Artists: Sadbh Kellett and Étáin Collins
Producer: Karen McCabe
Date and Time: May 13th - 15th 2021 at 2.00pm daily.
Draíocht is a new commission by folklore and mythology researcher and writer, Sadbh Kellett, exploring the triad of personas of the pagan goddess, Brigid - Brigid of Spring, Brigid of the Forge, and Brigid of Women. Each monologue explores the perceptions we have of Brigid’s mythology and translates her story into modern day, through English and Irish. Presented over three afternoons, this video trilogy of spoken word, folk song and local footage captured from the Meath landscape is designed to bring a fresh take on some of the ancient stories that our culture has to offer.
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I am a willow,
Grandmother, nymph, old spirit.
I was once a seed, dancing in the heavens,
Hanging from the nightingale’s shut beak.
My clutch weak,
My spirit boundless and ready for I was -
Nothing and nothing meant everything.
Nothing meant I could let go, let my weak hold go
I would fall to earth and
Find my place.
I am a willow, an old goddess.
My thick folds of hair hide it all;
Me, you, the rustling squirrels – the Nightingale.
But I was once a sapling,
I was once young and thin,
Frail in a place I had not yet earned,
Exposed to every flood, every gust Wind sent my way
- I should not be here for I was not here before.
Wind was saying, young sapling, grow tall and thin and you fall.
Bury deep roots and demand your place here -
You will grow.
I am a willow.
I am the thick tree by the water, my legs dug deep in the earth,
My bark broad, my sap strong. With every year I draw my lot out -
With each marked ring, each swish of my green mane.
I grow in earth; I grow, I grow – I grow naturally as natural needs me to be.
I am a willow - the wise, wild witch.
If I be otherwise; there is no willow.
- “Willow” by Sadbh Kellett
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Call me Gaia
When I call at your homestead
Call to those you slaughtered and silenced.
Are not my sacred shrines slashed
Enough – The song of death is silence.
Call me Danú.
Wraith, are you not aware
I too am learnèd in silencing?
You too can so simply burn
Your dwellings can so simply shake – and break.
O, our land
Where shepherds kill the sheep
Ireland, where the colour red runs deep.
“Hedge Cutting”, Nemesis, Ed. I, Sadbh Kellett
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