THE BARDIC CRAFT

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Today, the word Bard conjures many different images. Not only has it been used
to describe Shakespeare and Robert Burns, that same title is also given to the
impressively costumed gentleman who heads the Welsh Eisteddfod.
In the remoter parts of the Celtic countries, people called Bards sing the old
songs and some even tell old tales. Occasionally, they still make songs to
commemorate events - such as the aged Hebridean Bard who, not that long ago,
sang of the raising of the first television mast on his island!
If we were to try to find some common ground for these very different people,
other than their shared title, it could only be their lack of similarity to the
original Celtic Bards.
The Ollamh, the highest degree of Bard in ancient Gaelic society, belongs to the
Druid class. As such, the nature of his poetry is predominantly religious, being
mainly used in ritual, or certainly in a spiritual context. His main
preoccupation is the perception of what he calls "poetic truth" and its
subsequent translation and refinement into exact statement. The "poetic truth"
being, of course, that mysterious and elusive gift of the Otherworld Goddess,
the feminine archetype - inspiration.
The ability to tame that raw, chaotic force into poetry he sees as coming from
the God, the male archetype. Here we see the eternal principal of creation at
work, this time on a mental/spiritual level, as the inspirational Muse and the
fire of discipline unite to give birth to poetry and music. If the Bard is male,
he "wooes the Muse" to use a well-worn phrase. If she is female, she invokes the
Muse from without or within. In essence, the process is the same.
It could perhaps be said that one of the main functions of the Bard is to
promote and maintain the twilight state so favoured by the Celts. A particular
outlook on life that, indeed, marks one as a Celt. Namely, a belief in the
dualistic Otherworld that, although not often seen, is always felt - inside
one's self with the heart and outside with a prickling of hair on the nape of
the neck or a tingling of the spine.
This state of neither one thing nor the other is a very difficult thread to
weave through a poem :
I would not find...
For when I find, I know,
I shall have claspt the
wandering wind
And built a house of snow...
These words, from the ancient Gaelic poem "From the Hills of Dream", express
well the Bardic ideal - to say something, but to retain mystery.To convey with
words and music an ideal which the mind will understand at one level, but only
the spirit will perceive at another. For the former understanding comes from
this world - and the God...and the latter from the emotive Otherworld - whose

essence belongs to the Goddess. The Bard, therefore, must be more than a
musician and storyteller - he must be a messenger from the Otherworld.
We can see this process working beautifully in the old legends. Rather like the
skins of an onion, it seems that the layers of a Celtic legend are infinite but so they should be! For the purposes of explanation, however, they can be
broadly split into three - Body, Mind and Spirit.
The body of the legend is the basic story it tells. But, be it of love, heroism
or death, it should always include a part of the Universal Theme - the one great
tale of the seasonal, cyclic relationship between the God and the Goddess.
The mind of the legend will be in code, understandable only to those people who
possess the key. Hidden within this code is the whole Celtic system and how to
operate it. But, as Robert Graves says in his book The White Goddess it is well
hidden, guarded and disguised.
The spirit of the legend belongs not to this
subtle level than the words or their musical
unconscious communing between Bard, listener
the unifying, linking factor between men and

world, for it affects us on a more

accompaniment. This level is an
and the Divine. The Bard is here
Gods...

The creation of words and music is obviously only one aspect of Bardism. Another
is the committing to memory of literally hundreds of legends, poems and harp
accompaniments. Although the legends are told in prose style, the Bard during
times of high drama breaks into metred poetry with suitable musical enhancement.
This necessitates the learning of well over one hundred Bardic metres - the Dan
Direach, all of which have individual poetic significance and therefore
application. Each metre has a title, such as Rannaigheacht dialtach mhor, or
"great one-syllabled versification" and an explanatory formula.
On a further level, the Bard attributes certain magical qualities to certain
musical notes, and thus it is believed that a particular harp accompaniment will
affect the listener in a certain way. In the legends, it is said that a Bard
must be able to play three (that number again) magical strains on his harp - the
Sleep Strain, the Laughter Strain and the Weeping Strain.
All this, of course, is the intellectual aspect of the craft. A Bard never
forgets that ultimately he answers to the Goddess who reaches far beyond the
knowable. And along that path lies the never-ending, sometimes painful, quest
for inspiration and the overwhelming need to convey the ideal of truth and the
spirit of beauty...To enchant and lead the listener to the Otherworld...
Through dark trees, speared by thin bright light.
Through eyes against which hair blows.
Through gold in a puddle, silver covered by clouds,
I have guessed at you in wakefulness.
I have dreamed you in sleep.
Words whispered down the wind.
Shapes against the daylight glare.
Or shadows, merging with shadows, spreading into night.
Where touch is more real than sight.
And the trees are emptiness between the glades...

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------Copyright: 1986 Fiona Tullis

[First published in Dalriada magazine]