Valkyrjars Sǫng

This poem is intended as a companion piece to a tale told by Mistress Morgana Bro Morganwg of Jarl Haakon and his skald, Haukr. In the tale, the Valkyries, led by Orðtruðr (“word-trust”), spare the Jarl and his men, while destroying their foes. This happens because of the war-song Haukr sings. I've heard and admired the tale; it is one of my favorites. Since neither Hauk´s song nor the Valkyries' song appears in the tale, I have made bold to imagine them.

The form is a variant of togmælt [journey-spoken] with four-to-five syllables per line, alliteration, half-rhymes, and full-rhymes as in dróttkvætt. The shortness of the lines makes the rhythm and rhymes work together more completely. You can find an example from Snorri here.

A careful reader will note that three verses are different from the others in their rhyme scheme. I freely admit to having borrowed them from the Eddaic poem, Darraðarljóð, a poem quoted in Njals Saga, chapter 156. It describes the Valkyries as weavers of man's fate.

Now you can hear it:

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Old Norse Verses

Poetic Translation

Ríðum stríðum strjúka á fljúgjask Sigbragnum þegna þáttu kvattú. Gengr hildr vefa ok hjǫrþrimul sangríðr svipul sverðum svipul skapt mun gnesta skjöldr mun bresta mun hjálmgagarr í hlíf koma. Orðtruð herjarn orrust hjǫrtu til Freyja borit með blóði gollin. Rǫgnis valdrǫs reið um leiðir á býskips systr skeiðbrimi fimmtandi Ríðum stríðum strjúka á fljúgjask Sigbragnum þegna þáttu kvattú. Geðum heiðrs Þungra hungrað - skalt vera berþrek blóðkorgr bǫðvar. Hjálmtrjám dómsorð hæfa hafstrandar. fara til skera framast malmrunnum Reyfarar ríða rafstráit of hafstrǫnd veiðifúss at líkar líflauss ok drífvit. Haukr heyrðr hrylling frýja hildar hjaldr hinkrask, blindandi. Ríðum stríðum strjúka á fljúgjask Sigbragnum þegna þáttu kvattú. Vindum vindum vef darraðar þar er vé vaða vígra manna látum eigi líf skalds britast eigu valkyrjur vals um kosti. Svika þær tók svartast hjartu bálfjandar til helvítis blak vatt gata! Snefga gǫfgað vítskáld Valmey - hljómr líðinn hollr ok gólligr. Ríðum stríðum strjúka á fljúgjask Sigbragnum þegna þáttu kvattú.

Ride to battle! Join the blood-song! Sing of Victory Chieftain's thegns! Go they weaving with swords drawn Hild and Hjorthrimul, Sanngrid and Svipul. Spears will shatter shields will splinter, Swords will gnaw like wolves through armor. Ortrudr warlike warriors' hearts with golden blood to Freyja carries. Slaughter goddess rides the hawks' paths on bee-ship's surf-steed summons sisters. Ride to battle! Join the blood-song! Sing of Victory Chieftain's thegns! Þungra hungers for honor's souls - shall be bear-bold battle's blood-dregs. To sea-strands helm-trees doom-words mete we; go to mow down boldest sword-trees. Above seastrand ambered Ride the rievers hunt for bodies snow white lifeless. Haukr hears she horrors cursing battle's Hildr halts, she staring. Ride to battle! Join the blood-song! Sing of Victory Chieftain's thegns! Wind we now the web of war where warrior banners are forging forward. Harvest we not bright skalds' spirit Valkyries only choose the slain. Took they then the traitors black hearts pyrefiends to Hel's black gates hurled. Blessed then Valmey wit-skald swiftest gliding song-voice true and joyful. Ride to battle! Join the blood-song! Sing of Victory Chieftain's thegns!

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Kennings:

Rǫgnis valdrǫs > Rǫgnir's [Óðin´s] slaughter woman > Valkyrie
býskips skeiðbrimi > bee-ship's surf-racer > air's horse > Valkyrie's horse
Þungra > Freyja
berþrek > bear-bold > warriors
blóðkorgr bǫðvar > blood-dregs of battle > the dead
Hjálmtrjám > helm-trees > warriors
dómsorð > doom-words > justice
malmrunnum > sword-trees > warriors
rafstráit > rievers > Valkyries
hildar hjaldr > battle's Hildr >Valkyrie
skalds britast > skald brightest > Haukr
bálfjandar > pyrefiends > traitors
vítskáld > wit-skald > Haukr

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Do you like it? Hate it? Have questions? Plase let me know by commenting below or by e-mail

Old Poems

So, I was cleaning out my songbook recently, and I came upon a few poems that I wrote over 30 years ago. I tried one or two out on folks at Pennsic. I was pleasantly surprised at the positive reception they received.

When I stop and think about what I was reading and being affected by half a lifetime ago, I realize that the Irish legends and myths I was reading then are a strong basis for the poetry I write today. So, I will share two of these Brian Boru and Cú Chulainn inspired poems with you today.

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Brian's Lay

What man does rise to reign
but gods do cause to fall
do set snares but baited bold
so it haps today as fate foretold.

Bold Brian, man of blood and bone
to us sword singer, Saxon foe,
did stand on Eire's shore undaunted
by bastard Britons, foemen flaunted.

Bold Brian, he who harped and harmed
who sang his love, his lust, his gaudy greed
his wildest wanderings we did take
to field; we fought and fell for Brian's sake.

His foemen's blood he spilled, and gave rebirth
to Antient Brian's game, brave Boru's way.
The Saxons fell yet went not home as whole;
their faces grinned as Brian bared his soul.

They, at our feasts, our trophied heads stared down
and listened, blanching not at bloody tales --
Thus Brian inspired our souls to battle bold
of which our kindred's kin shall ere be told.

Yet gods do find no joy in joy unknown
to THEIR fine names and spirits' debt.
But rather envied Brian his foemen's fall:
they struck while beauteous Brian thus stood tall.

The greatest good in human heart has burst --
thus Brian passes to his fate unfair:
Sing out his tale, his fame, his bravest deeds
whose soul shall ere return at Eire's need.

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Clairseach

Many wars I have seen, many battles fought
stood by my king, masterless slave;
knowing not why my songs have such meaning
knowing the sagas I only may save.

In Cuchulainn's war marches I too strode
Sharp-singer of tales to push on the wave.
My holder, he fell to the swords of the heathens
knowing his sory I only could save.

O'Donnell, he took me by force to the North.
The kin of my fathers he put in the grave.
He, too, fell silent, King of the Isle,
knowing his memory I only could save.

Now call me, o great one of white hands and red hair
as blood and sword your road to glory must pave.
Remember! You'll die but my harp will live always!
Know that your soul, I only may save!

Many wars I have seen, many deaths I have known,
mothers and children of Eire-men brave,
A voice with no master, bound to live always
knowing the sagas I only may save.

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And there you have them. Like them? Hate them? Comment below or write me.