Tyheath The Gem Hunter

Yesterday, when I beheld this photograph of my grandson, Tyler Hunt, I beheld a new Tolkien Hero – and his mother - Laramary.

When Tyheath was one year old, Laramary put her beautful son in a small boat and pushed her precious boy into the river so he would be spared the wrath of the Magawarts. Downstream, the old Tochrian swordmaker saw the skiff about ten feet off shore…heading for the waterfall. Wading out into the cold water - the ancient-maker was just able to get one finger on the boat, and bring it ashore. Looking inside, he beheld the most beautiful boy he had ever seen. When the child opened his eyes, Greywoody – gasped!

“Kwendora!”

Greywoody was referring to the rare gem that many warriors wanted on the hilt of their sword in order to protect them in battle. Only a young virginal boy owned the talent to see where this gem lie hidden. Greywoody had employed several boys as Precious Gem Hunters, But, when they grew up, they owned the talent of finding young flaxen haired farm maidens – lying in wait behind haystacks – and they were gone with the wind. Ne’er a one said goodbye, even though there was a bond. When asked their name as men, they all said. “I am a Son of Greywoody’. The Sons of Greywoody commanded respect and were made Squires of Great Knights.

Twelve years ago I lost my daughter and grandson to Tea Party Grunts. Today, they are with me in the deepest, and fondest area of my heart where gather The Sons and Daughters of True Liberty! This is a Real American Story, told in the spirit of Washington Irving. Today, for the first time in my long battle with the False Evangelical Orcs, news-people broadcast a Historic Alert!

“Repent!”

Here come The Sons of Kwendora!

John Gregory Greywoody Presco

President: Royal Rosamond Press

Nine hours ago the name Tyheath came to me as soon as I put Tyler’s and Heather’s name on my empty screen-canvas. It is a combination of their names. I just looked up the meaning of these names, and discovered the source of the name Eugene that is famous for its grass seed1 This is – a literary miracle! If you are looking to change your name, grandson – be my guest!

Tyheath was “noble born” and came from Eroghan….’The Land of Heather and Grass’.

The name Heath is primarily a male name of English origin that means Land Of Heather And Grass.

The name Ty is primarily a gender-neutral name of American origin that means From The Land Of Eoghan.

Éogan or Eógan is an early Irish male given name, which also has the hypocoristic and diminutive forms Eoganán, Eóghainin, Eóghain and Eóghainn. The modern Irish form of the name is Eoghan (pronounced [‘oː(ə)nˠ]).

In Scottish Gaelic the name is Eòghann or Eòghan. All of the above are often anglicised as Ewen or, less often, Owen. The name in both Goidelic languages is generally considered a derivative of the Greek and Latin name Eugenes, meaning “noble born”.^[1]^[2]^[3]

Etymology[edit]

The Corpus Inscriptionum Insularum Celticarum derives Eógan from the Primitive Irish *Iwagenas,^[4] while others such as Tomás Ua Concheanainn (Mion-chomhradh, in 1903) have stated that Eóghan equates to Owain and Eugene;^[1] Dr Rachel Bromwich has commented that Eoghan is a derivation of the Latin Eugenius,^[3] making these names long-attested in Gaelic areas, yet still based on loan-words.^[2] Morgan notes that there are less likely alternative explanations and agrees with Dr Rachel Bromwich that Welsh Owein “is normally latinized as Eugenius,” and “both the Welsh and Irish forms are Latin derivatives”.^[2]

Eoghan has also been translated into English as “well born”, in an example c. 1923, due to this Latin derivation; but with the note that in common usage it is usually anglicised to “Eugene“.^[5] The name corresponds to the Welsh Owain, often spelt Owen in English;^[1][2] as well to Ewen, Ewan and Euan. The most likely and widely accepted origin of the Old Welsh Owain is, like the Old Irish Eogan also from Latin Eugenius.^[1], meaning “noble born”

The photograph below was taken by my late friend, Michael Harkins, who was a good friend of Jim Morrison and Michael McClure.

https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-mystery-of-the-hunt/

It’s the mystery of the hunt that intrigues me,
That drives us like lemmings, but cautiously—
The search for a bright square cloud—the scent of lemon verbena—
Or to learn rules for the game the sea otters
Play in the surf.

It is these small things—and the secret behind them
That fill the heart.
The pattern, the spirit, the fiery demon
That link them together
And pull their freedom into our senses,

The smell of a shrub, a cloud, the action of animals

—The rising, the exuberance, when the mystery is unveiled.
It is these small things

That when brought into vision become an inferno.

Michael McClure

Tuesday, July 28, 2015