‘The moon is on the lawn’
So I came across a poem in Medieval English Lyrics: A Critical Anthology, edited with an introduction and notes by R. T. Davies about the man in the moon, circa later 13th century to earlier 14th century, written in the alliterative tradition of Gawain and the Green Knight. It goes:
Mon in the mone stond and strit;
On his bot-forke his burthen he bereth.
It is muche wonder that he ne down slit–
For doute leste he falle he shoddreth and shereth.
When the forst freseth muche chele he bid.
The thornes beth kene, his hattren to-tereth.
Nis no wiht in the world that wot when he sit…
Which means, to wit: THE MAN IN THE MOON STANDS AND STRIDES; HE BEARS HIS BURDEN ON HIS FORKED STICK. IT IS A GREAT WONDER THAT HE DOESN’T SLIP DOWN–FOR FEAR OF FALLING HE TREMBLES AND VEERS. WHEN THE FROST FREEZES HE ENDURES MUCH COLD. THE THORNS ARE KEEN, HIS CLOTHES TEAR TO PIECES. THERE IS NO PERSON WHO KNOWS WHERE HE SITS DOWN… (The pumpkinny moon image to right is by David Haworth.)
And I was like, ooooohhhh. Because in my Omnibus of Nursery Rhymes by Eric and Lucy Kincaid, which I read as a little kid all the time at my Granny and Grandad’s house, there’s the most fantastical picture of the man in the moon sitting on thorns. And now I’m beginning to see how far back this whole man in the moon and thorns thing goes. Here’s the picture:
And one more from the omnibus, featuring the same waxy-wavy haired man:
I still find the Kincaid illustrations fantastically grotesque: the people’s features are so knobbly: very English indeed. Reading the Omnibus even now triggers the smells of my granny’s house–wool and mutton; and the sounds–the tick tock of a grandmother clock, the crackle of the fire; and the colours–the uniquely plum and claret shag carpet, the green and mustard kitchen. This is the same house about which I had recurring underworld dreams for years. It was a perfectly normal basement. Except when it wasn’t.
Anyways, I then I went to google and watched George Melies’ most soothing and surreal 1902 Le voyage dans la Lune; I’m so very glad this film wasn’t melted down to make boot heels like so much of his stuff was… Here it is:
In addition, his hilarious Eclipse:
More moon lore: Moon Lore, by Rev. Timothy Harley, 1885
Tolkien’s poem, very fun to read out loud: The Man in the Moon Came Down Too Soon.
And finally, the valkyriean Feist’s words on the matter:
