The Recipe for a Bard

by Melissa Keindel (amara_strega)

To make a bard one needs to find, the recipe to create its kind. Never easy, always changing, from culture to culture, recipes ranging. Below we find a simple mix, to make a bard, and learn his tricks.

So listen now, as i do tell, a simple bard creation spell:

• Start with 1 cup honey, for the best stories come from honeyed tongues.
• Add 1 cup mead to loosen the mind and mouth.
• A dash of sass, a dash of pluck, a silver coin for good luck.
• A teaspoon of sage, to impart wisdom
• A teaspoon of pepper to keep stories spicy
• A quarter cup of strong beer to add valor and bravado
• A pinch of salt for flavor
• A pinch of suger to sweeten the heart
• A clove of garlic for strength
• A sprig of Thyme so they may keep time in competition
• A tablespoon of oats to add humility
• A cup of spring water to keep the creativity flowing
• Lastly add to the brew one sprig of eyebright to sharpen the wit and open the mind.

Add to a sturdy pot and boil over the intense flames of the bardic fire. Stir frequently, listening for the tell tale signs of bubbling and free-style rapping that tell you it is almost complete.

Once cooked, allow to cool and take on its natural shape, that of the master storyteller and keeper of sacred tales.

Mythic Rap -- Fionn MacCool and the Old Man

I haven't updated this blog in awhile! But now I have a new piece to share and it's very exciting!

So after seeing Professor Elemental perform at the Grand Canadian Steampunk Exposition, I decided to rewrite some of the tales I know as rap lyrics (Mythic Rap). I just finished my first one and it flows fairly well. I thought it would sound great with music, so I found a track by Celtic Cross called 22.

The rest of the song doesn't feel quite right with the lyrics, but the rhythm structure works. I may be able to get some musician friends to help me with that.

Here are the lyrics:

Once upon a time on the isle of green
There lived the greatest warrior that you have ever seen
Not Robin Hood! That’s England you fool!
I’m speaking of Fionn MacCool

And his Fianna. A hearty band of men,
known to kill a giant now and then.
They visited Ireland, Scotland, and Wales
and the adventures they had live on in the tales

That we tell. And so to the Isle of Aran
Why they went to a place so barren
it’s a mystery. But they never went back,
and the tale behind that
is mighty good crack.

Fionn and the boys were exploring that hill
When a dark fog fell and the air was still
For these great trackers, it was quite a fright
But through the fog, they spied a light.

They followed that light and they found a window
of a house that was filled with its warm glow
Fionn came forward and knocked on the door
An old man appeared and at them he glowered.

But being a good host, he let them in
So they sat at the fire, every face a grin
A girl appeared to serve them bread and ale
And the Fianna wooed her with their tall tales

But she pushed them away, though they persisted
Her response was the same and she insisted,
“When we courted, I was ignored by you,
So now it’s too late. Our love is through.”

The Fianna all swore they didn’t know her.
Fionn listened and he concurred. 
But he said nothing, except to gloat
Through the front door, there came a goat.

The beast knocked the tables, it drank the ale
It bit the Fianna until they wailed
The old man cried “I must inquire.
Can you tie that goat down by the fire?”

But Fionn failed to tame that goat
So it was the old man’s turn to grin and gloat
He caught the beast easily and tied it up
The lads had to return to their cups.

These strange events, he could not ignore
Fionn said  “Old man, you are more
than you seem. Talk now and talk fast.
Who is that fair bonnie lass?”

“Ahhhh... Fionn MacCool,”
“That girl is Youth. The truth is cruel.
For the young cannot appreciate their good days
And the old cannot catch her, try as they may.

Upon hearing this, Fionn stood proud
He faced the old man who refused to be cowed.
“Tell me old man, what is that beast?
For its strength seems unnaturally increased.”

“Ahhhh… Fionn MacCool,”
That goat is the World that you think you rule.
Anyone who tries to tame its spirit
Can only succeed in destroying it.”

Fionn and the Fianna drew their swords
And with a single voice, they raged and roared.
“Old man,” shouted Fionn “Tell me true.
“Who are we facing? Who are you?”

“Ahhhh… Fionn MacCool,”
“I am the master of the world, it is mine to rule.
As great as you are, when you draw your last breath
I will best you, for I am Death.”

Before the Fianna could make their attack
They all fell asleep, their jaws went slack.
They awoke in a cave, chilled to their bones
No people, no goats, they were alone.

They gathered their packs, they gathered their kits
They were all shaken and scared from their wits
From the Isle of Aran, they were quickly spurned
And for the rest of their days, they never returned.

The Lost Poetix Bag

The Montreal spoken word community seriously rocks. We are so blessed to have such an open and welcoming community. Last year, I dipped my toe into the spoken word community with some hesitation, not sure how they would react to a storyteller with all these poets. I had heard horror stories from other communities that stated that the spoken word community and the storytelling community stayed on opposite ends of the road and very rarely crossed to see what was happening on the others side. Supposedly, the storytellers didn't like the raw edginess of the spoken word world, and the spoken worders didn't like the traditional format of the storyteller's art.

But not in Montreal. For over a year, I have been warmly welcomed into various spoken word events and labeled as the Storyteller. The audiences have been receptive and generous and it has been a great, rewarding experience. Much love to Montreal's spoken word community!

So there's this event called MadPoetix run by the great Kym Dominique-Ferguson that happens on the second Sunday of the month (soon to be the second Saturday of each month in 2013). I've been going off and on for over a year now and I've told quite a few tales. Tonight was my return to MadPoetix after having taken the summer off, and I promised a new story that was a sordid tale from Kym's past.

This is a great frame story that I have used several times already. It allows for lots of customization, so I can throw in details about other people and events and it all seems natural. Enjoy!

I tried to clean up the audio on this recording, but since I used my Android to record it, it is what it is.

The Lost Poetix Bag (6:23) told by JD Hickey

Guest Teller: Ian Ferrier

Back on October 3rd 2011, I hosted Montreal's first Story Slam called Conte SLAMtastique Storytelling. It was held at Shaika Cafe in NDG and we had over 30 people attend our first event. Very encouraging!

Our first guest teller was local poet and spoken word artist Ian Ferrier. I had met Ian a few times in the past year at other spoken word events, namely his own evening called Wired On Words. Ian has also interviewed other storytellers and performance artists that I admire, so over all, I was a fan of his work.

Ian showed up with his guitar and amp in tow, ready to astound and amaze. His performance was unbelievable and the crowd was greatly impressed. He performed two of his own pieces: Blue Train and Emma's Country. I saw quite a few teary eyes at the end of his second piece, so the crowd was obviously moved.

With Ian Ferrier's permission, I want  to share the first piece he performed. This is taken from his CD "What is this Place" (which also contains Emma's Country).

Blue Train -- Written and performed by Ian Ferrier (7:35 minutes)

My first foray in the Spoken Word World

I say that it was my first time, but technically it was my second. A couple of years ago, I was asked to tell a story during a Coco Cafe evening that was to raise awareness for the Leukemia Registry and to help Heal Emru, but in that evening, I had no restrictions placed upon me.

Last night, I went to a Throw Poetry Collective evening at Le Divan Orange, which is held on the last Sunday of each month in Montreal. It was a small crowd (it was Oscar night and La Nuit Blanche was the night before, so those could've been factors), but they were eager and responsive. I was warmly greeted at the door, encouraged to add my name to the list of performers, and I found a comfy spot in a corner.

The crowd was pretty young, mostly on the University side of things, but most of them seem to know each other. I even ran into an old storyteller compatriot (Isabelle St-Pierre) who was there to share her latest poetic journey tale.

The setup of the evening is pretty simple: There were 8 performers, each being give 3:10 minutes to perform their piece. They are then scored by 5 judges in terms of content, presentation, and stage presence. The top 4 of these performers are selected for a second round, where they need to present a new piece. Points are deducted for going over the time limit (.5 points per 10 seconds) and the top three winners are announced. Between the first and second round, there is an invited artist who performs.

In the first round, I told Truth and Story, which fit inside the 3:10 limit easily. To my surprise, my overall score was in the lower 9s (out of 10), so I made it to the second round.

This was were my downfall occurred. I didn't realize there would be a second round, and I never dreamed I would qualify for this mythical second round, so I didn't have a second piece prepared. I quickly picked a second story (Love and Madness), mentally tore as many feathers off it as I could to make it fit the 3:10 limit, and delivered it as best I could.

The crowd loved it. The judges loved it. My final score was in the mid-to-upper 9s, but unfortunately, I went over the time limit by 30 seconds, which meant I lost 1.5 points, bringing me to the sad end of 4th place in the second round. Pooh.

Still, it was an awesome evening. I sat gobsmacked watching these artists deliver their pieces. Everyone has such raw talent, such hardcore passion, which is something that is not always present in storytelling performances. This is probably one of the reasons that Spoken Word is cooler and Storytelling is dorkier.

I've already mentally pulled the feathers off "The Blue Hippo" story, which makes a 12 minute story fit in the 3 minute limit, and I'm setting my sights on other stories in my repertoire. I've also dusted off my old poetry brain to see if the old girl's got any juice left in her. I'm not sure where this Spoken Word thing will lead, but I willing to try it out!

Update: the recordings of my stories from that night were put on YouTube! Thanks be to Throw Poetry Collective!

Truth & Story


Love & Madness

Guest Poem: Peach Creamed Honey

A month ago, I attended a spoken word event called Wired on Words (hosted by Ian Ferrier) at Casa Del Popolo. I met up with my friend Ruthanne who told me about the event and I met her friend Amal El-Mohtar. Amal is a poet from Ottawa who has recently published a book of poetry called "The Honey Month".

After hearing her read from her book, I immediately purchased a copy and I love it. With her kind permission, I have recorded a poem from her book called Day Two. What's cool about this collection of poetry is its origins (from her website):

28 days there are in the month of February, a cold month in our part of the world, a month in which the summer seems an endless dream one had once, long ago. We should not be tricked by the frost, for it was during the dreaming month of February that Amal El-Mohtar composed The Honey Month, a book that tastes and smells of sun. Each day she uncapped a vial of honey, letting the brew inspire the words that became this book. Amal offers us much more than poetry and prose, however. Her words wrap around us like spiderwebs, gently pulling us into the web she weaves, where honey girls tempt and tease us, where things lost return and sorrow paints the leaves. This is a colourful book, but it is by no means a frivolous one. Remember, not all honey is sweet.

To read more about this book and its authoer, please visit Papaveria Press. The music is called La Vibora by The Paperboys from the The Road to Ellenside album.


Day Two of The Honey Month (3:14 minutes)

Story for September: Summer Nostalgia

This post is a bit of an experiment. I tried recording the piece I wrote in the last post and mixed it with some music. Any feedback you would have would be appreciated. Is the music too much? Does it suit the story?

You can read the text version of this story by clicking here.

The piece of music is by a band called Scatter the Mud. The album is called In the Mud (pronounced "mood") and the track is A Bad Day for Brittany / Flying Plate / Whelan's Reel.