Finndabad at the Hawks Well (Week 6)

Adapted from "At the Hawk's Well" by W.B Yeats, by Steve Fly Agaric 23 for 'Email to the tribe'


Atop a baron Mountain the old shaman has waited 23 years to drink the miraculous crystal well water. ‘Finndabad ‘The Fair’ heard a tale from a Australian aboriginal tribe that the water-brew may bring immortality and arrives at the Mountain well to drink.

The Shaman urges ‘Finndabad’ to leave the crystal well straight away, recalling his time waiting for the crystal-water and the fact that when it did finally arise he fell to sleep like a baby, missing his chance to drink, yet Finndabad is still determined to stay and drink. While they talk of an entity which attacked Finndabad earlier that day when climbing up the mountain, and which the old man believed to be a phantasm' that carries with it a curse of irritability and violence and unspeakable horror,' the guardian of the Well hears them talking and starts to shake, falls into a light-trance and rises up again like a Phoenix, dancing with bird-like motions.

The guardian flees from the well as the crystal-water rises up and Finndabad and the Shaman fall into their own trance. Finndabad, half-awake, pursues the bird-like entity to the mountain but is unable to find her so returns to the well where he listens to the Shaman lament that he missed the waters again, after 23 years.

Finndabad goes into a ‘Wicked Spasm’ rage at his missed chance to drink the crystal waters and enter the magical network of adepts and runs off down the mountain to do battle with the warrior demons that the bird-like entity called out of the mountains.

Finndabad the foolish hero ignores the wise man's plea to stay with him and goes off to face war again and build his own magical network of crystal waters out of nothing but information.


Musicians Singing Chorus:
I call to the eye of the mind, a crystal-well long dried up, dry places of crunchy leaves and dried up stones, a pale face comes climbing up the mountain side with the salt wind, sweeping the mountain face bare, the clouds putting a white dab of hair on the rock.

[unfolding of the two cloths A: Black and Gold hawk cloth to be hung. B: Blue crystal-water well cloth to be placed on the floor area.]

Musicians singing Chorus: What were his life soon done with tears, win or loose, sink or swim, doubled over a speckled shin, what worth are my hopes and fears, war greed lies and what peace, what fairness?

Musician: The Golden Boughs of the Witch Hazel shake, the sun goes down, belladonna in the west breast, awake, the wondering rocks wondered.

Musician: speaking: The mountain side grows dark, the withered Hazel leaves choke the dry bed of the crystal-well, the guardian of the well sits upon the dry grey stone at its side, the guardian is worn out from collecting the leaves and raking the dry bed, her heavy eyes look upon grey stone, wondering. The salt wind blows a heap of leaves up to her side, they rustle and diminish.

Musician: I'm afraid of this place, it is accursed.

Both Musicians: singing: Why should I sleep, for the wind from all quarters, the salt wind and sea mist is beating a cloud through the skies, I would always wonder like that wind.

Musician: The old Shaman climbs up hither, who has been watching the well for 23 years. Doubled and twisted up with age like the old thorn trees among the rocks where he's climbing, in the distance only bombs, smoke and fires.

[Old man enters stage to beat of drum, sits and makes gesture of making a fire. Lights project silhouette as fire is struck.]

Musician: He builds a fire from wych-hazel sticks and leaves, the fire lights up the well, the Hazel nuts, some mushrooms and the mountainside.

Musicians: O’ salt and sea wind, nothing to find, I think I’ll sleep deep. The sidhe must have a guardian to clean out the crystal-well, why do you stare like that, speak to me. You drive an old man crazy with that look in your eyes, that look in your eyes.

[Finndabad enters through audience]

Finndabad: Then speak to me, youth is more patient than old age, I have trod rocks all day and I still haven’t found what I’m looking for. Had better luck smoking crack rocks bruv'

Shaman: Who speaks?

Finndabad: “I am ‘Finndabad ‘The Fair-hair’’ Cu Chulain’s son, Grandson to Lugh-Ra. I have my ancient Ice palace beyond the sea and bring good will from Australian aboriginie.

Shaman: ‘What brings you here to the crystal-well mate, you that go crazy to shed blood and go mad for the love of women?

Finndabad: I got high on space grub bruv', found a boat while wondering about the pier and set sail on the salty sea with a lucky wind and arrived across waves by Vico’s recirculation, here, back by luck, at these shores of the Mountain and the crystal well. What blood shed and women, your tripping mate, you must be reading the tabloid scriptures bruv'

Shaman: No warriors to slay, and no maidens to lay among these hills boy.

Finndabad: You exhibit rough and barbarous Tongue Fu Old man, cut the crap and lead me to the crystal-well, where the Soma nuts and Hazel leaves brew the miraculous elixir, the gateway to the magical net, and where a beautiful bird like Maiden keeps watch?

Shaman: But young boy, what do you see around you?

Finndabad: I see no well, just bombs, war, famine and greed. You have seen the new world?

Shaman: O’ folly of youth, you think such a gift can be found by getting high, sailing a ship and climbing a mountain? If I have waited 23 years for the miraculous crystal-brew to bubble up, why would it arise now, just for you and your boomerang?

Finndabad: The well fills at the soma moment, the time has come, the waters will rush, trust me bruv'

Shaman: A secret moment, a razzle-dazzle tin flash, and not a living man can grasp it’s plash’ before it is gone, your young folly fogs your minds goggles.

Finndabad: I shall sit and wait then mate, and with the Luck of Lugh-Ra and Cu Chulain I will bekon those crystal waters, so help me glug.

Shaman: No, Go, go, you must go from this accursed place! This place belongs to me and the girls and blue-apples. Your way out of your territory here boy.

Finndabad: Who are you to lay claim to this place Old man, you gotta' be kidding?

Shaman: I am he who the dancers cheat for 23 years, I came as young boy like you, waiting by the dry well’s edge, drinking rain, eating grass and fungus, snails and little catepillars. Three times I awoke from a sudden sleep to find the stones wet. Motherfucker!

Finndabad: My luck is strong, and my fuck is stronger, besides, I can pierce my seven toed foot, or my seven fingered hand with this nail if I get drowsy, no worries mate.

Shaman: No, do not, go boy, go and find your sail and theat lucky Ra' wind again, leave the well to me, young warrior, for it belongs to me and the great old ones and to all that’s old and withered, just Goooooooo.

Finndabad: No, I stay mate, fuck it, I have to try that amber nectar, I don't give a four-ex, I'm staying.

Guardian of the well: Shriek of searing bird like sounds, squarking and tweeting.

Finndabad: There is that Serpent Hawk again, wow, reminds me of Red rock mate, look!

Shaman: There is no bird, you are seeing things young boy.

Finndabad: It sounded like a bird to me. I encountered a giant fire-bird earlier today, after pelting it with stones it just vanished like a fart, thwap!

Shaman: Young Finndabad, there falls a curse on all who look at the shape shifting witch of the mountain in the eye, a curse that brings unspeakable horrors, you must leave at once while you still have eyes and can walk. Go, fuck off, as you say.

Finndabad: Are you under her spell too, and here to scare me off like a crow, you fucking pussy.

Guardian of the well: Shrieking bird getting louder.

Finndabad: That cry, there it is again, that women made it, but why does she cry as the hawk cries like that, it sounds melodic to me, listen, wow.

Shaman: She is possessed, who knows who she will murder or betray before he awakes in ingnorance of it all, gathers the Hazel leaves, but they’ll be wet. The water come and gone. O, you must get gone son, at any moment the brew will bubble up. I'm old and withered, if you are good you will leave it to me, maybe only a single cup will bubble up?

Finndabad: I’ll take it in my hands, old man, we can drink together, even if only a few drops we shall share them. What you say mate, lets drink!

Shaman: But swear that I may drink first, the young are greedy, you’ll drink it all. Oh, the look of her eyes, I cannot bare the Hawks stare, I'm telling you.

Guardian of the well: Shrieks, and throws off her cloak to reveal a Hawk Serpent costume.

Finndabad: Why do you look like that Witch, Bird-women, I'm not afraid of you. Do what you will, I shall not leave this place till I have grown immortal on nectar like you, greedy bitch.

Guardian of the well: Shrieks and dances a wild Red Indian, Hindu, Japanese bird dance. The old man falls asleep as the dance goes on and on.

Musicians: Chorus: Oh protect me from a horrible deathless body, oh God, sliding through my crimson veins, information explosion.

Musician: Speaking: The madness has got a hold of him locked stocked and bitter-barrel sold, for he rises to his feet.

Finndabad: Run where you will, birdy, you'll be soon perched upon my wrist like my bitch. [The dance goes on]

Musician: Speaking: Look, the plashing’ the brew is bubbling up crystal-red, look, look, he has turned his head,

[Finndabad drops his spear and falls hypnotically into a dream state.]

Musicians: He has lost what may not be found, O’ holy consciousness, till men dig his merry burial mound, O' holy open source, and all history ends again, living at ease with his dog’s head on his knees, among his children and friends, a tribe of living tales and trends.

[the old shaman creeps up to the crystal-well]

Shaman: Accursed shadow demons have deluded me, stones are dark but the crystal well is empty. The water brewed and flowed and emptied while I slept. O' accursed dancers you have stolen my life from me, that there should be such evil in a shadow.

Finndabad: She has fled me and hidden in the wondering rocks again, tricky bitch.

Shaman: She has led you from the fountain, Look! Stones and leaves are dark and wet, but not a drop to drink, just our sweat.

musicians: Shriek “Aoife! Aoife! And strike the gong.

Finndabad: What are those cries? What is that sound from the hill, who beats their swords on metal shields like that?

Shaman: She has roused up the fierce women of the hills, Aoife, and her warrior troop have come to take your life, and never till you are lying in the earth can you know rest. I said you should have gone didn't I.

Finndabad: The clash of arms, to battle and war, again, I willcontinue the fight for justice!

Shaman: Oh, do not go, the mountain is accursed, stay with me, I do not now deceive you. Hold on mate, come on, its your round skippy.

Finndabad: I will face them, I am not afraid, I am Finndabad the fair haired, I must fight.

[Finndabad shakes himself from dream state, shakes his spear and calls out 'wicked']

[Folding of the cloth ceremony]

Musicians: I am but a mouthful of air. A mouthful of air. I am but a mouthful, of, air. I am, but, a mouthful of air, I am but a mouthful of air. Who but an idiot would praise a withered tree? Who but an idiot would praise dry stones in a well, come now, I praise humanity that cries 'synergy'. I am but a mouthful of air. Open the source, information every air.

[Songs for the unfolding and folding of the cloth]

Come to me, human face bookers,
Familiar memories;
I have found hateful eyes, keep looking
Among the desolate places of google
Unfaltering, unmoistened eye, look.

Folly alone I cherish,
I choose it for my share crop
Being but a mouthful of air,
I am content to perish;
I am but a mouthful of Sweet every air.

O lamentable turntable shadows,
Obscurity of strife! fairness?
I choose a pleasant life
Among indolent meadows;
Wisdoom must live a bitter life
Fighting warrior demon shadows.

(Then they fold up the cloth, singing)

"The humanity that I praise,"
Cries out the empty well,
Information lives all days
Where a hand on the bell theorem
Can call the abundance of nature
To the comfortable door of his house.
Who but an idiot would praise
Dry stones in a oil-well?

"The humanity that I praise,"
Crying out the leafless tree,
"Has married the elements
Of an old earth, middle earth,
Kept well and set store for children.
The Humanity I praise cries 'synergy'
Who but an idiot would praise
A withered tree when we have the
Wisdom of Bucky.

[Guardian, Shaman, Finndabad and musicians go out.]

Steve 'fly agaric 23' Pratt, Email to the Tribe, 2010.