Saint Eulalia Day

[Barbaria1]

searching for something new to say for St Eulalia (of Merida)'s day,
I came across this rather disturbing item on deviantart

View attachment 93399

(I can only post this small image, the original exceeds the limit here,
it's at http://taminki.deviantart.com/art/LoS-Eulalia-410983021)
​

This is (some of) what it says about 'eulalia' (with a few comments from this one! )

[Name] Eulalia
[Age] ??? (appears around late teens to mid 20's) nice thought, but I appear a bit more than that

[Gender] Female

[Personality]
Uncooperative: She dislikes to be told what to do. She envies the power of authority; therefore, she refuses to cooperate with authority (Lord Envy is absolutely the only exception) eul loves being a slavegirl!

Complainer: Naturally, being one consumed by enviousness, she complains a lot, but usually her complaints are expressed mentally I hope that's not the impression I give - I've got plenty of vices, but I don't think envy or whingeing are the most obvious ones?

Observer: She tends to observe things a lot, which makes her capable of being a good listener I'd like to think that's true

Sadist: Maybe not to the extreme, but she likes to see the envied feeling any sort of pain, whether it being humiliation, physical, mental, etc. Quite the opposite, Masochist to the bone - I envy the girls we see on CF feeling pain, humiliation etc.

Selfish: She doesn't enjoy sharing things much, but she will share some things at times again, I hope I do better than that, enjoy sharing my poems and stories here

Hypocritical: Often contradicts herself quite possibly , though I hope not hypocritically

Playful: She can be a bit playful and enjoy herself at times, but only with other demons she absolutely feels comfortable around (will rarely ever happen) well I enjoy myself a lot with the demons on CF, very frequently happens!

Prideful: She absolutely hates feeling humiliated I absolutely love it! At least, in my slavegirl mode.

Oh Eul, you are so much more than this suggests.

 

[admihoek]

thx for your reminder................we need it

Here is one of my presents .......................................we hope you will have a sweet dream (with thx to quoom)

 

[Eulalia]

that's a lovely way to offer a girl a drink! ​

 

[admihoek]

that's a lovely way to offer a girl a drink! ​

and a sweet one too

 

[Naraku]

December 10 is the feast day of St Eulalia of Merida, who was suffocated with smoke.
St Eulalia of Barcelona was hung on a St Andrew's cross before being beheaded. Her feast day is February 12.
One thing, the Waterhouse painting is wonderful, but, Merida is in SW Spain, near the Portuguese border. It rarely snows there.

 

[admihoek]

yep but sometimes...............

 

[Eulalia]

yes, it was a miracle, that's the whole point

as my poem (earlier on this thread) ends:
​

XII

Dawn. Quivering yet
her oozing body’s tossed
out in the cruel cold wind -
the Forum pavement’s icy.

Flakes from the mountains' softness
cool her still-smouldering flesh,
the twitching ebbs.

A white dove wings away
through slowly circling snow.

or, as Prudentius put it in the early 5th century,

Ecce nivem glacialis hiems
ingerit et tegit omne forum,
membra tegit simul Eulaliae
axe iacentia sub gelido,
pallioli vice linteolie.

"Look! The icy winter pours down snow
and covers all the Forum,
it covers Eulalia's body too,
where she lies under the icy sky,
like a linen shroud"

​

​

 

[admihoek]

yep but sometimes...............

heard.................today
snow in Bethlehem

 

[Eulalia]

Luna has brought to my attention a poem by Frederico Garcia Lorca
about Saint Eulalia that I hadn't come across before.
My translation is fairly free because
a) my Spanish is up to much
b) Lorca's poetry depends as much on the sounds and rhythms of his Spanish
as it does on his surreal imagery, and those can't be recreated in English,
so I've tried to imitate the spirit of his imagination in words
which sound musical in English,
rather than following the text literally.

THE MARTYRDOM OF ST EULALIA

I - LANDSCAPE OF MÉRIDA

On the road there leaps and bounds
a long-tailed horse,
while they gamble or snooze,
the old soldiers of Rome.

Half a hill of Minervas
opens its leafless arms,
dangling water gilds
veins where the rock splits open.

Night of reclining torsos
and broken-nosed stars
waits for the crack of dawn
where all will tumble.

Time and again resound
red-crested blasphemies,
as she moans, the little girl-saint
shatters a crystal glass.

Knives are whetted on the wheel,
and the points of sharp-barbed hooks,
the bull of the anvils bellows,

while Mérida crowns itself
with wakening spikenard
and stems of brambles.


II - THE MARTYRDOM

Naked, the flower ascends
slim stairs of water.

The Consul demands a dish
for Eulalia’s breasts.

A spurt from green veins
gushes from her throat.

Her whole sex trembles
like a trapped bird in briars.

On the floor, beyond control,
quiver her severed hands,
that still clasp together
in dim, decapitated prayer.

Through the red cavities
where once were her breasts,
tiny heavens appear
and streams of white milk.

A thousand saplings of blood
smother her back,
offering their damp trunks
to the scalpel of the flames.

Yellow centurions,
grey-fleshed and vigilant,
reach the sky sounding
their silver armory.

And still confused, vibrating,
in a passion of manes and swords,
the Consul bears on the platter
Eulalia’s smouldering breasts.


III - HELL AND GLORY

Snow settles in waves,

Eulalia hangs from the tree,
her coal-black nakedness
smudges the icy air,
the stretched out, glittering night.

Eulalia’s dead on the tree.

Ink seeps slowly
out of the cities’ wells.

Tailors’ black dummies
cover the fields of snow
in long rows lamenting
the tormented silence.

Thick snow is falling,
Eulalia’s white on the tree,
swarming to her sides
come squadrons of nickel beaks.

*

A single monstrance gleams
in the burnt-out firmament.

Between gorges where waters play
and branches with nightingales,
stained glass windows sparkle,
Eulalia’s white on white.

Angels and seraphim intone:
sanctus, sanctus, sanctus.

 

[montycrusto]

Luna has brought to my attention a poem by Frederico Garcia Lorca
about Saint Eulalia that I hadn't come across before.
My translation is fairly free because
a) my Spanish is up to much
b) Lorca's poetry depends as much on the sounds and rhythms of his Spanish
as it does on his surreal imagery, and those can't be recreated in English,
so I've tried to imitate the spirit of his imagination in words
which sound musical in English,
rather than following the text literally.

THE MARTYRDOM OF ST EULALIA

I - LANDSCAPE OF MÉRIDA

On the road there leaps and bounds
a long-tailed horse,
while they gamble or snooze,
the old soldiers of Rome.

Half a hill of Minervas
opens its leafless arms,
dangling water gilds
veins where the rock splits open.

Night of reclining torsos
and broken-nosed stars
waits for the crack of dawn
where all will tumble.

Time and again resound
red-crested blasphemies,
as she moans, the little girl-saint
shatters a crystal glass.

Knives are whetted on the wheel,
and the points of sharp-barbed hooks,
the bull of the anvils bellows,

while Mérida crowns itself
with wakening spikenard
and stems of brambles.


II - THE MARTYRDOM

Naked, the flower ascends
slim stairs of water.

The Consul demands a dish
for Eulalia’s breasts.

A spurt from green veins
gushes from her throat.

Her whole sex trembles
like a trapped bird in briars.

On the floor, beyond control,
quiver her severed hands,
that still clasp together
in dim, decapitated prayer.

Through the red cavities
where once were her breasts,
tiny heavens appear
and streams of white milk.

A thousand saplings of blood
smother her back,
offering their damp trunks
to the scalpel of the flames.

Yellow centurions,
grey-fleshed and vigilant,
reach the sky sounding
their silver armory.

And still confused, vibrating,
in a passion of manes and swords,
the Consul bears on the platter
Eulalia’s smouldering breasts.


III - HELL AND GLORY

Snow settles in waves,

Eulalia hangs from the tree,
her coal-black nakedness
smudges the icy air,
the stretched out, glittering night.

Eulalia’s dead on the tree.

Ink seeps slowly
out of the cities’ wells.

Tailors’ black dummies
cover the fields of snow
in long rows lamenting
the tormented silence.

Thick snow is falling,
Eulalia’s white on the tree,
swarming to her sides
come squadrons of nickel beaks.

*

A single monstrance gleams
in the burnt-out firmament.

Between gorges where waters play
and branches with nightingales,
stained glass windows sparkle,
Eulalia’s white on white.

Angels and seraphim intone:
sanctus, sanctus, sanctus.

Lovely! There used to be more poetry all up in this forum, it seems, than there is now. Both the Lorca (beautifully translated) and the original poem by Saint Eulalia of Cruxforums are magical.

 

[Madiosi]

Oh, I passed yesterday the @Eulalia Day 2022.
I'm a bit sick with a little flu today. But I wish our Eulalia all the best of Cruxworld!

 

[Eulalia]

Oh, I passed yesterday the @Eulalia Day 2022.
I'm a bit sick with a little flu today. But I wish our Eulalia all the best of Cruxworld!

Thankyou Madi, that's sweet of you. I hope my name-saint will make sure you get better soon