Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth
In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.
To the Tune of: 'Spiderman'
They sure don't make superheroes like they used to.
Consider Morvan son of Tegid, named in an anonymous 10th century Welsh poem as one of the warriors of Arthur's warband. So ugly was Morvan that no weapon would harm him.
Or consider his companion, Sandde Angel-Face, so beautiful that no weapon would harm him. These powers brought them both unscathed, even through the Battle of Camlan, where Arthur fell.
Today's superheroes seem a lesser breed by comparison. Beside such superpowers, what good are retractable metal claws, or the ability to shrink to the size of an ant?
Of what use is a superpower without practical applications?
Iron Man
(To the tune of: “Spiderman”)
Iron Man, Iron Man:
does whatever an iron can.
Presses clothes,
any size,
clothes for girls,
and clothes for guys.
Look out:
here comes the Iron Man!
You can learn more of Morvan son of Tegid, Sandde Angel-Face, and their fellows in Martin Shaw and Tony Hoagland's remarkable Cinderbiter: Celtic Poems (2020, Graywolf Press).
Some people quote Scripture. Pagans cite the Poets.
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