The Ardent Deer, the Subtle Snare

by sibyllene   Aug 10, 2011


Before the waves and waves of tribes
crested and splashed against the emerald shores of Ireland
-The swarthy Firbolgs, the forgettable Nemedians,
the musical, war-mongering Tuatha de Danann-
there were the Sidhe, the folk of hills and burrows,
of trees and rocks, of sunlight glinting on water and filtering
through the shivering leaves of oak.

The Sidhe, who heard the scraping of ships hulls
against the grainy shore,
retreated to the underground places-
to the caves and cliff nooks, to the hollow hills, to those
places under the skin, behind the eyes, always over the next rise
always flickering on the edge of vision- they are everywhere, untouchable,
a mere atom, a universe away.

Into this non-land wandered
slender, deer-fleet Oisin, with his milk-white skin
and long-lashed eyes that saw poems in every breath exhaled.
He was led by a girl who shone like a pearl, who was light and golden
and had specks of deceit glinting in the corners of her lips.

Like a stag entranced by the scent of a doe he went to her,
and with the touch of his littlest finger on the smallest curl of her hair,
he slipped into the crack between the worlds.

Three years passed as quick as a flower blooming.
Three years fogged with lovemaking, with losing himself in the
curve of her hips, in the small of her back, with the drinking of wine,
with stars that pierced too keenly, with waves that would not settle,
with music that strained on the edge of hearing,
with leaves that shook and whispered
"you are wrong, wrong, wrong to be here."

Three years, and he felt his body weaken.
No man can live in a place that fails to exist.
He felt the draw of his homeland, which held onto
his nerves like vine tendrils - curled, hooked, slowly pulling him back.

Like a stag evading a hunter he left her, promising to return,
letting his fingers catch once more in the curls of her hair,
before he turned his mount and trod away.

The woman shone like the moon. She was pale and scythe-like,
and had drops of deceit pooling in the corners of her eyes.

Oisin, the wanderer,
curved around lakes, forded streams, scaled mountains,
making the journey he had made before in an instant,
in the time it took to blink in wonder at a girl's golden hair.

Oisin, the poet,
questioned passersby. "Where is my father?
Where is the house that stood beside this river? Where is the rowan tree I planted
as a boy?"

Three hundred years, since the tree had rotted and died.
Three hundred years, since the house was washed into the river.
Three hundred years, since his father was swallowed by the grave.

The sun was too bright. The leaves shook and whispered
"you are late, late, late to come here."

Oisin, the unsatisfied,
leaped off his horse.
Atoms shifted, aligned, straightened, strengthened, locked.
His milky skin wrinkled. His poet's eyes clouded. His
lover's pooling eyes looked away forever.

He was trapped by age and magic,
by a heart not made for that non-world,
for a flesh not meant for this time.
He was left,
pounding against a grassy mound, from which
the faintest strain of music could be heard.

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Latest Comments

  • 10 years ago

    by silvershoes

    Oh my. Sad I read this. Sadder still I never read it before.

  • 13 years ago

    by The Queen

    This is one of those longest epic poems ever written like those of Mahabharata and the Tibetan Epic of King Gesar. I'm not usually into reading lengthy poems for I can't determine the beauty of their diction due to their unusual longer lines but like many others, I sought to determine what makes a good poetry. Having said that, I think that this is a great piece and far beyond commendable especially for the time this poet took to research and ensure this will be an action-packed piece.

  • 13 years ago

    by Sunshine

    Man..I just wanted to give you more comments because you said happy things about the sun on the boards, but I came here and you've touched my feelings, and made my brains work for a while..
    and as a BONUS,,guess what ? you used sunlight, sun, and shone, and just when I thought there can't be better, I reached a verse with the words GOLDEN! :] amazing, you are.

    Anyhow, I want to tell you, that leaving only few words about how impressed I am, won't do this poem any good, so forgive me...I may talk a bit too much, however I just want you to know that the depth you've reached in this poem is beyond measure, and you amazing HONEStYLY amazing style allows the reader to enjoy each single line! You bring up exciting events, you put question marks, and you make us wait for more hints, and you keep the CAKE for the end, and in other words you just wrap it all up in a way that we could enjoy it from the very 1st word to the very last period..without being bored...no complex weird expressions like Oh my horse on a white velvet exploring the weeds seismically...no You reaaaaally came up with AMAZING descriptions and creative images...and with all your poetic lines you did move my feelings and almost wept here "

    Oisin, the poet,
    questioned passersby. "Where is my father?
    Where is the house that stood beside this river? Where is the rowan tree I planted
    as a boy?"

    ^
    yes this, was very very touching..and how though I had no idea about what you were talking about (i mean never heard of these before) but I was able 2 grasp everything by reading the whole piece..and I swear I aint kissing asses lol nor complimenting but this is extraordinary and I feel like you can write some of the most interesting novels..

    of trees and rocks, of sunlight glinting on water and filtering
    through the shivering leaves of oak.
    ^^
    its not my best line due to the sunnligght..i just loved the image if the oak leaves shivering..i took a deep breath when I read it :)

    The sun was too bright. The leaves shook and whispered
    "you are late, late, late to come here."

    ^
    and i didnt like this one due to the sun either lol, but its just how i had 2 go back 2 the opening of your piece, and wrap up everything Ive read and connect it...was so emotional!

    Thank you for writing,
    I am stupid for not commenting more often these days..beyond excelllence..worth a nomination..which I no longer have..will have to take the link to my club!

    5/5

  • 13 years ago

    by Jordan

    I don't usually stop to read long poems...they always seem like a drag to me from the get-go.

    The title dragged me in. Even your wording here was ensnaring. Perhaps the word "snare" is subserviant to the poem? Or maybe subliminal. Hmm....

    It blows me away how you can illustrate mythology in such a way. That is, you use your own words and yet stay true to the feel of the setting of a place so long ago.

    Your writing skills are arcane. Such a good job. :D:D:D

    PS Marry me?

  • 13 years ago

    by Saerelune

    "The longest poem of all yet I didn't dare to blink once, because each line outshone the other. I've read this poem a few times and I've been thinking whether I should go with the same critique of "this poem is just a summary of the actual myth, lacking personality or whatsoever". When I read it for the last time, I realized I couldn't say that about this piece, because there's a poetic spirit in it which cannot be found on Google. There's so much effective effective repetition within this piece that it's almost as if all words are intertwined, affecting each other, like the way everything of the universe becomes "one" somehow. This poem is not only a poetic tale, it is also a spiritual journey. I truly enjoyed the narrative of the last part of this poem, very eerie."

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