Mabh Savage
Words and the world passing by; how it sings to me; how I clamour back.
A Very Berated Witchcraft
An interesting debate arose earlier this week, on the stomping ground that is the social media universe. This was in the wake of Channel 4’s screening of A Very British Witchcraft. One of my good friends wanted to know, does it work? What’s the point? And is it perhaps simply just something impressionable people fall into, in order to feel that they are a part of something larger than themselves? Surely if witchcraft did work, everyone would be at it?
For the latter statement, the simple answer to that is that the vast majority of folks will dismiss it out of hand, because to most people witchcraft is something unreal, illusory and frightening. So I don’t believe we will ever be in a society where using witchcraft is the norm, as it has too many dark connotations attached to it.
This hypothesis was held up by the comments my friend received on his post; biting, cynical comments and brutal displays of wilful ignorance. Opinions ranging from wanting to slap witches to simply mocking their ‘naivety’.
Surprised and a little dismayed at the approximately 80% lash out against the idea that people of intelligence and common sense might practice witchcraft, I posted the following response:
“Firstly, don’t confuse Wiccan with witch. They are not the same. A Wiccan may be a witch, and vice versa, but you can also be a witch without having any religion whatsoever. Witchcraft is simply another method of taking control of your life, focusing your intent and working towards your goals. No, it can’t make the impossible possible. No, rarely will it bring riches or fame. Because generally witches understand that these things are not what are important; so witches will (and I generalise horribly) tend to use their magic for more private and personal goals, often to help others in need. And a true witch doesn’t give a crap who thinks what as it works for them, and that’s what counts.”
After this, the discussion moved quickly into the necessity and impact of ritual and ceremony, and the differences between working a ‘spell’ and simply engaging in positive thinking in your life. What do you think? Does my definition live up to your idea of a witch? And why is the idea of practicing witchcraft still so ridiculous to many people? Is that perhaps a good thing, in that the supposed fairy-tale nature of it protects it from being used by those who would abuse it?
Chapel Allerton Open Mic
Another gig! This time it’s a freebie, as part of Chapel Allerton Arts Festival; one of the highlights of the Leeds Summer scene. Loads of great poets rumoured to be turning up, so pop along to Chapel Allerton library on the 28th August and maybe even read a few lines yourself.
When the wind stole my homework
What a busy week! I received the first box of my book, A Modern Celt, a few days ago and also discovered it’s now available to pre-order through Amazon and Play. Exciting!
Last night saw myself, Martin Vosper and many others down at the famous Wicked Words open mic event at Seven in the heart of Chapel Allerton in Leeds. If you enjoy spoken word I can heartily recommend making your way down to this night, before it ends for good in the December of this year. It’s a wonderful venue and the range of style and talent on offer is quite astounding. Here is one of the poems I performed last night:
I’m sure it was ecology
Something alive and organic
That led me to be out in the trees
And laughing madly
Into the wind.
Books forgotten; no, a lie.
Books are the seeds in the core of this fruit
Books written just around the corner
By women as curious as I
Less fortunate though
Cursed to live in disease and sexism.
Both killers of body and spirit;
How lucky am I.
But the books I scrawl my facts
And figures
And answers
And notes
Are forgotten scraps of yesterday:
He asked (my angel)
‘What do you like best and why?’
I sat on the edge of the desk,
Eyes shining and soul
On my shirt sleeve
And said one thing, then another
Mind skipping like stones
Across a lake.
Worried at first that he will read
Far too much into my final answer
Then (crazy hormonal child)
Eventually not caring if he does.
Because the answer is true.
And it’s not conventional.
It’s not everyone else’s favourite.
It’s mine because it speaks
To something within
Bypassing ears and mind and launching
Arrow like at the heart of the matter.
He is pleased, so I am;
The measure of a great mentor.
And as I leave,
I think of all the things ‘I like best’
And realise none of them
Are for anyone
But me.
So here I am, running deer like
Through woods and over stones
Praising those words that found
The key to introverted me
And turned, and listen;
The grinding of gears
As the lock opened,
And me me me poured out through
That portal like sunshine.
Throw those papers to the wind;
Let devils grasp and play
What do I like best?
I’ve only just begun to say.
Words and photo Copyright Mabh Savage 2013
Lammas
Lammas was a two day affair this year; the first day spent in heat and happiness traipsing through the wilderness with my little boy. We found cherries, blushing in the bright sun, and berries black and glossy like tiny dark eyes. After the heavy rains of the past few days, there were a few creamy mushrooms towering over the yellowed grass, and as we stooped to admire them a tiny froglet jumped from beneath the green strands surrounding the fungus, making us laugh at the term ‘toadstool’. We snapped photos of all that we found fascinating, including this delightful contrast of the tiny black beetle on the comparatively huge bell of bindweed.We saw parents and grandparents and aunts and bought shoes and made bread and cakes and sighed in the sun at the contentment that coiled in our full tummies.
The second day I joined with close friends and remembered Lugh, balance, the turning of the wheel, power, divination, the different realms and the unseen amongst us. But still, we shared bread and food and laughter, and above all showed gratitude for our harvest; not just of fabulous food and drink, but of love, joy, friends, family, and the completion of our own goals and ambitions. Merry Lughnasagh! Merry Lammas! And may we remember that as with all things, we only reap what we sow… Which is an agricultural way of saying you only get out what you put in!
Post Box Poets
Post Box Poets is on tonight in at The Post Box Cafe in Chorlton, Manchester; a night of spoken word spectacular. Be there, or be less verbose…
Performing tonight are Cathy Bryant, John Lindley, Zach Roddis, Jim Doxford, Steph Pike, Dominic Simpson, Angela Smith, Martin Vosper and myself, and the whole evening is hosted by the lovely Sarah L Dixon.
It would be fair to say that I’m a little excited…
Hot
Wow. It’s hot.
Holiday hot.
Sapphire sky hot.
BBQ out now hot.
Endless washing line fill hot.
Tarmac tacky almost wet hot
Haze even on the gem green grass hot.
Jeans unto shorts unto bikini hot.
Sleep elusive and duvet gone crazy hot.
Melted brain losing the feet of the iambic mess… Oh yes.
It’s hot.
Angels
25 angels
Dance on my head
Is it a pin head
Bed head
Logger head
At
So
25 angels
Dance in my soul
It’s a black hole
Port hole
Window where I’m sat
25 angels
Dance with my feet
Got two left feet
12 feet
High
Yeah, I could fly
Then
25 angels
Danced, gave me wings
And she sings
And sings
Until it stings
Flashback
My boy and I, alive in the sun
Ready to rumble; ready to run
Swords at the ready, stick in each hand
Bring on the battle; strike up the band
Buses are conquered, long walks are done
Park stretches green until the horizon.
Sandwiches eaten, raisins are shared,
Laughing and shouting; emotions are bared.
I watch and I smile as he plays on the grass
And I’m transformed again to that odd little lass
Who came here so often and played much the same
With a ball, or a stick, or some other great game.
It’s unclear why folks say ‘he looks just like you’
But lapping this day up; the gold and the blue
The heat haze and minnows
The gleam in the eye
When spying a duckling
Or jewelled dragon fly
Or listening hard for the buzz of a bee?
Then yeah, he really is, just like me.
Gift of the Night
The gift of the night is the universe
Opened up like a black tulip
Petals uncurling in the light
Of all the suns that ever were.
The gift of the night is the universe
Sky’s barrier broken down
Eyes reach as far as they can
No horizon to this verse.
The gift of the night is the universe
History sent through photons
Ancient wishes and dreams
Twinkling not quite forever.
The gift of the night is the universe
Feet rooted and head reaching high
Hands grasping at infinity
Climbing the great dark tower.
The gift of the night is the universe
And I will unwrap it.
