Blackbird's DOUBLE RAINBOW!, that's DOUBLE RAINBOW!
a performance to rival even Blackbird's Tattooed Lady!
Buy tickets here:
Come October, I have been planning a very very very naughty show entitled
The Passion of St. Blackbird
(a homage to my beloved St. Teresa of Ávila!)
for the Pony Girls' SIDE SHOW extravaganza on October 9th in the Complex, Smithfield. I absolutely adore the Pony Girls and I urge each and every one of you kids to get on the Pony train!
For more details:
Buy tickets online here:
You know Blackbirds have a very interesting cultural history specifically related to Glendalough? It's true. See our Seamus Heaney's poem:
St Kevin and the Blackbird
And then there was St Kevin and the blackbird.
The saint is kneeling, arms stretched out, inside
His cell, but the cell is narrow, so
One turned-up palm is out the window, stiff
As a crossbeam, when a blackbird lands
and Lays in it and settles down to nest.
Kevin feels the warm eggs, the small breast, the tucked
Neat head and claws and, finding himself linked
Into the network of eternal life,
Is moved to pity: now he must hold his hand
Like a branch out in the sun and rain for weeks
Until the young are hatched and fledged and flown.
And since the whole thing's imagined anyhow,
Imagine being Kevin. Which is he?
Self-forgetful or in agony all the time
From the neck on out down through his hurting forearms?
Are his fingers sleeping? Does he still feel his knees?
Or has the shut-eyed blank of underearth
Crept up through him? Is there distance in his head?
Alone and mirrored clear in Love's deep river,
'To labour and not to seek reward,' he prays,
A prayer his body makes entirely
For he has forgotten self, forgotten bird
And on the riverbank forgotten the river's name.
Although, I doubt St. Kevin ever thought a Blackbird like me would be swooping down on his magical valley - BOLD! - It wouldn't be the first time a flamboyant female trod his turf. According to my Mother, he was pursued by a temptress in a diaphanous gown! (That means see-through *titter titter* oooohhh!) Of course, they reckon it was an halucination as a result of self-imposed starvation. Oh you whacky saints!
I borrowed the following alternate (non-Mammy) version from this website:
When Kevin was staying in Glendalough, he lived in a cave in the face of a cliff high above the Upper Lake. He had to climb up and down on a rope ladder. A woman named Cathleen had a crush on Kevin, and she used to annoy him by asking him if she could clean his cave, cook his dinner, warm his bed for him. Now, if there was anything Kevin hated worse than people, it was women, because if you're a man you can't become a saint if you have anything to do with women. At least, that's what Kevin thought.
One time he took a bunch of stinging nettles and beat Cathleen with them to drive her away. He probably thought she got the message, but the next day, when he went back to his cave to sleep, he found her there waiting for him. He was so angry that he pushed her out of the cave, and she fell into the lake and drowned.
But he was very kind to animals.
More dates to come!