I was actually quite into the film Haxan -- I didn't expect to be, as I'm not much of a movie buff and old movies have never been my thing. While not my normal fare, I thought the visuals they managed and the contrast they achieved was very visually appealing. I found the closesups of the faces mesmerising.

My original plan was to do something with video -- specifically to capture all those facial closeups and sudden cuts to demonic imagery -- but I was temporarily left without much in the way of video processing power and turned to ye olde paper and pen for a simpler endeavor.

I've assembled a short poem in iambic pentameter with rhyming couplets -- which I have only recently learned is the super fancy way of saying "ten syllable lines with rhyming pairs of 2".

Inspired by Haxan's comparison of the suffering of witches to the suffering of the "modern" 20's woman, I had originally hoped to capture the contradictory, often paradoxical demands that society places on women. I ultimately failed at that task, except perhaps in the final line of the poem, but hope that I still managed to capture some miniscule portion of the impossibility of womanhood in the time of witches.

Not safe the poorest maid nor daughter rich,
One tiny slip may name a woman witch.
For such a slip may be perceived a slight,
And bring the watchmen to thy door at night.

So listen daughters sisters to these words,
and let these lessons go by men unheard.

Tis not a fate reserved for thieves and liars,
Be wise and keep thy feet far from their fires,
They'll find thee bind thee grind thy bones to dust,
there's not a man alive that ye can trust.

Beware the gaze of every passing eye,
And wear a smile though it be but a lie.
Be not too fair, yet do not be a crone,
Cursed both the whore and she who sleeps alone.

Raise not thy hand, nor voice, nor eyes, nor head,
Use all thy wit to stay alive instead.
But hide thy mind or be the talk of town,
A woman seen as clever’s doomed to drown.

Pluck clean the leaf and boil the healing root,
But dread the taste of such forbidden fruit.
That draught of health is deemed the devil's wine,
And if thou fail, the fault is also thine.

Trust not all sisters standing in the hall,
For fear can make the highest virtue fall.
To save her neck, she’ll point a finger free,
And name the devil’s mark she saw on thee.

Each and every choice that thou must make
may be the one that ties thee to the stake.
Submit to all and be a hollow shell,
Stand firm and risk a quick descent to hell.

The most important lesson thou must learn:
Though it may not be thee, a witch shall burn.