Witches

Erica Jong, Jos. A. Smith

• Éditeur: Open Road Media
• Année: 2017
• ISBN:
  9781504046886
• Sujet: Theology & Religion
• Sous-sujet: Religion

The New York Times –bestselling author of Fear of Flying celebrates witches in a gorgeously illustrated brew of witchcraft lore, potions, secrets, and myth. With a mix of genuine fascination, passionate enthusiasm, and keen feminist insight, Erica Jong wades through a bog of myths, misinformation, historical hysteria, and contemporary Halloween costumes to offer a generous exploration and celebration of witches. From their origins as descendants of ancient goddesses to contemporary practitioners of the craft, the evolution of the concept of "witch" has been as changeable as the centuries themselves. From evil crone to sexual seductress, they are the embodiment of both light and dark, fertility and death, divinity and paganism, baleful curses and healing cures. They have been scapegoated as the object of men's worst fears and embraced as heroines of female empowerment. As muses, they have influenced popular culture from Shakespeare and Yeats to Anne Sexton and Ken Russell. With reverence and a hint of mischief, Jong reveals witches' rites, rituals, and magical recipes, including authentic spells and incantations. "A steaming cauldron of beautifully illustrated prose, poetry, love potions and flying lotions" ( Glamour ) from the renowned author of Fanny, Witches is "nothing less than a complete transformation of our concept of witches... accomplishe[d] with panache in this sumptuously and provocatively illustrated book" ( Publishers Weekly ). This ebook features an illustrated biography of Erica Jong, including rare photos and never-before-seen documents from the author's personal collection.

A Deadly Herbal in Verse

Mandrake

O Mandragora

herbal puppet,

little man dancing

with your great tap root,

small song-&-dance man

cloven-hoofed as the Devil—

no wonder you make such noise!

O Mandrake

putting out fine root hairs …

for centuries

Pythagoras & Theophrastus

sang your praises—

blessed you as aphrodisiac

& soporific,

blasted your resemblance

to man.

Like man you are tricky, devious,

double-natured;

like man you curse & bless.

Like man you are a poisoner

& a love-bringer;

like man you take

what you can.

O Mandrake

bringer of fruitfulness & potency,

lamp in the darkness,

killer of starving dogs,

shrieker, gallowsman, dragon-doll—

you were once thought beneficent

in Biblical times,

but gradually the Devil claimed you.

You grew at the foot

of the gallows,

lapping up dead men’s sperm,

giving birth only to death.

& yet we all give birth

to only death,

& your other attributes—

O bringer of treasure, sensuality, love,

success in battle—

also lead to death.

So dance little Mandrake

in your doubleness.

Rejoice at the gallows’ foot.

You are indeed a dress rehearsal for man,

& we shall join you underground

soon enough.

Henbane

Herba Apollinaris,

Circe’s herb,

The Delphic Priestesses’

wine—

is it you

with your jagged leaves

& sickly flowers

who turn men

to swine,

is it you

who pluck the prophecies

from smoke,

above the great Omphalos

in the gorge?

Common as the lowly potato,

but with the power

to bring oblivion or death,

Ulysses lost

his sailors

to your spell,

while that mild witch, Circe,

wove harmonies

upon her magic loom

where the fabric

flickered

like firelight.

Sleepy beasts

beneath her shuttlecock,

the wolves & lions loll

like aging dogs;

the witch tickles

their bellies.

Half girl, half goddess,

all enchantress,

Circe dreams of her Odysseus,

luring him

with bright thoughts,

bright threads,

& honeyed wine.

Was it you, Henbane,

turning beastly men

to loving beasts—

is that why Circe

loved you so?

—Until Ulysses

stormed in

with his broadsword,

the master mariner,

the son of gods

of old;

& used

to taming women to his will.

He took the witch

to bed—

not out of lust

for Hermes himself had ordered it—

(& Odysseus always

had a god at hand).

Was it Henbane

they smoked

before they went to bed?

Was it Henbane

that let their loving slip

from one slim night

into a whole fat year?

She sent him home

the long way

from her famous

bed of love...