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Culture / Re: Yoruba Mythology by rgp922: 1:04pm On Oct 15, 2011 |
[size=20pt]III. THE WAR OF THE GODS.[/size] Arába continues: Oíbo, I will tell and chronicle A second chapter from the histories The fable of Earth, Water and Forest Bequeathed from other times. . . A tale is told How God in the Beginning sent three sons Into the World—Earth, Water and the Forest— With one and twenty gifts for Earth and men That are the sons of Earth; and all save one The Forest and the Rivers stole; and how God promised to his first-born, Earth, that men Should win the twenty gifts again by virtue Of that last one, Good Humour. And this is true: For in those years when Ógun and the Gods Made known their handicrafts men learned to seek Thatch, food and wine in Forest and in River Strife between Odúwa and Orísha Patiently. So Man prevailed; but in those days Came strife and turmoil to the Gods—for still For jealousy and pride Odúwa held The bag Arámfè gave to Great Orísha. Often Orísha made entreaty; oft A suppliant came before his brother—in vain; Till once when Odudúwa sat with Ógun p. 28 In that same palace where the Órní reigns, The sound of drums was heard and Great Orísha Approached with skilled Obálufon, and said: "The time has come to teach Arámfè's arts "To men. Give back the bag (for it is mine!) That I may do our Father's bidding. Else, Have a care, is it not told how caution slept In the still woods when the proud leopard fell, Lured on by silence, 'neath the monster's foot?"1 Then was Odúwa angered exceedingly: "Am I not king? Did not Arámfè make Me lord of Gods and men? Begone! Who speaks Unseemly words before the king has packed His load."2 Orísha and Odúwa called brings war to Ífè. To arms their followings of Gods and men, And on that day the first of wars began In Ífè and the Forest. Such was the fall Of the Gods from paths divine, and such for men The woe that Odudúwa's theft prepared; But little the Gods recked of their deep guilt p. 29 Till darkness fell and all was quiet—for then Returned the memory of Calm, their heritage, Of Heaven born and destined for the World; Gloom, too, with the still night came down: a sense Of impious wrong, ungodly sin, weighed down Warriors aweary, and all was changed. Around, Dead, dead the Forest seemed, its boughs unstirred; Dead too, amidst its strangling, knotted growth The stifled air—while on that hush, the storm's Arámfè tries to stop it; Mute herald, came the distant thundrous voice Of Old Arámfè as he mused: "In vain Into the Waste beneath I sent my sons— The children of my happy vales—to make A World of mirth: for desolation holds The homes of Ífè, and women with their babes Are outcast in the naked woods." But when The whirling clouds were wheeling in the sky And the great trees were smitten by the wind, Thundrous Arámfè in his ire rebuked His erring sons: "At my command you came To darkness, where the Evil of the Void— Insentient Violence—had made its home, To shape in the Abyss a World of joy p. 30 And lead Creation in the ways of Heaven. How, then, this brawling? Did the Void's black soul Outmatch you, or possess your hearts to come Again into its own? For Man's misfortune I grieve; but you have borne them on the tide Of your wrong-doing, and your punishment Is theirs to share. For now my thunderbolts I hurl, with deluges upon the land— To fill the marshes and lagoons, and stay For aye your impious war." but fails. Dawn came; the storm Was gone, and Old Arámfè in his grief Departed on black clouds. But still the wrath, But still the anger of his sons endured, And in the dripping forests and the marshes The rebel Gods fought on—while in the clouds Afar Arámfè reasoned with himself: "I spoke in thunders, and my deluge filled The marshes that Ojúmu dried;—but still They fight. Punish, I may—but what can I Achieve? In Heaven omnipotent: but here—? What means it? I cannot tell. . . In the Unknown, Beyond the sky where I have set the Sun, p. 31 Is He-Who-Speaks-Not: He knows all. Can this Be Truth: Amidst the unnatural strife of brothers The World was weaned: by strife must it endure—?" Oíbo, how the first of wars began, And Old Arámfè sought to stay the flow Of blood—your pen has written; but of the days, The weary days of all that war, what tongue Can tell? 'Tis said the anger of the Gods Endured two hundred years: we know the priest Osányi made strange amulets for all The mortal soldiers of the Gods—one charm Could turn a spear aside, a second robbed The wounding sword of all its sting, another Made one so terrible that a full score Must flee—but not one word of the great deeds, Of hopes and fears, of imminent defeat Or victory snatched away is handed down: No legend has defied, no voice called through The dimness and the baffling years. But when An end was come to the ill days foreknown To Him-Who-Speaks-Not, remembrance of the calm Of Heaven stole upon the sleepless Gods— p. 32 For while the Moon lay soft with all her spell On Ífè of the many battles; while With sorrowful reproach the wise trees stood And gazed upon the Gods who made the soil The voices of the Forest crooned their dreams Of peace: "Sleep, sleep" all weary Nature craved, And "Sleep" the slumbrous reed-folk urged, and 'twixt The shadow and the silver'd leaf, for sleep Ógun asks Odúwa to give back the bag to Orísha. The drowsing breezes yearned. . . . And with the dawn Ógun, the warrior, with his comrades stood Before the king, and thus he spoke: "Odúwa, We weary of the battle, and its agony Weighs heavy on our people. Have you forgot The careless hours of Old Arámfè's realm? What means this war, this empty war between One mother's sons? Orísha willed it so, You say. . . 'Twas said of old 'Who has no house Will buy no broom',1 Why then did Great Orísha Bring plagues on those he made in love? In Heaven Afar Arámfè gave to you the empire, p. 33 And to Orísha knowledge of the ways Of mysteries and hidden things. The bag You seized; but not its clue—the skill, the wisdom Of Great Orísha which alone could wake The sleeping lore. . . The nations of the World Are yours: give back the bag, and Great Orísha Will trouble us no more." But neither Ógun Nor the soft voices of the night could loose Odúwa from the thrall of envy: the rule Of men and empire were of no account When the hot thought of Old Arámfè's lore Roused his black ire anew. The bag he held; But all the faithless years had not revealed Its promised treasures. Bitterly he answered: Odúwa refuses; "These many years my brother has made war Upon his king; while for the crown, its power And greatness, I have wrought unceasing. To-day My son—hope of my cause, my cause itself— Wearies of war, and joins my enemies. Weak son, the sceptre you were born to hold And hand down strengthened to a line of kings Could not uphold your will and be your spur Until the end. Is it not said, "Shall one Priest bury, and anon his mate dig up p. 34 The corpse?"1 No day's brief work have you undone, But all my heart has longed for through a life Of labour. So let it be: God of Soft Iron! Upon your royal brow descends this day The crown of a diminished chieftaincy, With the sweet honours of a king in name— For I go back to Old Arámfè's hills and trans- forms to stone, And the calm realm you prate of." Then Odudúwa Transformed to stone and sank beneath the soil, Bearing away the fateful bag. taking the And thus, bag with him. Beneath, through all the ages of the World A voiceless lore and arts which found no teacher Have lain in bondage. |
Culture / Re: Yoruba Mythology by rgp922: 12:57pm On Oct 15, 2011 |
ill continue from where i stopped yesterday. [size=20pt]II. THE DESCENT[/size] Arába speaks: I am the voice of Ífa, messenger Of all the Gods: to me the histories Are known, and I will tell you of the days Of the Descent. How Old Arámfè sent The Gods from Heaven, and Odudúwa stole The bag—my king has told you. . . For many a day Across unwatered plains the Great Ones journeyed, And sandy deserts—for such is the stern bar Set by Arámfè 'twixt his smiling vales The Gods arrive at the edge of Heaven. And the stark cliff's edge which his sons approached Tremblingly, till from the sandy brink they peered Down the sheer precipice. Behind them lay The parched, forbidding leagues; but yet the Sun Was there, and breezes soft, and yet the mountains— A faded line beyond the shimmering waste— Called back to mind their ancient home. Beneath Hung chaos—dank blackness and the threatening roar Of untamed waters. Then Odudúwa spoke: "Orísha, what did we? And what fault was ours? Outcasts to-day; to-morrow we must seek Our destiny in dungeons, and beneath p. 21 That yawning blackness we must found a city For unborn men. Better a homeless life In desert places: dare we turn and flee To some lost valley of the hills? Orísha, What think you?" Then spoke Orísha whom men call The Great: "Is this Odúwa that I hear— My mother's son who stole Arámfè's gift, And thought to filch away the hearts of men With blessings which were mine to give? For me, The arts I know I long to use, and yearn To see the first of toiling, living men That I shall make. Forbidding is our task, You say—but think, ere we return to peace And Heaven's calm, how boundless is the fate You flinch from! Besides, is Godhead blind? You think Arámfè would not know? Has Might no bodes With eyes and ears? . . Dumb spirits hungering Odúwa sends Ojúmu with the Bird, For life await us: let us go." So spoke Orísha; and Odúwa hung a chain Over the cliff to the dark water's face, And sent Ojúmu, the wise priest, to pour The magic sand upon the sea and loose p. 22 The five-clawed Bird to scatter far and wide Triumphant land.1 But, as Earth's ramparts grew, Ever in the darkness came the waves and sucked Away the crumbling shore, while foot by foot Lagoons crept up, and turned to reedy swamps The soil of hope. So Odudúwa called and Olókun and Olóssa. Olókun2 and Olóssa3 to the cliff And thus he spoke: "Beneath, the waters wrestle With the new-rising World, and would destroy Our kingdom and undo Arámfè's will. Go to the fields of men to be, the homes That they shall make. Olókun! to the sea! For there your rule and your dominion shall be: To curb the hungry waves upon the coastlands For ever. And thus, in our first queen of cities And secret sanctuaries on lonely shores Through every æon as the season comes, Shall men bring gifts in homage to Olókun. And you, Olóssa, where your ripple laps The fruitful bank, shan see continually The offerings of thankful men." p. 23 The months Of Heaven passed by, while in the moonless night The Bird makes the Earth, Beneath the Bird toiled on until the bounds, The corners of the World were steadfast. And then Odúwa called Orísha and the Gods To the cliff's edge, and spoke these words of sorrow: "We go to our sad kingdom. Such is the will Of Old Arámfè: so let it be. But ere The hour the wilderness which gapes for us Engulf us utterly, ere the lingering sight Of those loved hills can gladden us no more— May we not dream awhile of smiling days Gone by? . . Fair was drenched morning in the Sun When dark the hill-tops rose o'er misty hollows; Fair were the leafy trees of night beneath The silvering Moon, and beautiful the wind Upon the grasslands. Good-bye, ye plains we roamed. The Gods descend. Good-bye to sunlight and the shifting shadows Cast on the crags of Heaven's blue hills. Ah! wine Of Heaven, farewell" . . . So came the Gods to Ífè. Then of an age of passing months untold By wanings of the Moon our lore repeats A sunless World. p. 24 The dirge of wasting hopes and the lament Of a people in a strange World shuddering Beneath the thunder of the unseen waves On crumbling shores around. Always the marsh Pressed eagerly on Ífè; but ever the Bird Returned with the unconquerable sand Ojúmu poured from his enchanted shell, And the marsh yielded. Then young Ógun bade The Forest grow her whispering trees—but she Budded the pallid shoots of hopeless night, And all was sorrow round the sodden town Where Odudúwa reigned. Yet for live men Orísha creates man. Orísha, the Creator, yearned, and called To him the longing shades from other glooms; He threw their images1 into the wombs Of Night, Olókun and Olóssa, and all The wives of the great Gods bore babes with eyes Of those born blind—unknowing of their want— And limbs to feel the heartless wind which blew From outer nowhere to the murk beyond. . . But as the unconscious years wore by, Orísha, The Creator, watched the unlit Dawn of Man Wistfully—as one who follows the set flight p. 25 Of a lone sea-bird when the sunset fades Beyond a marshy wilderness—and spoke To Odudúwa: "Our day is endless night, And deep, wan woods enclose our weeping children. The Ocean menaces, chill winds moan through Our mouldering homes. Our guardian Night, who spoke To us with her strange sounds in the still hours Of Heaven is here; yet she can but bewail Her restless task. And where is Evening? Oh! where Is Dawn?" He ceased, and Odudúwa sent Ífa, the Messenger, to his old sire To crave the Sun and the warm flame that lit The torch of Heaven's Evening and the dance. . . Arámfè sends fire, the Sun and the Moon. A deep compassion moved thundrous Arámfè, The Father of the Gods, and he sent down The vulture with red fire upon his head For men; and, by the Gods' command, the bird Still wears no plumage where those embers burned him— A mark of honour for remembrance. Again The Father spoke the word, and the pale Moon Sought out the precincts of calm Night's retreat p. 26 To share her watch on Darkness; and Day took wings, And flew to the broad spaces of the sky— To roam benignant from the floating mists Which cling to hillsides of the Dawn—to Eve Who calls the happy toilers home. And all The Age of Mirth. Was changed: for when the terror of bright Day Had lifted from the unused eyes of men, Sparks flew from Ládi's anvil, while Ógun taught The use of iron, and wise Obálufon1 Made brazen vessels and showed how wine streams out From the slim palms.2 And in the night the Gods Set torches in their thronging courts to light The dance, and Heaven's music touched the drum Once more as in its ancient home. And mirth With Odudúwa reigned. |
Politics / Re: Why Did Awo Lose The 1979 Election? by rgp922: 5:18pm On Oct 14, 2011 |
haha people calling Awo a tribalist. Who was not tribalist at that time? Even your Biafran warlord said Awo was the best President Nigeria never had. |
Culture / Re: Yoruba Mythology by rgp922: 4:43pm On Oct 14, 2011 |
Ill continue later |
Culture / Re: Yoruba Mythology by rgp922: 2:15pm On Oct 14, 2011 |
Kilode?!: thanks mate. I welcome corrections. If i miss something, please tell |
Politics / Re: Let's Have Your Complaints Here by rgp922: 2:14pm On Oct 14, 2011 |
Culture / Re: Yoruba Mythology by rgp922: 2:10pm On Oct 14, 2011 |
Rgp92 was banned by spambot Anyway ill continue with this user. I found this rare book by a white man [size=20pt]Myths of Ífè[/size] By John Wyndham [London, 1921] This short book is a translation of some of the myths of the Yoruba people of Nigeria. It is a history of the creation of the world, the gods, and humanity, and the early days of the sacred city of Ífè, the traditional center of Yoruba culture. The text was recited to the author/translator by the high priests of Ífè, and the book is still cited in some books on traditional Yoruba religion and thought today. It has undeservedly become quite rare, as it can be considered a minor classic in the field. [size=20pt]PERSONS[/size] Arámfè God of Thunder and Father of the Gods. Orísha Creator of men. Son of Arámfè. Odúwa or Odudúwa ⎱ ⎰ King of men. Son of Arámfè. Ógun God of Iron. Son of Odúwa. Oráyan The warrior son of Ógun. Ládi Smith of Ógun. Obálufon A worker in brass. Mórimi Wife of Obálufon. Ífa The Messenger of the Gods, principally known by reason of divination. Olókun Goddess of the Sea. Olóssa Goddess of the Lagoons. Óshun A Goddess who transformed and became the River Oshun. Édi The Perverter. A God of Evil who led men astray. p. 10 Éshu Now regarded as the Devil, but originally as the Undoer of the favours of the Gods. Peregún ’Gbo A Forest God who caused the Forest to bring forth wild animals and watched over the birth of Orúnmila. Orúnmila A God who watches over the birth of children. Offun Kánran A messenger of Ífa. Órní Odúm’la The ancestor of the Órnís of Ífè. Ojúmu A priest. Osányi A priest and maker of charms. The Sun, Moon, Night, Day, Dawn and Evening were also Gods and Goddesses sent by Arámfè, who is often spoken of as God. But a higher and very distant Being is mentioned by some of the Priests. Oíbo means White Man. Okpéllè is a charm used in the divination of Ífa. The final N is as in bon, and French pronunciation is nearly correct in all the above names. [size=20pt]I. THE BEGINNING.[/size] A white man visits Ífè, the sacred city of the Yórubas, and asks to hear the history of the place. The Órní, the religious head of Yórubaland, begins, and directs the Babaláwo Arába, the chief-priest of Ífa to continue. The Órní of Ífè speaks: Oíbo, you have asked to hear our lore, The legends of the World's young hours—and where Could truth in greater surety have its home Than in the precincts of the shrines of Those Who made the World, and in the mouths of priests To whom their doings have been handed down From sire to son? Arámfè reigns in Heaven; Before this World was made There reigned Arámfè in the realm of Heaven Amidst his sons. Old were the hills around him; The Sun had shone upon his vines and cornfields Since time past reckoning. Old was Arámfè, The father of the Gods: his youth had been The youth of Heaven. . . Once when the King reclined Upon the dais, and his sons lay prostrate In veneration at his feet, he spoke tells his sons of the creation of Heaven; Of the great things he purposed: "My sons, you know But fair things which I made for you, before I called your spirits from the Dusk: for always p. 14 Your eyes have watched the shadows and the wind On waving corn, and I have given you The dances and the chorus of the night— An age of mirth and sunrise (the wine of Heaven) Is your existence. You have not even heard Of the grey hour when my young eyes first opened To gaze upon a herbless Mass, unshaped And unadorned. But I knew well the heart Of Him-Who-Speaks-Not, the far-felt Purpose that gave Me birth; I laboured and the grim years passed: Streams flowed along their sunny beds; I set The stars above me, and the hills about; I fostered budding trees, and taught the birds Their song—the unshapely I had formed to beauty, And as the ages came I loved to make The beautiful more fair. . . All went not well: A noble animal my mind conceived Emerged in loathsome form to prey upon My gentle creatures; a river, born to bask In sunlit channels and mirror the steep hills, Tore down its banks and ravaged field and plain; While cataract and jagged precipice, Now grand with years, remind me of dread days p. 15 When Heaven tottered, and wide rifts sundered my young Fair hills, and all seemed lost. Yet—I prevailed. Think, now, if the accomplished whole be Heaven, How wonderful the anxious years of slow And hazardous achievement—a destiny For Gods. But yours it has not been to lead Creation by the cliff's-edge way from Mass To Paradise." He paused on the remembrance, And Great Orísha cried: "Can we do naught? What use in godhead without deeds to do? Where yearns a helpless region for a hand To guide it?" And Old Arámfè answered him: sends them to make the World. "My son, your day approaches. Far-off, the haze Rests always on the outer waste which skirts Our realm; beyond, a nerveless Mass lies cold 'Neath floods which some malign unreason heaves. Odúwa, first-born of my sons, to you I give The five-clawed Bird, the sand of power.1 Go now, Call a despairing land to smiling life Above the jealous sea, and found sure homesteads For a new race whose destiny is not The eternal life of Gods. You are their judge; p. 16 Yours is the kingship, and to you all Gods And men are subject. Wisest of my sons, Orísha, yours is the grateful task to loose Vague spirits1 waiting for the Dawn—to make The race that shall be; and to you I give This bag of Wisdom's guarded lore and arts For Man's well-being and advancement. And you, My younger sons, the chorus and the dance, The voice of worship and the crafts are yours To teach—that the new thankful race may know The mirth of Heaven and the joys of labour." Then Odúwa said: "Happy our life has been, And I would gladly roam these hills for ever, Your son and servant. But to your command I yield; and in my kingship pride o'ersteps Sorrow and heaviness. Yet, Lord Arámfè, I am your first-born: wherefore do you give The arts and wisdom to Orísha? I, The King, will be obeyed; the hearts of men Will turn in wonder to the God who spells Strange benefits." But Arámfè said "Enough; To each is fitting task is given. Farewell." The Gods leave Heaven. p. 17 Here the Beginning was: from Arámfè's vales Through the desert regions the exiled Gods approached The edge of Heaven, and into blackness plunged— A sunless void o'er godless water lying—1 To seize an empire from the Dark, and win Amidst ungoverned waves a sovereignty. Odúwa steals the bag and causes War on Earth. But by the roadside while Orísha slept Odúwa came by stealth and bore away The bag Arámfè gave. Thus was the will Of God undone: for thus with the charmed sand Cast wide on the unmastered sea, his sons Called forth a World of envy and of war. Of Man's Creation, and of the restraint Olókun2 placed upon the chafing sea, Of the unconscious years which passed in darkness Till dazzling sunshine touched the unused eyes Of men, of War and magic—my priest shall tell you, And all the Great Ones did before the day They vanished to return to the calm hills Life in Ífè is as it was in the time of the Gods p. 18 Of Old Arámfè's realm . . . They went away; But still with us their altars and their priests Remain, and from their shrines the hidden Gods Peer forth with joy to watch the dance they taught, And hear each night their chorus with the drum: For changeless here the early World endures In this first stronghold of humanity, And, constant as the buffets of the waves Of Queen Olókun on the shore, the song, The dance of those old Gods abide, the mirth, The life . . . I, too, am born of the Beginning: Odúm’la speaks for the Gods; For, when from the sight of men the Great Gods passed, They left on Earth Órní Odúm’la1 charged To be a father to a mourning people, To tend the shrines and utter solemn words Inspired by Those invisible. And when Odúm’la's time had come to yield the crown, To wait upon the River's brink,2 and cross To Old Arámfè—Ífa,3 in his wisdom, and lives for ever in the person of the Órní. p. 19 Proclaimed that son with whom Odúm’la's soul Abode. Thus has it ever been; and now With me that Being is—about, within— And on our sacred days these lips pronounce The words of Odudúwa and Orísha. |
Politics / Re: Let's Have Your Complaints Here by rgp922: 2:01pm On Oct 14, 2011 |
Hello mods, can you unban Rgp92? Thanks |
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