Doing it for love
Tension, balance, and walking in beauty

Tunes for a Monday Morning: self-isolation and the peregrini

Ynys Enlli, viewed from Mynydd Mawr - photograph by Alan Fryer (Creative Commons)

In his book The Wild Places, Robert Macfarlane writes about his journey to Yns Enlli (Bardsey Island), off the coast of the Llŷn Peninsula in Wales:

"Yns Enlli was among the many remote places of the west and north-west coasts of Britain and Ireland to be settled between around AD 500 and 1000," he tells us. "During those centuries, an extraordinary migration occurred. Monks, anchorites, solitaries and other devoted itinerants began to travel in their thousands to the bays, forests, promontories, mountain-tops and islands of the Atlantic littoral. In frail craft and with little experience of seamanship, they sailed out across dangerous seas, in search of something we might now call wilderness. Where they stopped, they build monasteries, cells and oratories, dug cemetaries for their dead and raised stone crosses to their God. These travelers were known as peregrini: the name derives from the Latin peregrinus and carries the idea of wandering over a distance, giving us our word 'pilgrim.' "

Enlii, The Blessed Isle - photograph by Eric Jones (Creative Commons)

At a time when so many are locked down at home to stop the spread of Covid-19, I find myself wondering what the peregrini might have to tell us about the gifts found in self-isolation. Macfarlane notes we know little about them for certain, "yet reading the accounts of their journeys and of their experiences on places like Enlli, I had encountered a dignity of motive and attitude that I found salutary. These men were in search not of material gain, but of a hallowed landscape: one that would sharpen their faith to its utmost point. They were, in the phrasing of their own theology, exiles looking for the Terra Repromissionis Sanctorum -- the Promised Land of Saints.

"A long Christian tradition exists that considers all individuals as peregrini, in that all human life is seen as exile. This idea was perpetuated in the Salve Regina, the chant often recited as a last night prayer. Post hoc exilium, the prayer declares: all will be resolved after this exile. The chant, when sung, sounds ancient and disquieting. It is unmistakably music about wilderness, an ancient vision of wildness, and it still has the capacity to move us.

"Antiphona: Salve Regina," medieval chant

"Much of what we know of the life of the monks of Enlli, and places like it, is inferred from the rich literature they left behind. Their poems speak eloquently of a passionate and precise relationship with nature, and the blend of receptivity and detachment which characterized their interactions with it. Some of the poems read like jotted lists, or field notes: 'Swarms of bees, beetles, soft music of the world, a gentle humming; brent geese, barnacle geese, shortly before All Hallows, music of the wild dark torrent.' Others record single charmed instants: a blackbird calling from a gorse branch near Belfast Loch, foxes at play in a glade. Marban, a ninth-century hermit who lived in a hut in a fir-grove near Druim Rolach, wrote of the 'wind's voice against a branchy wood on a day of grey cloud.' A nameless monk, responsible for drywalling on the island of North Rona in the ninth century, stopped his work to write a poem that spoke of the delight he felt  at standing on a 'clear headland,' looking over the 'smooth strand' to the 'calm sea,' and hearing the calls of 'the wondrous birds.' A tenth-century copyist, working in an island monastery, paused long enough to scribble a note in Gaelic beside his Latin text. 'Pleasant to me is the glittering of the sun today upon these margins.'

"Gleanings such as these give us glimpses of the nature of faith of the peregrini. They are recorded instants which carry purely over the long distances of history, as certain sounds carry with unusual clarity within water or across frozen land. For these writers, attention was a form of devotion and noticing continuous with worship. The art they left behind is among the earliest testimonies to human love of the wild."

"Salve Regina in C Minor" by Giovanni Battista Pergolesi

The music:

In the first video above, "Salve Regina," a Marian antiphon hymn of the Middle Ages, is performed by the Ensemble Organum. The video was filmed by David Wilkes at Canterbury Cathedral, Holy Trinity Church in Coventry, Winchester Castle, and Windsor Castle.

In the second video, "Salve Regina in C Minor," a re-working of the chant by the 18th century Italian composer Giovanni Battista Pergolesi, is performed by L'Arco Magico Chamber Orchestra at the Cathedral of Orvieto in Umbria, Italy. The director is Antonio Puccio, and the soprano is Silvia Frigato.

Below, an exquisitely beautiful "Salve Regina" by the great Estonian composer Arvo Pärt is performed by the Coral Reyes Bartlet, the Coro de Cámara Mateo Guerra, the Coro Juvenil David Goldsmith, and the Orquesta del Encuentro de Música Religiosa de Canarias in Puerto de la Cruz, Tenerife.

"Salve Regina" by Arvo Pärt

 Sara Maitland is another writer fascinated by the peregrini.  "On island after island," she writes in A Book of Silence, "the more isolated and far-flung the better -- on St. Kilda, on the Farnes, on the Shiants, throughout the Hebrides and the northern islands, off the coast of Ireland, around Iceland and possibly even North America -- the traces of hermits can be found. This history is confused and uncertain, but originating in Ireland in the fifth century, there was a well-developed form of Christian spirituality which valued the silent eremitical vocation extremely highly.

A ''cleit'' (stone hut) on St Kilda

"In Britain, the most famous such voluntary exile was Columba, who left Ireland in the mid sixth century and crossed the Irish Sea to become first a hermit and later a missionary and founding father based on the tiny island of Iona, which is just to the west of Mull. His community later spread across Scotland and converted north-east England as well, but he was by no means unique: over the next several centuries hermits settled alone or in tiny communities all over western Scotland and further afield too....These adventures were known in Ireland as 'green martydoms' -- to distinguish them from the 'red martyrdom' of being slain, shedding blood for the faith. To leave home and travel out beyond civilization was a martyrdom (the word means 'witness'), death of the ego, a self-giving that seems absolute."

Iona by Torsten Henning

Shetland ponies on the Isle of Foula

"We do not know very much about the spiritual theology of these early hermits," Maitland continues. "Their lives are lost in legend and story, their physical markers faded or wiped out by the wildness of the places where they dwelt."

One of these hermits was St. Cuthbert, bishop of the monastery on Lindisfarne, a center of Celtic Christianity in the Farne Islands off the Northumbrian coast. A great lover of nature, he issued regulations to his monks for the special protection of Eider Ducks, which are called Cuddy Ducks ("Cuthbert's Ducks") to this day. He retired to live an austere and solitary life on Inner Farne Island in 676, and died there in 687.

Lindisfarne Abbey and St Marys by Russ Hamer

Cuddy Ducks

Sara Maitland explains that we know more about St. Cuthbert than most other Christian hermits because he was personally known and loved by Bede, author of The Ecclesiastical History of the English People. "But what interested Bede is somewhat different than what interests me," writes Maitland. "So, for example, Bede records that Cuthbert would pray all night standing up to his neck in the frigid waters of the North Sea and, indeed, when he emerged otters would come and warm him with their tongues and fur. This combination of the ferociously ascetic and the miraculous engages Bede, for what he is writing about is the ultimate form of something so obvious to him that he never says anything about what Cuthbert thought he was trying to achieve, nor about the content of those prayers.

Otter, Farne Islands

Grey seal & newborn calf, The Farne Islands, Northumberland

"It is not until rather later, from the tenth to twelfth centuries, that we begin to get accounts that attempt to explain what the island hermits were seeking, in the beguiling poetry of the Irish monks:

" 'Delightful I think it to be in the bosom of an isle, on the peak of a rock, that I might often see there the calm of the sea. That I might see its heavy waves over the glittering ocean, as they chant a melody to their Father on their eternal course. That I might see its smooth strand of clear headlands, no gloomy thing; that I might hear the voice of its wondrous birds, a joyful tune. That I might hear the sound of the shallow waves against the rocks; that I might hear the cry by the graveyard, the noise of the sea. That I might see its splendid flocks of birds over the full-watered ocean; that I might see its mighty wales, greatest of wonders. That I might see its ebb and its flood-tide in their flow; that this might be my name, a secret I tell, "He who turned his back on Ireland." That contrition of heart should come upon me as I watch it; that I might bewail my many sins, difficult to declare. That I might bless the Lord who has power over all, heaven with its pure host of angels, earth, ebb, flood-tide.' "

Birds on the Farne Islands by Bob Jones

Puffins on The Farne Islands by Joe Cornish

Unlike Maitland and the hermit monks she admires, I am not a Christian, yet my morning prayers on Nattadon Hill aren't so different from those of the nature-loving peregrini:

Delightful I think it to be in the green hills of Devon, climbing through bracken and brambles to the granite peaks above, that I might often see the sheep-dotted fields, and the grey tors of Dartmoor beyond. That I might hear the wind singing in the trees, a choir of oak, ash, rowan, and beech; and the bells of the village church; and the bleating lambs; and the hooting of owls in the woods. That I might see this hillside covered in bluebells, stitchwort, and foxgloves, no gloomy thing; and that I might hear the voice of its rooks and its robins, a joyful tune. That I might see the badgers live undisturbed; and the small red deer, shyest of wonders; and watch wild ponies graze in the tall grass as they flow between valley and moor. That I come nameless to this hill, no more, no less than others creatures here, living quietly, gently upon its slopes. That I walk these paths with respect, attentiveness, open eyes, open ears, open heart. That I might bless Mystery within all of us; and my good neighbors, human and nonhuman alike; and the air, the water, the fire, the earth, ebb and flood-tide. Mitakuye oyasin.

Meldon Hill

Mother and foal

Spring lamb, Chagford
Photo by Helen Mason

Words: The passage by Robert Macfarlane above is from The Wild Places (Granta, 2008); the passage by Sara Maitland is from A Book of Silence (Granta, 2009); both books are highly recommended. All rights reserved by the authors. For more information on the subject, see Songs for the Peregrini by Sara Gibbs Casey (University of Pittsburg, 2003).

Pictures: The photographs of islands in Scottland and north-east England (and their birds and animals) are Creative Commons images. They are identified in the picture captions. (Run your cursor over the images to see them.) The last photo, of a young Chagford lamb, was taken by my friend Helen Mason. The two photographs right above that are mine: Tilly on our hill, with Meldon Hill behind her, and a newborn foal with its mother, April 2020.  

Comments

This blog post is wonderfully and wholly connected. From the Lakota saying, to the meaning of the word "witness" in Greek, to the photos, and, finally, the calming, meditative music. Thanks so much.

I love the photo of the 'cleit', are these the same as the 'beehive cells' of the hermits? Their structure looks a little different.

Below is a poem for those of us who have no access to the wild in this time of 'lock-Down'. We can still find wonder in the wilderness of the city


THE URBAN HERMIT

In the wilderness of the brain,
In the beehive cell of the mind,
Here in the storming seas of the ego
I hermit myself.

Between the road and the railway
Cars breathe an incense of fumes
That sanctify
This city-wide church,
And The Word is inscribed
In the calligraphy of contrails
Engraved by the jets
That fly like motes
In the eye of the sky.

This is lovely Stuart, thank you.

Lovely lovely, Stuart. Here is Mine


In This Isolate


In this isolate,
if two people,
and one large dog,
can call itself
a hermit's cell,
I consider my sins.
Omission
not commission.
Things left off doing
from fear,or desire
for solemnity,
or mistaking lonliness
for aloness.


In this isolate,
where we walk each day
in the woods,'
hear a bard owl calling,
watch the soar of vultures,
the trust of skunk cabbage
up from black earth.
Where we step over roots,
remark about old granite
looking like giants
asleep since the glacier
tilled the earth.

In this isolate
where only a mask
and six feet off the path,
keeps us from passing strangers.
we make meals,
break bread together,
talk about the news stories,
curse the government,
write poetry and prose,
gather in the comfort
of one aother's arms,
play at isolation,
considering ourselves
at 80 safe,
Wekeep silence in our hearts
but only those silences
we wish to hear.

©2020 Jane Yolen all rights reserved

Thank you, Kate.

I love the tough vulnerability of this, Jane.

Is 'bard owl' a typo for Barred or Barn owl, or is it actually a species? I do hope it's an actual species. If not, there needs to be one!

Barred owl, finger slips, mind blips, just typing too fast and not reading it well enough after.

Thanks,

Jane

There should be a Bard Owl, it fits in nicely with the concept of the'Wise Owl'.

Hi Stuart

A beautiful poem that is so pertinent for this time. I love the opening and how you describe inner seclusion as well as the outer, of going deep into oneself -

"In the wilderness of the brain,
In the beehive cell of the mind,
Here in the storming seas of the ego
I hermit myself. "

I personally think when we are physically sheltered in place, the reflective power of the mind, the quiet solitude and imaginings that happen there, safe us. Creativity blesses our spirit and becomes a force of salvation in its right.

thank you for sharing this,
I can definitely relate,

Best
Wendy

Dear Jane

What a stunningly beautiful poem. I love how the isolation is shared, the strength of a relationship and how nature plays its part in allowing you both to observe the intricacies of life and how life still goes on.

But these lines deeply touched me --

we make meals,
break bread together,
talk about the news stories,
curse the government,
write poetry and prose,
gather in the comfort
of one aother's arms,
play at isolation,
considering ourselves
at 80 safe,

It is the beauty of doing ordinary but also creative things that matter, that bond souls and bodies. I can relate to sharing that kind of intimacy as I have a similar
kind with my own partner. Thank you for sharing this one. As always you inspire and
enlighten.

Please stay safe and take care. So happy for you and this new journey with someone special in your life!

All my best,
Wendy

Cloistered

I shut myself inside an old house
of high ceilings and winding steps. A window
on the stair landing

brings in the nearby world
of a street lamp and some trees
that have shed their blossoms. They now live
in a green frenzy of leaves

afraid of what the wind
will carry back from the fields and river
that border the next town.

In the young hours of morning
between 4 am and 5, light glides
across the vaulting like a dove
with his wings spread wide and his beak

clamped with the anger of Picasso's bird, poised
to peck at the air
clearing it of dust or anything else
that may hover in the gray hush. I watch

with my wrist cuffed
in a blue rosary, thinking this is a sign
of attaining peace of mind, of blessing exile
with primal grace.

Happy Birthday Wishes! A great company where I enjoyed my first decade of working in online learning with a super team. It has been super watching New birthday wishes grow and strengthen over the years. Best wishes for continued innovation and success.

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