Tamara Rendell Quotes
“Dreams are like the old stories where wolves are seekers always running, and women carry fire in their bare hands and light the dark paths before them.
Old stories hold that the birds will fly all the miles of the world to tell your secrets to the rising moon, and men will walk over oceans of ice to find one truth.”
Sea Hags are curious creatures, particularly as they have no need for us.
“Who needs a husband?” they ask in chiming voices.
“Who needs a mother? When we have Poseidon as mate and the great Ocean herself to hold us.”
Cascades of laughter behind the sparkling scales of their hands in a manner to call to question both their good sense and their sincerity.
Sea Hags – one could study them for fifty years and find no answer.
(*Shamelessly inspired by Kafka’s Sirens: another creature entirely.)”
“River with no border
the forgetful hand of man
Gather harvest from the fallow land
Take all memory from it
to speak of lonely travellers
who hopelessly took orders
From armies lined within them
marching over fields and valleys
As though they were a river
not a woman nor a man
not a place for which to answer
but a cold and shapeless
journey from the sea”
“Drink in the heat of an ancient sun
held in the cold fire of water rising
from earth and rock
Spilling over your cupped hands
and drawn to lips and tongue
Pouring water’s memory
of the azure mist it fell from
into the chalice of your flesh
Turning your eyes skywards
for the freedom it was born of”
The stage is empty, and you watch as the figure of Medusa steps into the gas-light. Her body is dressed in a crimson traversed by the golden branches of willow trees, colour and light held into shape by sharp black borders. Lifting languidly her hands, she reaches towards you. Her emerald vipers, in the cohesive movements of unseen mechanisms, weave loops about her head. Music is beginning, and from the shadows off-stage the narrator speaks. “Medusa had a beautiful name and a lovely voice, though no one cared to listen; seeking only the gaze of those famous eyes.”
Perseus walks onto the stage, cloaked as though he were the blazing sun. Now what you have to understand is his voice – it is like nothing you could tie down. It feels peaceful to hear it, to see him flow into the song with his fine, clear looks and his finer, clearer voice. Is the head quite forgotten? Not quite but the horror exists alongside the beauty and they flow like twin rivers, and neither is able to wash the other from you.”