left with nothing to do in this weak, idle peacetime, unless I want to look at my lumpy shadow in the sun and sing about that. ORIGINAL TEXT MODERN TEXT 30 35 40 And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determinèd to prove a villain And hate the idle pleasures of these days. Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams, To set my brother Clarence and the king In deadly hate, the one against the other; And if King Edward be as true and just As I am subtle, false, and treacherous, This day should Clarence closely be mewed up About a prophecy which says that “G” Of Edward’s heirs the murderer shall be. Dive, thoughts, down to my soul. Here Clarence comes. Since I can’t amuse myself by being a lover, I’ve decided to become a villain. I’ve set dangerous plans in motion, using lies, drunken prophecies, and stories about dreams to set my brother Clarence and the king against each other. If King Edward is as honest and fair-minded as I am deceitful and cruel, then Clarence is going to be locked away in prison today because of a prophecy that “G” Edward interprets “G” to mean George, Duke of Clarence, though ironically it could just as well mean Richard, Duke of Gloucester. “G” will murder Edward’s children. Oh, time to hide what I’m thinking—here comes Clarence. Shakespeare, Richard III, Act 1, Scene 1 From: Spark notes (the spark notes 'modern' transliteration is quite something, ' I was badly made and don’t have the looks to strut my stuff in front of pretty sluts...we dance for our ladies in their chambers, accompanied by sexy songs on the lute...' All the poetry expunged, but at least LmL won't complain I'm bombarding him with redundant archaicisms without any accompanying explanation thereof -- and it's good for a laugh ) Rough synopsis of the play So, we can see that GRRM was certainly not the first writer to ever think of the 'radical' notion of punning 'sun' with 'son'; and playing with the symbolism of Summer and Winter, day and night, peace and war, especially as a comment on the changing fortunes of one family or 'House,' or even among different individuals of the same House relative to one another. When Richard talks with envy of his brother, 'seeing my shadow in the sun', it's his brother, the aforementioned 'son of York' he's referring to as the sun (kings are traditionally configured as suns around whom the court revolves), from whom he would like to usurp power of the kingdom. In particular, the 'shadow' cast by the sun, as a reflection of the 'id' of which we've previously spoken, reminds me of the shadow cast by Stannis in order to murder the brother whose vitality, charisma and effervescence -- and lusty eating of peaches -- put him in the shade. As @hiemal reminded me, Stannis is a milquetoast of a man who does not dare eat a peach: Quote And indeed there will be time To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?” Time to turn back and descend the stair, With a bald spot in the middle of my hair — (They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”) My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin, My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin — (They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”) Do I dare Disturb the universe? In a minute there is time For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse. ... I am no prophet — and here’s no great matter; I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker, And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, And in short, I was afraid. ... No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be; Am an attendant lord, one that will do To swell a progress, start a scene or two, Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool, Deferential, glad to be of use, Politic, cautious, and meticulous; Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse; At times, indeed, almost ridiculous— Almost, at times, the Fool. I grow old ... I grow old ... I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach? I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think that they will sing to me. I have seen them riding seaward on the waves Combing the white hair of the waves blown back When the wind blows the water white and black. We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown Till human voices wake us, and we drown. Excerpt from the poem by TS Eliot, 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock' Quotes from ASOIAF where it's Tyrion who reminds me of Shakespeare's Richard III, particularly in how he struggles with his deformity, his sense of himself as an outsider, and attempting to compensate in various ways (including pursuing destructive outlets) for his relative lack of physical attractiveness, and more importantly his stubborn yearning for love and belonging: Quote A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VII It was not enough, though. He had wrapped his cloak around her shoulders and sworn to protect her, but that was as cruel a jape as the crown the Freys had placed atop the head of Robb Stark's direwolf after they'd sewn it onto his headless corpse. Sansa knew that as well. The way she looked at him, her stiffness when she climbed into their bed . . . when he was with her, never for an instant could he forget who he was, or what he was. No more than she did. She still went nightly to the godswood to pray, and Tyrion wondered if she were praying for his death. She had lost her home, her place in the world, and everyone she had ever loved or trusted. Winter is coming, warned the Stark words, and truly it had come for them with a vengeance. But it is high summer for House Lannister. So why am I so bloody cold? Quote A Storm of Swords - Sansa III He pushed himself to his feet. “Don’t lie, Sansa. I am malformed, scarred, and small, but . . .” she could see him groping “. . . abed, when the candles are blown out, I am made no worse than other men. In the dark, I am the Knight of Flowers.” He took a draught of wine. “I am generous. Loyal to those who are loyal to me. I’ve proven I’m no craven. And I am cleverer than most, surely wits count for something. I can even be kind. Kindness is not a habit with us Lannisters, I fear, but I know I have some somewhere. I could be . . . I could be good to you.” He is as frightened as I am, Sansa realized. Perhaps that should have made her feel more kindly toward him, but it did not. All she felt was pity, and pity was death to desire. He was looking at her, waiting for her to say something, but all her words had withered. She could only stand there trembling. When he finally realized that she had no answer for him, Tyrion Lannister drained the last of his wine. “I understand,” he said bitterly. “Get in the bed, Sansa. We need to do our duty.” She climbed onto the featherbed, conscious of his stare. A scented beeswax candle burned on the bedside table and rose petals had been strewn between the sheets. She had started to pull up a blanket to cover herself when she heard him say, “No.” The cold made her shiver, but she obeyed. Her eyes closed, and she waited. After a moment she heard the sound of her husband pulling off his boots, and the rustle of clothing as he undressed himself. When he hopped up on the bed and put his hand on her breast, Sansa could not help but shudder. She lay with her eyes closed, every muscle tense, dreading what might come next. Would he touch her again? Kiss her? Should she open her legs for him now? She did not know what was expected of her. “Sansa.” The hand was gone. “Open your eyes.” She had promised to obey; she opened her eyes. He was sitting by her feet, naked. Where his legs joined, his man’s staff poked up stiff and hard from a thicket of coarse yellow hair, but it was the only thing about him that was straight. “My lady,” Tyrion said, “you are lovely, make no mistake, but . . . I cannot do this. My father be damned. We will wait. The turn of a moon, a year, a season, however long it takes. Until you have come to know me better, and perhaps to trust me a little.” His smile might have been meant to be reassuring, but without a nose it only made him look more grotesque and sinister. Look at him, Sansa told herself, look at your husband, at all of him, Septa Mordane said all men are beautiful, find his beauty, try. She stared at the stunted legs, the swollen brutish brow, the green eye and the black one, the raw stump of his nose and crooked pink scar, the coarse tangle of black and gold hair that passed for his beard. Even his manhood was ugly, thick and veined, with a bulbous purple head. This is not right, this is not fair, how have I sinned that the gods would do this to me, how? "On my honor as a Lannister," the Imp said, "I will not touch you until you want me to." It took all the courage that was in her to look in those mismatched eyes and say, “And if I never want you to, my lord?” His mouth jerked as if she had slapped him. “Never?” Her neck was so tight she could scarcely nod. “Why,” he said, “that is why the gods made whores for imps like me.” He closed his short blunt fingers into a fist, and climbed down off the bed. Quote A Storm of Swords - Tyrion II The rest of the day seemed to creep by as slow as a worm in molasses. Tyrion climbed to the castle library and tried to distract himself with Beldecar's History of the Rhoynish Wars, but he could hardly see the elephants for imagining Shae's smile. Come the afternoon, he put the book aside and called for a bath. He scrubbed himself until the water grew cool, and then had Pod even out his whiskers. His beard was a trial to him; a tangle of yellow, white, and black hairs, patchy and coarse, it was seldom less than unsightly, but it did serve to conceal some of his face, and that was all to the good. When he was as clean and pink and trimmed as he was like to get, Tyrion looked over his wardrobe, and chose a pair of tight satin breeches in Lannister crimson and his best doublet, the heavy black velvet with the lion's head studs. He would have donned his chain of golden hands as well, if his father hadn't stolen it while he lay dying. It was not until he was dressed that he realized the depths of his folly. Seven hells, dwarf, did you lose all your sense along with your nose? Anyone who sees you is going to wonder why you've put on your court clothes to visit the eunuch. Cursing, Tyrion stripped and dressed again, in simpler garb; black woolen breeches, an old white tunic, and a faded brown leather jerkin. It doesn't matter, he told himself as he waited for moonrise. Whatever you wear, you're still a dwarf. You'll never be as tall as that knight on the steps, him with his long straight legs and hard stomach and wide manly shoulders. Quote A Dance with Dragons - Tyrion V The sudden cold hit Tyrion like a hammer. As he sank he felt a stone hand fumbling at his face. Another closed around his arm, dragging him down into darkness. Blind, his nose full of river, choking, sinking, he kicked and twisted and fought to pry the clutching fingers off his arm, but the stone fingers were unyielding. Air bubbled from his lips. The world was black and growing blacker. He could not breathe. There are worse ways to die than drowning. And if truth be told, he had perished long ago, back in King's Landing. It was only his revenant who remained, the small vengeful ghost who throttled Shae and put a crossbow bolt through the great Lord Tywin's bowels. No man would mourn the thing that he'd become. I'll haunt the Seven Kingdoms, he thought, sinking deeper. They would not love me living, so let them dread me dead. When he opened his mouth to curse them all, black water filled his lungs, and the dark closed in around him. P.S. By the way, you do know that the name 'Plantagenet' means 'broom' as in one of the meanings of the name 'Bran', in particular a 'sapling' or a 'gardener'...! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
hiemal Posted February 1, 2017 Share Posted February 1, 2017 The Hollow Men is one of my absolute favorite poems in the world. Good call, Frey Family Reunion. Verse one reminds me of the Night's Watch. Two through four sing to me of Rhaegar and Lyanna for some reason, and five is pure Patchface. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
aDanceWithFlagons Posted February 1, 2017 Share Posted February 1, 2017 Short and simple from James Morrison Moment of inner freedomwhen the mind is opened & theinfinite universe revealed& the soul is left to wanderdazed & confus’d searchinghere & there for teachers & friends.~~~~~~~~~~~~Moment of Freedomas the prisonerblinks in the sunlike a molefrom his holea child’s 1st tripaway from homeThat moment of Freedom ~ ~ The brings to mind the young Starks and Snow leaving home to experience the world beyond Winterfell. Especially Bran concerning the universe revealed. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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