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- Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
- Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
- Sprache: Englisch
In "Taliessin through Logres," Charles Williams weaves a rich and intricate tapestry of Arthurian myth and folklore, illuminating the intersections of time, space, and imagination. The text is a masterful blend of poetry and prose that distills the essence of mystical experiences, drawing on Williams'Äô expertise in medieval literature and his profound understanding of the spiritual tradition. The narrative unfolds within the enchanted landscapes of Logres, presenting a series of lyrical, interconnected visions that reflect Williams' interest in the metaphysical and mystical dimensions of life, inviting readers to explore the deeper meanings behind mythic protagonists and their encounters. Charles Williams, a prominent member of the Inklings alongside C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien, was influenced by his interests in myth, mysticism, and the relationship between the material and spiritual worlds. His theological background and fascination with the connections between literature and spirituality are evident in the depth of reflection in this work. Williams'Äô approach to the Arthurian legend highlights his unique voice and vision, distinguishing him from his contemporaries in the literary canon of the 20th century. "Taliessin through Logres" is a compelling invitation for readers to embark on a profound journey into the heart of Arthurian legend through the lens of spirituality and imagination. It is essential reading for those interested in the intersections of myth, literature, and metaphysics, offering rich insights and revealing the universal truths found within the archetypal narratives of our collective cultural heritage.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
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Taliessin through Logres
Table of Contents
Prelude
I
Recalcitrant tribes heard;
orthodox wisdom sprang in Caucasia and Thule;
the glory of the Emperor stretched to the ends of the world.
In the season of midmost Sophia
the word of the Emperor established a kingdom in Britain;
they sang in Sophia the immaculate conception of wisdom.
Carbonek, Camelot, Caucasia,
were gates and containers, intermediations of light;
geography breathing geometry, the double-fledged Logos.
II
The blind rulers of Logres
nourished the land on a fallacy of rational virtue;
the seals of the saints were broken; the chairs of the Table reeled.
Galahad quickened in the Mercy;
but history began; the Moslem stormed Byzantium;
lost was the glory, lost the power and kingdom.
Call on the hills to hide us
lest, men said in the City, the lord of charity
ride in the starlight, sole flash of the Emperor’s glory.
III
Evil and good were twins
once in the alleys of Ispahan; the Moslem
crying Alla il Alla destroyed the dualism of Persia.
Caucasia fell to the Moslem;
the mamelukes seized the ancient cornland of Empire.
Union is breached; the imams stand in Sophia.
Good is God, the muezzin
calls, but lost is the light on the hills of Caucasia,
glory of the Emperor, glory of substantial being.
Taliessin’s Return to Logres
The seas were left behind;
in a harbour of Logres
lightly I came to land
under a roaring wind.
Strained were the golden sails,
the masts of the galley creaked
as it rode for the Golden Horn
and I for the hills of Wales.
In a train of golden cars
the Emperor went above,
for over me in my riding
shot seven golden stars,
as if while the great oaks stood,
straining, creaking, around,
seven times the golden sickle
flashed in the Druid wood.
Covered on my back,
untouched, my harp had hung;
its notes sprang to sound
as I took the blindfold track,
the road that runs from tales,
through the darkness where Circe’s son
sings to the truants of towns
in a forest of nightingales.
The beast ran in the wood
that had lost the man’s mind;
on a path harder than death
spectral shapes stood
propped against trees;
they gazed as I rode by;
fast after me poured
the light of flooding seas.
But I was Druid-sprung;
I cast my heart in the way;
all the Mercy I called
to give courage to my tongue.
As I came by Broceliande
a diagram played in the night,
where either the golden sickle
flashed, or a signalling hand.
Away on the southern seas
was the creaking of the mast;
beyond the Roman road
was the creaking of the trees.
Beyond the farms and the fallows
the sickle of a golden arm
that gathered fate in the forest
in a stretched palm caught the hallows.
At the falling of the first
chaos behind me checked;
at the falling of the second
the wood showed the worst;
at the falling of the third
I had come to the king’s camp;
the harp on my back
syllabled the signal word.
I saw a Druid light
burn through the Druid hills,
as the hooves of King Arthur’s horse
rounded me in the night.
I heard the running of flame
faster than fast through Logres
into the camp by the hazels
I Taliessin came.
The Vision of the Empire
α
The organic body sang together;
dialects of the world sprang in Byzantium;
back they rang to sing in Byzantium;
the streets repeat the sound of the Throne.
The Acts issue from the Throne.
Under it, translating the Greek minuscula
to minds of the tribes, the identities of creation
phenomenally abating to kinds and kindreds,
the household inscribes the Acts of the Emperor;
the logothetes run down the porphyry stair
bearing the missives through the area of empire.
Taliessin walked through the hither angels,
from the exposition of grace to the place of images.
The morn brightened on the Golden Horn;
he heard behind him the chariots’ clatter
that bore a new matter to all the dialects;
he saw the nuntii loosened on the currents
over the sea, in the mechanism of motion,
rowers’ arms jointed to the imperial oars.
Chariots and galleys sprang from the shores;
the messengers were borne over sea and land.
The king’s poet gazed in the mirror of the Horn.
