LL-L "Literature" 2005.11.15 (06) [E]

Tue Nov 15 22:16:40 UTC 2005

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15 November 2005 * Volume 06
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From: Ingmar Roerdinkholder <ingmar.roerdinkholder at WORLDONLINE.NL>
Subject: LL-L "Literature" 2005.11.15 (05) [E]

I don't mean it rude, but this reminds me of some glorification poetry of
the 1230's in certain Central European areas...
Btw: are you aware what "Kuni" means in Dari (Afghanistan) and Farsi?

Ingmar

>CHILDREN OF THE FLOOD
>
>             By Arthur A. Jones
>             ©2005 Arthur A. Jones
>
>   PROLOGUE
>
>             Ak háusjiþ jus Naúrneis!
>             O Harken ye Norns!
>
>   Dark souls approach to bid us sing
>        Of those few Greuþung who took wing
>   When rains incessant joined two seas
>        And plunged our kingdom under.
>
>   Our valiant flood-folk, stalked by death,
>        Like ravens gyred, in length and breadth,
>   Until they hewed great ships from trees,
>        And sailed through Þor's own thunder.
>
>   GREAT RAINS
>
>   He came, an uninvited guest,
>        That fog-cold night in fall,
>   To sing and shriek as one obsessed
>        In Berig's great mead hall.
>
>   He sang in manner of the skaúlds,
>        Of soon and lasting rains;
>   And warned of waters' depths untold,
>        Of floods o'er northern plains.
>
>   Then cold, dark downpour straightway came,
>        The waters stood in lakes;
>   Both east and west great waves poured in,
>        Giant oaks crashed in their wake.
>
>   Black bird-flock shadows circled low,
>        Escaping dank flood-vales,
>   They raised their cries to leaden skies,
>        Their wings to eastern gales.
>
>   From Gotland to Burgunderholm,
>        Men stripped the forests bare;
>   And cut the planks of sailing ships,
>        As first frost filled the air.
>
>   Four riding-days across the land
>        All farms and burghs went under;
>   Still, waters poured and rushed and roared,
>        Our homeland tore asunder.
>
>   Ten nights our kinsmen rowed and steered,
>        To reach the southern strand,
>   Through miles of rotting, floating dead;
>        All drowned by Woðan's hand.
>
>   Seven clans reached the wheelwright's hill,
>        Above the amber sands,
>   They sat by watchfires day and night
>        As the dead washed up on land.
>
>   Saved was Berig, king of Amals,
>        Followed soon by Rugians,
>   Courageous Balths, then hunter Taifals,
>        And warrior-grim Herulians.
>
>   Proud were the chieftains who made land:
>        One-eyed Áináugis Ansila,
>   Argáith and Respa, Guntheric,
>        Valamir and Treifila.
>
>   When no more quick came off the flood,
>        King Berig named the skilled,
>   And sent the hungering troops to woods,
>        Where fat wild game was killed.
>
>   Then Berig raised a fortress strong,
>        Upon the wheelwright's hill,
>   Runa galagida! Sang the throng,
>        It is our Woðan's will.
>
>   MOTHER OF THE KUNI
>
>   And sing we, too, of Almoda,
>        Fair wife of Áiþarith,
>   Who lifted blind and lame to boats
>        To save them from flood-death.
>
>   She laboured in the waning days,
>        Then joined the final ship;
>   It had no lodestone, lost its way,
>        Ten days to southern cliffs.
>
>   The Amal princess held to oath,
>        And once her folk made fast,
>   Set out on foot across the coast,
>        To Áiþarith at last.
>
>   THE JOURNEY SOUTH
>   TO BLOOD-FATE
>
>   Yet spirits black disturb us still,
>        And bid us travel on;
>   With flood-folk flying south by will,
>        Wings spreading to the Don.
>
>   Uncounted warriors came to grief,
>        Cut down by blade, by wrath,
>   Áirþa gaweída! By Gothic deeds,
>        They trod the southern path.
>
>   THE FUNERAL DIRGE
>   FOR VALAMIR'S SON
>
>   I saw them lay your still-warm corpse
>        Into a rocky place.
>   Wrapped only in coarse saddle-quilt,
>        And covered with wet clay.
>
>   Nor finger-gold nor brooches bronze
>        Were you granted for your journey,
>   Nor blade for battle-mangled hands:
>        Unarmed, you faced eternity.
>
>   ONE-EYED ÁINÁUGIS ANSILA
>   FORESEES THE GOTHS' DESTINY
>
>   Not men, but mold-green winds did burst
>        Our eastern palisades,
>   Not men, but rains spore-laden choked our borders;
>
>   The wet-slate clouds grew darker still
>        Above the sulfurous glades,
>   Our lightning-slaves stood up and scorned our orders.

----------

From: R. F. Hahn <sassisch at yahoo.com>
Subject: Literature

Hi, Ingmar!

> I don't mean it rude, but this reminds me of some glorification poetry of
> the 1230's in certain Central European areas...

I certainly cannot answer for Arthur.  However, I *can* say that I 
personally perceive his intent to be to show the unrecorded, imagined human 
experience behind scant historical footnotes and to do so in a way that 
makes it sound "authentic" (though not misleading), namely in a style in 
which the people related experiences and historical events at the time: 
through the genre of ballads reflecting ethno-specific beliefs and imagery. 
(Ballads of this sort are still very much alive among many Central Asians, 
especially Turkic, Monglolic and Tibetan peoples.)  By doing so, Arthur 
seems to be taking us back to that time, listening to a Gothic bard or to a 
round of singing Goths.  I see this as no less "legitimate" than 
historically based novels or plays with injections of old-time language and 
style.

>   Dark souls approach to bid us sing
>        Of those few Greuþung who took wing
>   When rains incessant joined two seas
>        And plunged our kingdom under.
>
>   Our valiant flood-folk, stalked by death,
>        Like ravens gyred, in length and breadth,
>   Until they hewed great ships from trees,
>        And sailed through Þor's own thunder.

   The blues, the blues drove us to croon
      'bout all that rain, freakin' monsoon,
   'bout sand and gravel takin' off ...
      The whole damn place went under!

   But we kept cool through all that shit.
      What use is raggin'? Bit by bit
   we made some ships from trees we cut,
      and blew the place for good.

Better?

Regards,
Reinhard/Ron 

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