Tonn Cliodhna

Tonn Cliodhna

Evelynn Keyes

Author's Notes

The Bean Sidhe, the Bean Nighe, the Leannán Sidhe, at first glance one would say the through line between them is that they are all associated with death. The mourner, the psychopomp, the predator, but they are more than that. They are creatures of thresholds, standing on the line between this world and the Other. These poems weren't written, so much as they were given. Writing a poem is messy. Editing and revising mid stanza, deliberating on lines, scrapping unfinished iteration after unfinished iteration and starting again. That's not how these were written. These were written as if the words were gifted to me. I just wrote, no editing or revision during the writing, no scrapped copies, no thinking about what to write. I am the hand who held the pen.

The Leannán Sidhe - Spring

My thin, pale fingers drag across your window pane,

the wind whispers to me "This one is forbidden",

but I wave it away, I've read her work, glimpsed into her mind,

no wind spirit can lead me astray, this one is mine.

I can feel your dreaming, and I sing my sirens song,

hoping you can hear me, through glass and magic wards.

But as you sleep soundly I sit longingly on your sill,

the spring is cold, in time warmth will open your window still.

So every dusk I flew to you, my hair like moonlight the night,

my lips, cheeks, and eyes a rose red, striking again my pale flesh,

until one warm night your windows were cast ajar!

At first I did not enter, I merely watched you from your sill.

Your lips were soft like cushions, yours eyes deep like the seas,

hidden from me behind closed eyes, your brown hair tangled like mine,

you must have been the fairest of your kind, and yet so familiar,

As if I could have been the one laying in that bed the whole time.

Your eyes were dark, striking against skin so fair,

your cheek bones were sharp and you bore a regal air,

your presence was not expansive like most humans,

it was deep and heavy, one had to be careful not to fall in.

But it was far too late for me, I waited too long for this chance,

I stepped into your depth and found myself falling alongside you.

I grabbed hold of you in a moment of fear, and your eyes opened.

They were just as I had imagined, in every way a mirror of Tonn Cliodhna.

You gazed into my dark eyes not with horror or disgust, but with love,

and I heard you think, "This is the most beautiful thing I've seen",

And so I began to weave our lot, I kissed you upon the lips, I bit,

and the moment I tasted your blood I was drunk on its singularity.

It was so fresh, so ripe, so intoxicating and unique, yet wrong,

The wind's words echo in my ears "This one is forbidden".

Defiantly I drank deeper as you gasped in pain and pleasure,

Suddenly I heard waves crashing in my ears and three birds singing.

My eyes grew wide in terror as I looked deep into your eyes,

Tonn Cliodhna.

Her color, Her depth, Her intensity, the fatality of her passions.

I saw it all in your eyes, as your bloodied lips cracked into a fickle grin.

Cliodhna

I couldn't help but laugh despite my fury,

the poetess really was one of my own,

choosing to drown in love and her passions,

than to settle for a life of mediocrity.

The sea turned dark and broody as my face grew gloomy,

the waves surged as my temper flared at the thought,

who was she, a simple Leannan Sidhe, to tryst with one of my daughters,

to break ancient taboo, Sidhe did not blood Sidhe,

even one whose blood song sings so quietly, like a breeze amidst the trees.

My fist split the stone before me, and somewhere in Munster,

a hill was cloven in two, she should be punished for her wrongs.

But I breathed in deep and a calm settled over me, the sea smoothed,

but of course there would be consequences, they were just not for me,

the tide would come in when it came in, just not by my hands,

and it was not my sovereign say, whether the tides swept her away.

I sighed, and so receded the tide, how could I judge?

I, too, chose death for a chance at love, to follow my heart,

as I cast aside my immortality and lay by the sea.

Manannan mac Lir, curse the wave you sent upon me.

The waters grew still, and the fisherman feared my placidness.

Leannán Sidhe, is this poetess to you, my Ciabhan?

Would you await her upon the shore and die for her?

If so, I will keen for you when your time comes,

for in your tragic love affair I see no other than me.

The Leannán Sidhe -Autumn

"This one is forbidden", no wonder I couldn't look away from your eyes,

daring me to kiss you deeper, love you more, you were Sidhe blooded.

Not just any Sidhe, but a granddaughter of Cliodhna, my fate was sealed.

I paused for a moment, passions raging in my chest, and descended.

Ravenous, I was for this human-sidhe blood, that I could not stop,

I dove deeper into taboo, for my fate was already sealed,

I had already crossed the line, and now on my fate I must dine.

Who would come to judge when I was done? Morrígan? Cliodhna?

Blood ran cold at the thought of standing before such powerful Sidhe,

but my desires raged and kept this body warm, I would do what I would do,

I am a Leannán Sidhe, and I bear the gift of poetry to the worthy,

and this one, granddaughter of Cliodhna, belonged to me.

Your writing became inspired, otherworldly, speaking in voices inhuman,

as clearly as if they were your own, inhabiting figures near lost to lore,

and letting them speak again through the receptivity of your pen.

You were humble, taking no credit, but thanking me, your Leannán Sidhe.

You were no fool, knowing that to court one like me you lose one of two,

either your body withers away, you lose your mind to slow decay, or both.

You had such bravado about it, proud to die at the hands of the Sidhe,

but I saw the tears in your eyes, grieving that our love has a price.

Some nights I howl and I grieve, as if I were a Bean Sidhe,

at the injustice of our cursed lot, for your body weakens,

your mind grows frail, and I know with every drop of you I take,

I am losing my lover most dear, but you won't tell me to go.

And She Wept

The wisp of incense smoke lazily swirls around your face,

dancing with shadows of the lit candle placed before you.

Your face distorts as the flame dances and cackles,

you are serene, piercing, and terrible all at once.

Between you and I on this altar lies an offering plate,

silver stained with blood and ash, but it is not hungry today,

you ask not for blood, but something more precious.

you took it like a crow tearing the flesh of a fallen knight.

I was not given the courtesy of a slow descent,

once I closed my eyes I began to fall into a vastness,

the darkness enveloped me in its black wings,

before they burst into a furious fluttering,

like a murder of crows taking to the sky.

There was a rupture, a dissonant call,

and I knew you to be Nemain, red in maw, weeping,

I felt emptiness, a yawning abyss, then I shifted,

back into my hollow self, and realized that the tears were mine.

I opened my eyes, but still I dreamed,

and the silent cacophony ended,

the vastness closed in and encircled me,

the eyes of the Morrígan stared down at me,

but I could not meet her gaze,

only stare into the candles flame and breathe,

tears welled up in my eyes but refused to run down my cheeks.

Was it you who wept, or was it me all along?

Would you weep for me, Nemain?

For the sacrifice of my wild and tempestuous heart?

I gasped awake, before the same altar I had dreamt.

I did not return the way I came,

you took something, something precious and rotten,

you pulled the heart string that held my heart together in your beak,

so suddenly that I didn't realize until it had already fallen apart.

I wept, inside crow call was keening,

Nemain you tore from that which held me in place,

Babh it was you who stood beside me as I mourned,

and Macha now stands before me, as if to ask

will I step forward now to take my place amongst myself?

Na Morrígna, do you always work in threes?

The Bean Nighe

I arrive at your door in the coming of the night.

Your hound howls from the hearth,

your infant son wails in the next room over,

your wife asks you "Who's there?"

"No one" you reply, and open the door.

My presence at your doorstep is deep and hungry,

as if your threshold fell off into an abyss once outside.

The sky is still a dusky blue above the treeline,

around my white cloak and hood shadows settle.

"Come in" you say, but I am already at your table.

Your wife asks again, "Who is it?", closer this time,

and you say sternly, "No one, now mind the child."

Your hound whimpers now, tail between its legs,

it scurries off into the other room.

I refuse to sit, palms on the wood I lean over your table,

fingers stained a deep black, adorned by sharpened nails.

You pull up a chair and sit opposite of me,

leftovers from dinner still fresh on their plates.

My gaze meets your eyes and you sigh,

upon your shoulders rests an inevitable weight.

I reach into my cloak and pull out a bloody rag,

tossing it on the table, I tilt my head like a curious crow.

You reach for it, the blood stains your fingertips,

and when you unfold it you realize that it is yours.

A tear rolls down your cheek, but you do not weep,

"I have a family you know" you say, knowing I do not care,

your eyes implore mine for any mercy, you find none.

You sit and wonder what will become of your wife and child,

but you've run out of time, you're already dead.

I beckon for you to come with me, into the night,

you hesitate, unsteady on your feet, but follow.

As soon as you cross the threshold I keen,

and from within the house you hear your wife's cries.

You turn back as if to offer her any comfort,

but the door has already closed behind you,

and the darkness of night swallows you whole.

"Where do we go now?" you ask of me, stumbling behind,

silence is my only reply, my pale figure moves onwards.

You follow me for what seems like hours through the thick,

an otherworldly fog rolls in, you hear the murmuring of a stream.

The trees suddenly part and you see the running water.

I stand at its edge and gesture broadly, encouraging you to cross.

You heard the stories of the fateful folk since you were a child,

you knew what I was and you knew what was next,

across that river lay the land of plenty if you are lucky,

and the stories your grandfather told were true.

But the water is deep and the air is cold against your skin.

What if what lies on the other side is cold and dark as my eyes,

not a whisper of a land of bounty and eternal youth.

I do not offer you the comfort of answers, nor certainty,

only a deafening silence and an empty stare,

gesturing again towards the misty shoreline,

on the wind you hear your wife and son moan,

but the time has come for you to leave it all behind,

to cross the washer woman's river, fate will not be denied.

You cross the river, trembling in its freezing waters,

and just as you cross the threshold that cannot be uncrossed,

you see the Bean Nighe turn away from you and slowly stand upright,

the towering creature casts you one last glance,

and steps into shadow, both you and she disappear.

The Bean Sidhe

I meandered down a long and distant road,

traveling along the river to the sea.

Hearing nothing but the murmurs of running water,

and the calls of the crows that followed me.

A few men passed me, but they had life yet to live,

so their eyes passed through as if I were the wind.

I hummed a tune, gowned in spectral white,

and collected the occasional stone as I passed.

Down the road from me lay a dead man.

I decided I would dig him a grave, lay him under a cairn,

since his kin, blood soaked hands, neglected their duty.

His corpse came into sight, picked at by carrion and crow,

his hair was fair and his eyes blue as the sky, now dull.

I bent over to touch him, but a familiar tension arose in my chest,

and I knew a child of Munster was about to die.

I stepped off the road onto the shore, disappearing into the stream,

and emerged at the death bed of the poetess, with company.

The Bean Nighe stood silently by the door, eyes set on the poetess,

she stood completely still, only interested in fulfilling her sacred duty.

She, too, was dressed in white, but her hands clasped in front of her,

blackened by the touch of countless deaths, cuffs stained red.

The Leannan Sidhe, with rosy cheeks and rouge lips against pale skin,

her face was streaked with tears as she mourned,

grasping the poetess's withered hand in her bony claws.

She wept, face twisted in anguish, but the poetess smiled.

The Leannán Sidhe looked at the Bean Nighe, for assurance,

but the Bean Nighe ignored her with quiet indifference.

She looked to me for mercy, sympathy, anything,

I looked away, I had none to give, but soon I would grieve beside her.

The Leannán Sidhe - Winter

When you died the Bean Sidhe came and she keened,

the Bean Nigh arrived unbidden and led you away,

neither would look me in the eye, but I thought I saw pity,

sympathy, in the Bean Sidhes eyes, she would mourn with me.

I followed you out the door into the streets on hands and knees,

the Bean Sidhe keened behind me, windows closed, candles hushed,

the cold burned my face, hands, and feet, the stones bloodied my knees,

but still I followed behind you, unable to let you go alone.

We reached a misty river's ford, and the Bean Nighe beckoned,

you turned to look at me, and with tears in your eyes silently mouthed,

"I love you". Your mouth split into a rakish grin, and you turned,

waving goodbye to the Bean Nighe, Bean Sidhe, and dove into the river.

I stayed and mourned a bit longer on that frosty shore,

the Bean Sidhe keened with me, I felt her hand on my shoulder,

but when I went to leave I couldn't move, the Bean Nighes gaze upon me,

she was washing bloodied white robes in the river's ford. They were mine.

I gathered your poems upon the floor, in the bedroom that was yours.

No one came around anymore, so I sat and I wept and read every page.

Every vow that you would be mine until you had nothing left to give,

every promise that this is the only life you would ever want to live.

I took on no lover, not even to feed, and began to wither, as had she,

there was no greater blood to draw than a Faery queen's descendant,

there was no greater taboo than for a Sidhe to blood another Sidhe,

and so I became dust and ash upon piles of tear stained prose.

On the Rivers Shore

I sat across from the Morrigan, towering above me,

"I know what wrong I did. I do not regret it."

Morrígan laughed in three, "You did exactly as you were to do."

Behind me Cliodhna speaks, both soft and terrible,

"I, too, choose death for love, so of course would one of mine,

was she to you as Ciabhan was to me? If so, I forgive you."

I smile bitterly at the mourning Leannan Sidhe across the river,

knowing that I was already gone to her and she could not hear me,

"I would not have loved you any other way,

yours was the price I would always choose to pay."

Glossary

The Leannán Sidhe (lan-awn shee): She is both the boon and bane of poets, a Sidhe who grants poets inspiration and sight into the Otherworld, but at cost. Often these poets pay with their vitality, sanity, or both.

The Bean Nighe (ban nee): She is the washer at the ford. It is said that whoever's bloodied clothes she washes in those waters is doomed to die. She is also a psychopomp figure, leading the dead across the river into the Otherworld.

The Bean Sidhe (ban shee): She is the wailing woman whose keening announces the death of a son or daughter of Ireland. It is said that the sight of her can strike one dead. She is a figure of grief and of passage between life and death.

The Morrigan: Ancient goddess of fate, death, love, war, sovereignty, and more, her name translates to "The Great Queen" or "The Phantom Queen" and she is the leader of the Tuatha De Dannan, the Gods of Ireland. She is tripartite, Babh the crow, Nemain the frenzy, and Macha the Sovereign.

Cliodhna (klee-un-a): Great Faery Queen of the Bean Sidhe and ruler over Munster, she is as tempestuous and dangerous as the sea over which she rules, but as beautiful and fair too. She is a lover of poets, and known to lure them to their deaths in her tides.

Tonn Cliodhna (tun klee-un-a): In ancient myth, Cliodhna became mortal to take on a mortal lover, Ciabhan, but while she slept awaiting her lover, Manannan mac Lir, God of the sea, sent a massive wave to drown her and return her to the Otherworld. It is one of the most sacred waves in Ireland.