An Amazon Centauress
Some years ago a friend and patron came to me with sad news. Her
breast cancer, which had been in remission, had spread to a bone
of her arm. I was stunned. On my workbench there was a wand I
had been inspired to make: a raven perched on the very bone in
question. A tool for creative visualization. I gave it to her.
It was obviously made for her.
That night I had a dream of an Amazon Centauress shooting a flaming
arrow into the sky. When I described this image to her husband,
he insisted I realize it in wood. In the process, I had considerable difficulty fashioning the bow.
Each time I made the upper curve there was some flaw in the osage
orange, and I kept cutting away at my small piece of stock until
there was only one useable segment left. It had a small knot in
the end, and I realized that the bow was actually a snake. But after I had carved the portrait image, I still didn't know
what the symbol meant. So I began to write an old-style ballad
about the mythic figure. The following poem answered my questions.
(After radiation therapy and a bone marrow transplant, our friend
has been in remission for seven years.)
The Amazon Centauress Sometimes on the road a tale is told And sometimes at night by a fire bright They say it was on Mid-Summer's Day So hunkered the Witch of Wye to muse And as she muttered beneath her breath "Now here," she smiled, "is just the bridge But as so often the way with words, Just so the Witch of Wye mis-spoke, A beating of leathery wings in the air. A fitful wind tossed the witch's hair, Neither man nor beast nor womanly wiles But there comes a time in the turn of things, So in the moment the darkness fell, "Arise in me a nightmare form, And there on the spot where the witch had feared, Of man and beast and womanly wiles A thunderous laugh shook down the sky, "For I am the beast of ending all, The Centauress laughed a silver laugh "My weapon is the force of life "I come out of the self-same deep The stars winked out in the blackness With golden thred of hope she strung, The heavens gaped and horrors fell. Her flaming arrow arched the night, The Centauress spun round and leaped She shook her locks and beat the dust Sometimes on the road a song is sung Sometimes by the beds of babes they sing Bryce 1993
How the ancient crones could weave
A spell: to make a young girl old,
Or root her too deep to leave.
They tell of the Witch of Wye,
Who with a chant and a gesture slight
rekindled the light on high.
That the path she took was crossed
By an inky water which blocked the way,
And laughed in the rocks until lost.
And rummage her ancient lore,
Seeking the very spell to use
To make her crossing sure.
The tail of her eye caught sight
Of a sun-dazed serpent upon the heath,
A sinuous shimmer of light.
this river of darkness to span."
And she squinted her weird eye just a smidge,
And an eldritch enchantment began.
Or the magic that spells life's flowering,
It happens we chant the charm backwards,
And the life in our bones starts devouring.
And instead of a shining way over,
A hideous demon of darkness arose,
And his shadow the sun did cover.
And a reeking of sulphurous fumes,
Engulfed the enchantress frozen there,
As above her the doom of day looms.
As the thing she'd called swallowed the sun,
And all she could do was sit and stare
Until the enchantment was done.
Can unconjure the doom of day,
And when all the joy is caught in its coils,
No crying can wash it away.
When the worst that can be has come true,
And if in that instant the right song sings,
You might just the horrors undo.
And the little stars shone at noon,
The hunkering witch a new song did tell,
And sunk her whole soul in the tune.
Black as the terror of dreams,
And while my hooves beat out the thunder of storms,
Make me and Amazon Queen."
And twisted a dusty tress,
A figure of challenging power up-reared:
An Amazon Centauress.
The Centauress was woven,
And her battle song she sang with a smile:
That the darkness come down and be cloven.
And the air was all stench and reek,
"What pitiful thing is this to try
And match with me?" the doom did speak.
And now my dark has come.
And what are you who dares me call?
With what weapon is fate undone?"
That rang and danced in the stones.
"I am the shining that lights the path
When fear has chilled the bones."
That uncoils in the sun,
And the love that conquers over strife,
And says that all are one."
As monsterous things like you,
And now I've come to disturb your sleep,
And the horrors you dream undo."
And a keening wind did blow,
But quick as thought the Centauress
Snatched up the snake for a bow.
And flexed the bow full taut,
Then reaching in, while joy she sung,
Plucked the arrow of her heart.
Black fires scorched the sky.
The Centauress took aim full well,
And let her heart-shaft fly.
And struck: A rending scream.
And from the darkness burst the light,
As woken from a dream.
Across the inky brook,
And there the hunkered witch was heaped,
More quick than you could look.
From off her rumpled clothes,
And mumbled (as the lucky must),
"My goodness that was close."
How the ancient crones could weave
A spell: to make an old girl young,
Or root her too deep to leave.
Of the wandering Witch of Wye,
And how she faced the hideous thing,
And rekindled the light on high.