Blodeuwedd: From Flower Goddess to Wild Creature of the Night

The tale of Blodeuwedd landed upon me like a leaf let go in late summer.

It is a story that embodies creation, freedom and transformation. For me, it is ultimately about listening to the call of the wild, and replying back to that lost, untamed self.

Blodeuwedd is a Celtic Goddess from the Mabinogion, an ancient collection of Welsh mythology. She was created by two wizards – her sole purpose to be wife to a man called Llew. They formed her from oak, broom and meadowsweet. Her name, Blodeuwedd, means ‘Flower face’, but it is also an ancient name for ‘Owl’.

For many years, Blodeuwedd lived a relatively comfortable life in a castle, alongside her princely husband. Until one day when Llew was away, the Lord of Penllyn, Gronw Pebr, showed up at Blodeuwedd’s door, seeking shelter. She fell in love with him and he fell in love with her.

In order to be together, they conspired to murder Llew.

After a long time plotting, Blodeuwedd and Gronw attempted to kill Llew. They were unsuccessful, and Blodeuwedd got caught by one of the wizards, Gwydion. He decided not to kill her, but even worse, to condemn her to live as a fearsome predator of the night. Blodeuwedd became an owl. She soared into the blackness of night, a flower-faced beast of the black sky.

Finally free.

The following poem has been floating around inside me for a few weeks now. I’ve managed to assemble the oak twigs and stems of broom and meadowsweet into words and rhymes.

My poem, along with Blodeuwedd’s story, is a song for those who feel the call of that wild woodland deep inside the soul.

A Poem for Blodeuwedd
First, they tore limb from oak,
Cracked and burned hard
Bark into bone,
Sculpted fingertips gnarled
From twisted twigs,
Drained sap from vessel,
Dyed it black with berries,
Poured it into xylem veins.
Then, they yanked broom
From its bed in the rock,
Knotted my frame together,
Shaped me into something
They would desire
And hauled me up.
I stood there monolithic,
A vapid poppet.
Meadowsweet they melted,
Slurped the spoon
Of boiling flesh, tasted me.
They wished me divine –
A primordial Eve –
They expected sugar
But forgot they made me
From rotten earth.
So, what did they expect
When the winds raged outside
And stars spilled from the dusk?
That my oaken bones
Would not ache for the wild?
That my tendons of broom
Would not yearn for the hunt?
When Gronw emerged from the forest,
His tangled hair, rough with lust
His black eyes like a feral fawn’s
Reflecting freedom in firelight…
Blood conjured
Leads to blood spilled.
Spear embedded in the side
Of my husband.
And when Gwydion caught me,
His fists clenched with scorn,
His magick transformed me
Into something he believed
A fate worse than death…
A winged wildflower
Of the infinite night,
A petal-faced beast
With a bloodthirsty bite,
So I turned to the moon,
Pagan pendant of light,
Then I rattled my claws
And sprang into flight.