Meet my house-warming present
to my new home. It’s a hare made by
Brian Andrew in the traditional North Devon style of art pottery – that is,
sgraffito on cream slip – and as such, sits comfortably amongst my collection
of Barum ware. Along with my witch and Coronis the crow, as felted by my friend, Jan Lane, she is
the presiding spirit of this place.
There’s lots of things I
adore about this piece – her posture, her wildness, her ears, the way she
looks as if she’s about to leap down off the sideboard and out into the back
garden. But especially I love the way she is etched with hedges and fields,
sheaves of wheat, a church, trees and the sun – because the hare is a creature whose mythology encompasses the whole landscape.
I’ve been wondering what to
call name her and I think I’ve come up with a few possibilities, courtesy a
fabulous old English poem, originally in middle English and here translated by
Seamus Heaney.
The
Names Of The Hare
The man the hare has met
will never be the better for
it
except he lay down on the
land
what he carries in his hand –
be it staff or be it bow –
and bless him with his elbow
and come out with this litany
with devotion and sincerity
to speak the praises of the
hare.
Then the man will better
fare.
‘The hare, call him scotart,
big-fellow, bouchart,
the O’Hare, the jumper,
the rascal, the racer.
Beat-the-pad, white-face,
funk-the-ditch, shit-ass.
The wimount, the messer,
the skidaddler, the nibbler,
the ill-met, the slabber.
The quick-scut, the
dew-flirt,
the grass-biter, the goibert,
the home-late, the
do-the-dirt.
The starer, the wood-cat,
the purblind, the furze cat,
the skulker, the bleary-eyed,
the wall-eyed, the
glance-aside
and also the hedge-springer.
The stubble-stag, the long
lugs,
the stook-deer, the frisky
legs,
the wild one, the skipper,
the hug-the-ground, the
lurker,
the race-the-wind, the
skiver,
the shag-the-hare, the
hedge-squatter,
the dew-hammer, the
dew-hopper,
the sit-tight, the
grass-bounder,
the jig-foot, the
earth-sitter,
the light-foot, the
fern-sitter,
the kail-stag, the
herb-cropper.
The creep-along, the
sitter-still,
the pintail, the
ring-the-hill,
the sudden start,
the shake-the-heart,
the belly-white,
the lambs-in-flight.
The gobshite, the gum-sucker,
the scare-the-man, the
faith-breaker,
the snuff-the-ground, the
baldy-skull
(his chief name is
scoundrel).
The stag sprouting a suede
horn,
the creature living in the
corn,
the creature bearing all
men’s scorn,
the creature no one dares
name.’
When you have got all this
said
then the hare’s strength has
been laid.
Then you might go faring
forth –
east and west and south and
north,
wherever you’re inclined to
go –
but only if you’re skilful
too.
And now, Sir Hare, good-day
to you.
God guide you to a
how-d’ye-do
with me: come to me dead
in either onion broth or
bread.
Seamus
Heaney
