Category: Robert Graves

  • Owls

    Owls

     

    Owls, in the poems we have chosen for this oratorio, are creatures of the night; allied, as in Robert Graves’ Outlaws,

    to

    ...the old gods, shrunk to shadows, there
    In the wet woods they lurk,
    Greedy of human stuff to snare
    In webs of murk.

    Robert Graves, who was to become, in his later years, an expert authority on mythology, was tapping into a long history of disquiet about owls. Their piercing eyes, silent dark  flight and eerie calls have associated them with that shadowy hinterland between the dead and the living in many cultures. We fear the dark and those things that might dwell there.

    In general, the hooting of an Owl is considered a portent of bad luck, often death, although, conversely, in ancient Greece, owls were often seen as a symbol of good fortune, and are, of course, associated with the Greek goddess of wisdom, Athena, whose owl revealed hidden truths to her. But, even here, the owl is revealing occult truths, veiled from the daylight knowledge of humans.

    The Romans, however, saw owls as omens of impending disaster; often of imminent death. Julius Caesar, Augustus & Agrippa were all warned of their deaths by the screech of owls.

    The Ainu in Japan trust the Owl because it gives them notice of evil approaching. They revere the Owl, and believe it mediates between the Gods and men.

     

    Ai- Apaec

     

    To the Welsh, the Owl is a night predator , symbolizing death and renewal, wisdom, moon magic, and initiations. Their Goddess Arianrhod , the White Goddess herself, shapeshifts into a large Owl, and through the great Owl-eyes, sees even into the darkness of the human subconscious and soul.

    She is said to move with strength and purpose through the night, her wings of comfort and healing spread to give solace to those who seek her.

    We return to owls, which inspired one of the most haunting of musical cadences in the Oratorio, in Night March where they are, like banshees, prophesying death and horror to come…

    Silence, disquiet: from those trees
    Far off a spirit of evil howls.
    ‘Down to the Somme’ wail the banshees
    With the long mournful voice of owls.

    The spell cast by these magnificent and mysterious creatures, flying silently out of the darkness to bring us hidden truths we would rather not hear, is beautifully caught by Randall Jarrell in his poem The Bird of Night:

    A shadow is floating through the moonlight.

    Its wings don’t make a sound.

    Its claws are long, its beak is bright

    Its eyes try all the corners of the night.

    It calls and calls; all the air swells and heaves

    And washes up and down like water.

    The ear that listens to the owl believes

    In death . The bat beneath the eaves,

    The mouse beside the stone are still as death.

    The owl’s air washes them like water.

    The owl goes back and forth inside the night

    And the night holds its breath.

     

     

     

     

     

  • Bats

    Bats

     

     

    Bats do have their relaxed moments, when they are just hanging; doing their own thing..

    But we are afraid of them. We always have been.

    My one and only close encounter with a bat took place in South Africa. One hot summer night I slid into the back seat of my parent’s car, the windows of which had been left open to keep it cool , and felt something soft, furry and warm move onto my sandeled foot. In the darkness I couldn’t see what it was. My father shone a torch onto it and all we could see was a round dark furry shape. I froze in terror; we had an open thatch house which regularly provided us with unexpected tarantulas. Eventually my parents persuaded me to move; I gingerly put my foot out of the car onto the path; whatever it was clung to me fondly. In the moonlight we saw it was a small bat ( it would have been a very large spider!) which we eventually persuaded to cling to a tree instead. But while it was still breathing on my foot, even when I knew it was a harmless bat, and not a spider, I was still terrified; I just wanted it off..

    Perhaps it’s because of the company we think they keep..

    Bats have always been associated with the Netherworld

    (Following quotes are taken from an article by Professor Gary F. McCracken; there is a link to the full piece above.)

    One common folk belief is that bats are human souls that have left the body. Contemporary Finnish folklore relates that during sleep, the soul leaves the body and may appear as a bat. Such lore also explains the disappearance of bats during the day, since when humans awake, their souls return home to their bodies.

    When seen as human souls, bats are often imagined as souls of the dead, particularly souls of the damned, or those that are not yet at peace. Both African-Americans and those of European descent from around the United States frequently maintain that bats are “ghosts” or “haunts.” Sicilian peasants relate that the souls of persons who meet a violent death must spend a period of time, determined by God, as either a bat, lizard, or other reptile. In the Auguries of Innocence, William Blake saw the bat as the damned soul of the infidel:

    The bat that flits at close of eve Has left the brain that won’t believe.

    An even earlier example of Western tradition associating bats with souls of the damned is provided by Homer when Hermes conducts squeaking, bat-like souls to Hades (The Odyssey, XXIV, 5-10). In Greek mythology, the bat was said to be sacred to Proserpina, the wife of Pluto, ruler of the underworld.

    There is also long tradition associating bats directly with the devil and evil spirits. In medieval Europe, artists typically represented devils with bat-like wings and pointed ears. Gustave Doré’s illustrations for Dante’s Inferno followed the tradition of portraying good spirits with the wings of birds and evil spirits with the wings of bats.

    Similarly, the Mayas of Central America had a bat God, Cama-Zotz (or “death bat”), depicted as a man with bat wings and a bat-like leaf nose, who lived in a region of darkness through which a dying man had to pass on his way to the netherworld.

    American equivalent of the Ahool, in Mythology known as Camazotz.

    The association of bats with the devil continues today in many cultures. An African-American folk legend relates that the devil may appear as a bat.

    The association of bats with death, hell and the devil, established long before Meatloaf, might seem to have affected the way they were named…

    And don’t get me started on vampires

    The species name of the common North American little brown bat (Myotis lucifugus), might connote an association with Lucifer, the fallen Archangel. That was not, however, the intent of “lucifugus,” which has the less forbidding translation of “light fleeing.” (It is interesting to note that “lucifer” means “light bringing,” and that prior to his fall from grace, Lucifer was the most beautiful of the Archangels.) Then there is the Neotropical fruit bat, Vampyrops helleri. Despite appearances, this bat was not named for the abode of the damned, but in tribute to Florian Heller, a biologist.

    Although folklore persists, most people know that bats are not disembodied spirits or the devil’s friends, confidants, or alter egos. Increasingly, people are coming to know that bats are one of the most diverse, interesting, and ecologically important groups of mammals. The myriad of physical, ecological, and behavioral features that make bats so prominent in folklore are the products of natural selection, demonstrating once again that the natural often surpasses the supernatural.

     

    Robert Graves, in Outlaws, on of the poems we feature in The Cool Web, gives bats a walk-on part as far as foreboding goes – his main harbinger of evil is the owl; of which more in a later blog..

  • Robert Graves: Larks and Sunshine

    Robert Graves: Larks and Sunshine

    Robert Graves, well known to so many for his World War One memoir Goodbye to all that, was fortunate enough to live for many more years after the war; many of which were spent in sunshine far away from the choking gas and mud of the trenches.

    On a wonderful summer day like this,  only one of his happiest love poems will do.

     

    Love without hope, as when the young bird-catcher
    Swept off his tall hat to the Squire’s own daughter,
    So let the imprisoned larks escape and fly
    Singing about her head, as she rode by.

The Cool Web : A Robert Graves Oratorio
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