Flieg's Song

When I joined the SCA many many years ago, I knew I could sing and I knew I could write lyrics and, to a certain extent, poetry. I need guidance, yet didn't know what I needed. The person who helped me was Frederick of Holland, then a Master of Arms living in the Shire of Beau Fleuve (Niagara Falls, NY, and its vicinity).

Flieg, as he is know by just about everyone, and his lady, Lady Nicorlynn of Caer Wydyr took myself and several others under their wings and helped us learn to fly in the SCA. I have known them for over 35 years, and have watched as he won the Crown in the East Kingdom and in the West Kingdom, where they moved after they left the East.

Along with many valuable lessons which he continued to impart across the miles and the years, Flieg left behind a song, which I call "Flieg's Song." It is a simple song which perfectly expresses the joys of being part of the SCA. It is the first song I ever memorized and sang in the Society. I have sung it for years at feasts, in camp, at bardic circles, and in my daughters' nurseries when they were wee lasses. It was their lullaby. I love this song almost as much as I love the man wrote it.

Today, I present it to you.

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Flieg's Song

Lyrics - Duke Frederick of Holland

Music (Autumn to May) - Peter Yarrow and Paul Stuckey

Oh, when I was a little boy

I thought those tales so fine

Of Arthur and his noble court

Of Bors and Sir Gawain

Of all the Kings and Princes

And noble firm yet ruth

Now I've found the SCA

And all of it's the truth

Sing Derry-o-Day, Sing Autumn to May

Oh, when I was a little boy

I read of righting wrongs

Of villains base and knights so brave

The noblesse of the strong

I read of griffins, dragons foul

And unicorns so fair

Now I've joined the SCA

And all of them are there

Sing Derry-o-Day, Sing Autumn to May

Oh, when I was a little boy

I longed to be knight

To fight beside my king at war

Break spears at tourneys bright

To be the King myself one day

Hold court in a high hall

Now I've joined the SCA

And I have done them all

Sing Derry-o-Day, Sing Autumn to May

Oh, when I was a little boy

I dreamed of lady fair

With eyes so bright and neck so white

Her love would be my air

I met her at a tourney

her favor's on my sleeve

Yes, now I've found the SCA

I'll never ever leave

Sing Derry-o-Day, Sing Autumn to May

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You can, you know.

Songs for Wolves!

Hi, there. I'm sort of between verses (got two or three more to go on the latest poem, then polishing and revision). So, here are a couple of SCA-related songs I've written. As a brief explanation, I live in the Barony of Thescorre, which is located in the Rochester, NY, area ("Thescorre" being an anagram of "Rochester"). The Kingdom (or regional group) we belong to is the Kingdom of Aethelmearc. The Kingdom to the North of us is Ealdormere (the Province of Ontario). We often jibe good-naturedly about the Great Lakes as the Inland Seas, and dispute over who owns them. And, we are presently engaged in The Great Aethelmearc-Ealdormere Cross-Border Bardic Tiff and Colour War which began here.

These two songs, in English (as Old Norse can be as hard as Korean), feature the Baron of Thescorre (which has three ravens on its arms) repelling an invasion of the Grey Wolves of Ealdormere. It seems that such mockery has caused some folks to go a bit nuclear, and to threaten us with their verbal missiles.

I hope that you'll enjoy the results of our bardic conclave.

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Wolves Song # 1 (The Foxes Song)

Wolves Song # 2 (The Grey Wolves Song1)

The wolves came down to sing one night They gathered in a circle in the pale moonlight The other creatures fled in fright As the wolves put up their howl, oh foul-o, growl-o The other creatures fled in fright as the wolves put up their howl-o They bayed at the man who sat in the moon While the dog ducked out with a cow and spoon Then they boarded a boat on the lake with the loons1 and they crossed the Inland Seas-o freeze-o, please-o they boarded a boat on the lake with the loons and they crossed the Inland Seas-o The wolves struck sails and manned the oars Til they beached their boat on a rocky shore For they had come to High Thescorre Where the ravens rule the roost-o Loose-o, goose-o For they had come to High Thescorre Where the ravens rule the roost-o The Grey Wolves formed up nice and neat All spiffed out from their ears to their feet For they had come to steal some meat And they were counting ku-o2 one-o, two-o For they had come to steal some meat And they were counting ku-o The Raven chief was Bobby Dubh3 The wolves all called him the Raven Boob But the Ravens knew he was nobody's noob When his armor he strapped on-o br> on-o, Don-Ho But the Ravens knew he was nobody's noob When his armor he strapped on-o The Raven troops stood to the fray The archers's arrows found their prey Soon the mighty grey wolves scurried away With new feathers in their bums-o some-o, dumb-o And the mighty grey wolves scurried away With new feathers in their bums-o Away they scampered, the puppies tamed Back across the puffin plain4 Long on lyrics, but short on brains And the Ravens drank their beer-o cheer-o, hero-o Long on lyrics, but short on brains And the Ravens drank their beer-o So to Ealdormere, let this lesson be Don't come across OUR Inland Seas Don't look to raid our ku & sheeps Or your ending will be grim-o Slim-o, trimmed-o Don't look to raid our ku & sheeps Or your ending will be grim-o

CHORUS: For we sail cross our inland seas Come to the Grey Wolves' hall on the breeze Yes, we sail cross our inland seas To visit the grey wolves, may we sit down please? We sit in our mead hall, as your ease you take Your singing and yelling, they keep us awake You drink and carouse, as your thirst you slake! We work in the morning, you hosers! Would you please pipe down, fer Chrissake! CHORUS We are simple farmers of mutton and ku Your cattle are lowing, we hear your ku moo If you do not want them, we will take home a few Thanks for the sheep and the critters We'll sell cheeze and milk back to you CHORUS We're rowing our ships as this ditty we sing We have flaming grenades to toss from our slings Because you have no doorbell for our King to ring Your city walls seem to be burning You're lucky - marshmellows we bring CHORUS Your Aethelmearc cousins have come home to roost We bring back the ravens your grey wolves have loosed As we're hunting for loons, beaver, and squirtlemoose2 We hope you like our Southern comfort It may give your spirits a boost! CHORUS TWICE

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Wolves Song # 1

¹ - loons - Ealdormereans, from the totemic bird on their money.
² - ku - cattle/cows from the Old Norse kus, kus! cow, cow! a milkmaid's call and the English moo! moo!.
³ - Bobby Dubh - "Black Bobby" from the names of the three ravens on Thescorre's banner: Hugin, Munin, and, of course Bob.
⁴ - puffin plain - a kenning for the sea.

Wolves Song # 2

¹ - The Grey Wolves Song - The original melody for this Wolves Song is the iconic The Wolves Song written by Master Hector of the Black Height.
² - squirtlemoose - the product of the genetic experiments in Great White Northern Cross-Breeding. Behold the Mighty Squirlemoose!



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Like Them? Hate Them? Ready For CROSS-BORDER BARDIC RUGGERS?

Please leave a comment below or send me e-mail. Thank you!

Geirþeyr (Spear Storm)

This poem is a revision of Vigþeyr which I wrote last year. As I noted in a post not too long ago, the main improvements lie in the stef which is now in true runhendr, in the rhyme schemes which have been tightened, and in the grammar, which I believe has been much improved.

As this is a significantly longer poem than most of my efforts, I know it's difficult to get a grasp on in a blog reading. Because of this, I'm putting it up as a pdf which you can download and read at your leisure. Also, there is a recording you can listen to.

The poem itself is designed as a call to war for the seven baronies of our Kingdom. I hope that many will choose to read it.

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As always, your comments and suggestions are greatly appreciated,

Where I Am (Other than Poetry)

Ok, so I'm stuck on a poem... It's been building up inside of me for .... never mind. And I haven't posted in a while. Well, there are enough different aspects to my studies to write about it, I think.

For longer than I've been writing poetry, I've been reading about, thinking about, and teaching about the culture of Commonwealth Iceland. My World History teacher, Mary McMullen, proudly pointed to Iceland as the first democracy, an idea that stuck with me for many years. Combine that lesson with the Lord of the Rings and other fantasy, and you get the seeds of my interest. Then I found the SCA and became more interested in the topic. As my interest grew, I began to read. At first, Jesse Byock, then the Saga literature, and on to deeper reading. These days, I'm taking my reading a step further to writing and teaching.

As I've moved along through this amateur research, I've gone back to my professional roots and have begun teaching in the SCA. Generally, I teach at four or five different events each year, usually two or three different classes at each event. So, I'm teaching ten to fifteen classes per year, trying not to repeat topics too often. All told, I have about twenty different classes I've taught, with two or three more either in active preparation or on my list. The topics range from Heraldry to Medieval Science to Icelandic Literature, Culture and History.

I've also written several "handouts" for these classes. An average handout looks more like an undergraduate college term paper, mostly informational, running ten to fifteen pages in length. I've posted two or three at academia.edu, but none recently. (Well, THAT changed last night.  Now you can find almost all of my handouts at Academia) Please note that all of these are "works in progress" and that, while I'm happy to share them, I appreciate proper credit should you use them in your research.

The classes I'm offering the most often of late are as follows:

• Feuds in the Sagas - an overview of how feuds work in the sagas, what causes them, how they are played out and settled, and how feuds makes the sagas a distinct literary genre. This also includes a look at the social and legal structures of Commonwealth Iceland.

• inn Draugar, or the Viking Zombie - a look into the draugr or undead in the sagas. This class has been popular at Pennsic, as it has the "Z-word" in the title. It includes story-telling and analysis. And lawyers! (Maybe it should be titled "Heroes, Lawyers, and Zombies"?)

• How to build a Kenning with Ideas you have lying around in your Mind - a long title, eh? This class explores the kenning, the basic building block of Old Norse, Germanic, and Anglo-Saxon poetry. It looks at types of kennings, how they are formed, and examples from period poetry, as well as from some of my poetry.

• Heraldic Underwear, or Aesthetic Philosophy and Heraldic Design - in another life, I've been a herald for more than 35 years. In that time, I've become more and more interested in how period aesthetic theory helps formulate the basic design principles of period armoury. This class attempts to draw some connections between the aesthetics of Aristotle and Aquinas and period design.

• Old Icelandic Manuscripts  - an overview of the manuscripts written in the 12th, 13th, and 14th centuries in Iceland. This class was designed for scribes in the SCA, looking at how one can design scrolls for Old Icelandic-Norse personae. It looks at a selection of the manuscripts housed at the Arnamagnaen Institute in Reykjavik.

• The Dróttkvætt Metre - a look at the most formal of the Old Norse-Icelandic poetic forms, in both English and Old Norse.

• How Water Works - a medieval sciences class, looking at period beliefs about hydrology. How do the tides happen? How does saline water from the ocean become fresh water when it flows from the inland rivers and streams? How do the rivers have a constant source of water? Where did the waters from the Great Flood come from?

I'm also working on a new class, which I hope to debut in June at the Æthelmearc Æcademy session in Salem, WV:

• The Big-Man in Commonwealth Iceland - a look at the social and political structure of the Commonwealth Period (c. 930 - 1262) and its demise with the signing of the Gamli sáttmáli.

There are about ten other classes I have taught, mostly concerning heraldry or the use of rubrics in the SCA, and I'm always looking for new ideas, generally focusing on Commonwealth-era Iceland.

So, back to poetry.

Krónu þáttr miðju sumars [Tale of Midsummer Crown], UPDATED NOVEMBER 30!!!!

Hej!


As promised earlier today, here is the first part of a new þáttr about a tournament.  In it, I´m using verses that you've seen before, with some needed modifications.  The whole tale is about four paragraphs and six verses long and will be published over the next few weeks. Look for updates. 


In writing this þáttr, I have gone a different route, attempting to write the prose without using any translation tools, except a dictionary and grammar. I've used  the on-line Cleasby-Vigfusson and Michael Barnes's A New Introduction to Old Norse.  Of course, all of the writing and errors are mine. Please. comment and suggest how my clumsy prose can be improved. 


UPDATED - November 30. The new section is red-lettered.

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Krónu þáttr miðju-sumars

Maðr er nefndr Isenulfr, sonr Thorhalls. Orrostur mørg børðusk hann ok er konung máttugr. Hann gékk at eiga Rosalindis, einn kona tignar Frankis. Réðu þeir í samt nítján vetra, en kynsæll ekki þeir. Svá at konung-ríkit arfuna hafa, Isenulfr kvað at orði einn burt-reið mikla. Sigrmagnaðinn taka arf at krónu aptir Isenulf ok Rosalinidis. Isenulfr konung gørða orð til allra herjar -  "Kóma allt til boðit at miðju sumri ok gangu á hólm mín!"

Svá segir skald-gamli:


Hvélinn skein á hólar

himins enda-lauss dimmir -

Stýri gildr bauð skatna

stafar malregns djarfr
Ildest.
Sverð-taka jarn-fastr

ok ýtar fresknastr rítar;

forú át mó fleins flug

finnar erfingi þínna.


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Margir menn kómu til konungs-bús á Midju-sumars vaku. þeir váru heilsat af báðra Isenulf ok Rosalindis. Bóð mikil er haldin. Nóttina var dá-samligr ok sérhverr váru plagaðusk með mann-doma. Konung gaf þeimall gull-hring vér skulum marka áf burt-reidinn.  Talði þeim hann burtreiðar-løginn.  Burt-reiðainn skyldi vera berjaði með vapnum eggum-vølr. Striðs-mennin ok dómandír skydi gripa á loturin. Alla striðsmenn látum at burt-reiðdarinn ok festat á hlýða.  Næsta morgin, fyrðarinir géngu á hasel-vøll burdeiga. Kvenna kusu nafn ok øttu. Burdeigaðu fyrðar til midju-dag. Skininn var sól ok dagr var heitr.

Svá segir skald-gamli:

Blaka merki bik-svart
bor'a með gull ok vørar
Kallarir hrósat hringa
hrað-mæltr sírar glaðligr.
Fram-leitat þjórar from-fuss
frýði gjórdar-vitr prýddr -
Kallad her-blástr koll-hufs
á kró litr-járn gnýs-odda.

The Tale of Mid-Summer Crown

There was a man named Eisenwulf son of Thorhall. He had fought many battles and had become a great king. He was married to Rosalindis, a noble woman from France.  Together, they had ruled for nineteen winters, but they had not been blessed with children. In order that the kingdom would have an heir, Isenwulf decreed that a great tourney be held. The victor would be the heir to the crown after Isenwulf and Rosalinda. King Isenwulf sent words to all warriors: "All come to the Midsummer feast and meet my challenge!"

As the old skald says:

(The wheel of heaven shone on

endless dusky hills.

Mighty ruler you summoned

metal-rain staves bold.

Iron-fast sword-takers elder

and bold shield-impellers come

to the spear flight moor

to find your heir.)

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Many men came to the royal-house on Mid-summer's eve. They were warmly greeted by both Eisenwulf and Rosalindis. They held a sumptuous feast. The night was glorious and everyone was treated with great generosity.  The king gave each fighter a gold ring to mark him for the tournament. He told them the rules. The tournament would be fought with blunt-edged weapons. The fighters and judges would decide each bout.  All the fighters swore that they would follow the rules.


The next morning, the warriors met on the hazel-field. The Queen drew and matched names. The fighters battled until the mid-day. The sun shone and the day was hot.


As the old skald says:


(pitch black banners broidered
with gold and fur flew
Heralds quick of speech
praised cheerful ring-saplings.
Eager honor seeking young bulls
challenged adorned white belts -
war-trumpets called iron-skull-caps
to the sword-pint pen.)

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Of course, when translating the SCA into Old Icelandic, some liberties get taken, and I apologize here and now to Their Majesties, Isenwulf and Rosalinda, for fictionalizing slightly. I hope I do not offend.

LOVE IT?  HATE IT?

Leave comments below, please.

Freðrik drápa inn Frisi, The Complete Movie

Here is the complete movie of the complete Freðrik drápa inn Frisi.  It was recorded and edited by Jesse Horning, a student at R.I.T.  The recording was done at the castle of Lord Richard von Tanner.  I thank them both for their help in making this project a reality.  Enjoy!  Comment!

A Pre-War Poem

Hej!


This weekend I head to War!  In Cooper's Lake Campground, near Butler/New Castle, PA, the SCA will be holding the 40th edition of the Pennsic War and I'll be there with 12,000 of my closest friends.  For those of you who will be there, look for me around Highrafters Camp or at Heralds Point or the Pennsic University where I'll be teaching.  I also suspect that I'll bring home more poetry and a continuation of the Haakon Saga (the Pennsic atmosphere seems to be conducive to writing), as well as various new possessions.


Today, in advance of vacation, I'm posting short verse.


The first, "The Silk Flood" (a verse meant to be the stef describing a poet's work) is written in a form Snorri calls iðurmæltr "repeatedly said", an echoic verse in which the last emphasized syllable in each line is echoed in the first syllable of the next.  An example from the Old Icelandic corpus (Heilagra meyja drápa ‘Drápa about Holy Maidens’, verse 5):



Sæt Máría gjǫrði at gráta 
gráti mædd í sonarins láti,

lát Júðanna fældi at fljóði,

fljóðit horfði á krossinn rjóðan;

rjóðandi þá flaut ok flóði

flóð táranna niðr um móður,

móður brjóstit strengt af stríði

stríðit bar sem engi síðan.


My verse:


segðú fjöl-dýr silk-Syf 
silki-röddu brodda 
broddinn riða brandéls 
brandi-æfi væfi.
vefari af vill-draumr 
draum-maðr fekk inn-saumar 
saumlauss féll straumr-silki 
silki-blaut þinn hlaup-mál 


Prose order translation:


speak glorious silk-Syf [POET] / 
silken-voice goads us / 
goading fever of sword storms / 
sword-ages you weave / 
weaver of the wild dream / 
the dreamer grasps the seams / 
seamless flows the silk-stream / 
silky smooth your word-flood.

English translation:

Speak o glorious silk-Syf
Silken voices fill us -
Filled with sword din's fever 
Fevered tales you're weaving.
Weaver of our wild dreams
Dreamers grasp your seemings
Seamless runs the silk-stream
Silky-smooth your speeches.


The second pair of lausaversir is from a series of "practice poems" I wrote during last winter, 
exercises to keep my hand in as it were.  It's in English (forgive me, please!).  
The two verses together describe a phenomenon noted by my Laurel - 
morning with a large number of blackbirds roosting in the trees over his car:


Odin's heralds unleash
Untold voices under 
skald-lord's window. Sunna's 
song-thralls end our long sleep.


Rain from war-gulls rattles
Wrath on gold-slopes Hrafni
Fire-drake shivers frightened
Flees from corse-hawks leavings


Hope you enjoy these.  Comments are gratefully accepted!

THE NEW PROJECT

Ok.  I promised that I'd give you the first part of THE NEW PROJECT™ as soon as I finished it.  Well, given that nothing is ever truly finished, here it is.  This is an attempt at writing a piece of a prose saga, a þættr (short story), if you like.  It is very loosely based on the early days of the four shires in Western New York and Pennsylvania, or the Western Regions: the Debateable Lands, Thescorre, the Rhydderich Hael, and Myrkfaellin.  Please note that I said very loosely.  Thus its names: Fylkis saga vestrmarki  "The Saga of the Shires of the West-Marches".  The notion is that we find most OI verse interpolated and inserted into prose passages.  So, this is an attempt to shows what that would look like.  Actually, in a manuscript, it would look like this: GKS 1009 folio 5r with the verse written like prose.

My two greatest fears are: first, I got the vocabulary wrong.  Idiomatic language can be rough.  Second, and greatest, that I completely got the grammar wrong.  If you read OI and can help me with gentle commentary and correction, I'll greatly appreciate and gratefully accept it.

So, here you go, first in my attempt at OI; then, in English.

Fylkis saga vestrmarki  Chapter One (Fyrstr Kapital )

Langt síðan, það bar til að það var strííð á meðai inn fykis vestrmarkar ok reyfarar. Inn máttkar fyrðar af Hrafn-heim ok fylkingar Hala-stjarna ok is-drekki her-lið gnáttu með inn kussarar.  Hræs lanar hlaðit.  Úlfar hákku ok hrafnar háfu sam-drykkja.  Fengu úsigr fylkis-folk.   Válandi fólka heyrði megin konungr austan-verðr.  Sín drottning syrgði af angist þeirra.  Sendi inn konungr sín goðr riddari leggja á grið ok frið.  Þannig var það að Friðrekr mattkar siglað til vestrmark. Svá inn gamli segir:

1. Friðrek ræsir fremð inn

frið-skjöldri gráskegg vissin

haf-skip siglir  hlyðir 

humra til Austur rumlend.

Metendr leiða morgum

morðáls til villi-borgar;

öskranfossdœl ásetta

ískaldr reista dísasalr.

2. Siglt of uppdal stag lautr

sildar Traunda strauma.

Telgjaðr drekka til-eygðr

tingls-marr gulla þinga.

Barða höggorms byrskíð

bakað á fjördr blákald.

Mikil-sigr vannt á móti

merglauss þar reyfarar

Flyði á skipgengum höf til vesturs lendir reyfarar bautinn, meðan Friðrekr setja í brandr þorpar þeirra.  Frið-görvir drengi-ligr inn þrið-fylkis sam-einaði ok af þeirra fólk-tjaldum  ein fylkingarr-brodd flykaut.  Inn fylkis-fólk sinn gagni faginn ok báðu Frederick þeirra konung.  Svá skaldi segir:

3. Pruðr, vask með þér, þjóðann, 

þat haust frá komt austan; 

einn, stillir, mátt alla 

jǫrð hegna, svá fregnið; 

himin þóttisk þá heiðan 

hafa, es landa krafðir, 

ljos-bera, ok lifðir, 

landfolk tekit hǫndum.

Hann ferðaðist síðan fótgangandi ok á hestbaki.  Hann könnuðu hæðum oc dala,  eptir-leitan fyrir einn huldu-fanz af eldr-sǫgu.  Eptir marg-nátta, hann fundinn einn myrkfælsdala innan grœn-holt oc vatna-djúp.  Þar lifði folk all-froðu.  Þau hlýðusk á konunginn oc kom þat ásamt með þeim.  At þessu, svörðu hollustu-eiðr á Friðrek konung.   Fyrstr-konunginn var mönnum mikil öfuss á því.

Hann siglt sex í norðr, upp lœkar oc þjóðár, til haf inn-landi, oc skip-farað til sinn heim.  Loks heim, einn mikill fagnaðar-öl þeir fagnað þat allir ok sérhverir drekkað eitt öldr.  Friðrek var hjarta-prúðast konnunga.  Svá inn gamli segir:

4. Sal þin var upp sendir 

    seima til al-beimar.

    Veitir pella veizlan

    val-born kema hábarð.

    Hunangsbára hornar

    heðra drakk í gleði.

    Rota húfur roskinn

    risnu-maðr hávaði.

Translation:

Long ago, it happened that there was strife between the Western-forest shires and pirates.  The mighty firth of Raven-home, the Tail-Star army, and the Ice-Drake troops clashed with the Corsairs.  Corpses piled grew.  Wolves gorged and ravens caroused.  The shire-folk suffered. The mighty king of the Eastern Lands heard the people´s wailings.  His queen mourned for their anguish. The king sent his good knight to impose truce and peace.  Thus it was that might Frederick sailed to the West-march.  As the ancient skald says:

(Verse 1) Grizzled grey-beard Frederick the "Peace-Shield" advancer of honor, you sailed the warship from the lobster-slopes [OCEANS] to the Eastern lands.  You lead many testers of the battle eel [SWORD > WARRIORS] to the wild hills; you settled in the ice-cold valley of the roaring waterfall; you built a temple.

(Verse 2) You sailed the ox of the hollows of the herring [SHIP] Trundle across inland streams.  You carved the squint-eyed Dragons golden fleet (tingls-marr-þinga > SHIP-THING > FLEET).  You beat  the vipers breeze-skis [SHIPS] roasted them at the black-waved fjord.  You won a great victory against the marrowless pirates 

The beaten pirates fled far over the inland seas to the west, while the Frederick put fire to their villages.  The brave “peace-maker” brought the three shire-folk together and made an army of their folk-bands.  The people rejoiced in his victory and proclaimed him their king.  As the skald says:

(Verse 3) Brave king, I was with you that autumn when you came from the East; lord, you alone can secure the entire country; that was heard.  The countrymen thought they caught bright heaven with their hands when you claimed the lands, Light-bearer, and were alive.

He then traveled by foot and horseback exploring the hills and dales, searching for a hidden tribe that was rumored in ancient tales.  Among the deep lakes and the green woods, he soon discovered the dark fells dale, where a learned people lived.  These folk heard of the great King and swiftly swore their fealty to him alone.  Frederick, the first king of these lands, was gladdened by this.

He returned to his own home, sailing north on the rivers to the Inland Seas.  Finally home, they held a great joyful feast and all came.  Frederick was the most generous [Hjarta-prúðr  > Valiant hearted > Generous] of kings. As the old-one said:

(Verse 4) Dispenser of gold [GENEROUS MAN] your hall was open to all men.  The well-born came to feast at your high-table, giver of costly materials [GENEROUS MAN].  Horns of honey waves [MEAD] <they> drank here in joy.  Hospitable man you served ripe root-caps [MUSHROOMS].


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Finally, a tip of the hat to Jackson Crawford, who is my inspiration to madness.  His most recent posting, Gunnar Fire-Iron, Skáld of the Wild West, is a very good attempt at writing poetry in an ON form.  You should go read it.

An Early Runhendr: The Four at the Bridge

Hej!

Here's a little "ditty" for you in English from the legend and lore of Æthelmearc!

THE FOUR AT THE BRIDGE

At Coopers pond our scene

On field hill great ravine

battles twixt warring foes

dragons come tigers go

dwarves elves, aetheling men

fight on hill, then in fen

two bridges they must cross

and from them foemen toss

Four heroes join the throng

dance to valkyrie’s  song

brave Boris, Haakon's kin

with Oak tree tall, then thin

green Morguhn, duke soon knight

young Willem, Fridriks wight

to fight at Pennsic war

a bridge to bathe in gore

To battle dwarvelords here

who rose from Calontir

our four men form a host

a half-tonne of pot roast

fiercesome  fighters four

who out-fought many score

whom many feared and yet

in battle they can't get

Thru spear storm’s din they stood

no action turned the mood

beneath the sun's harsh stare

they broil to pot roast rare

they glare at Calon herd

who at our heroes jeer

til thrice-king angry roared --

By Thor! His Grace was bored!

On three, charge! Morguhn said!

On three, Duke Morguhn lead!

thru Calon wall they sped

dwarves fell neath Willem's tread

Binder detached a head

Boris laid the dead to bed

surly sword-elves fled

Norns snipped their ghastly threads

Bodies from bridgehead flew

of hammer-dwarves and crew

three stout swordsmen tried

to gain brave Morguhn's side

then marshall's whistle shrilled

twas time to count the kill

whence from the corpse pile fell

came giggles straight from hell!

That pile our heroes tore

dead heads they tossed and more

to find His Grace they sped

whose laugh fills all with dread

Out Dead Things marshall cried

waked corpses moved aside

but Yngvar's Bane denied

raise blades... I've Not Yet Died!

Thrice-king rose without sound

took his stance, held the ground

foes fell from mortal wound

some bled stumbled swooned

til thirteen dwarvelords came

with arrows spears took aim

cowards felled brave duke

thus honor they forsook

Battle quit, bridge lay red

with raven wine from dead

treasure wasted armies fled

bloodswans songs bring dread

bloodstorm ends with many slain

corpses burn, across the plain

O'er blood fest ravens play

fast fried heroes...have it your way!

Even comes battles ends

armies leave, foes now friends

all dead risen head home

some to camp, some to roam

to beer and mead and songs

to spouses, cheering throngs!

Join me in beery toast

to half-tonne of pot roast!

NOTES:


This poem was written in 2008, before I moved on to Old Icelandic poetry.  It is written in an Old Icelandic form called runhendr, In Old Icelandic and eddaic poetry, end rhyme scheme is seldom  considered necessary.  Indeed, in drottkveitt, or Court Poetry, end rhyme is never used purposefully.  However, there is a form of poetry common to Iceland that does use end rhyme, runhendt (runnng rhyme).  In The Structure of Old Norse Drottkveitt Poetry, Kari Ellen Gade says:


"Not until the end of the tenth century, in Egil's [Skallagrimsson] "Hoflauðsen" [Head-Ransom] does end rhyme play a constitutive part in skaldic metrics.  This new meter, runhendr, which consists of lines with four syllables dispenses with the internal rhymes altogether and replaces it with end rhymes..... It is clear that runhendr meter represented a bold break with the established norms for the composition of skaldic poetry, and that this innovation was most likely the result of foreign [most likely English or Irish] influence.”


It should be noted that in the Prose Edda, Snorri Sturlusson identifies many different types of runhendr, including one with six syllables in a line.  While runhendr is unusual in Old Icelandic poetry, it is far more accessible to modern ears than dróttkvætt. [See my earlier posting for an example in Old Icelandic of this verse form]

This poem is the story of a true event at Pennsic 13 or so, when a line of four men: Boris Dragonsbane, Haakon Oaktall,  Morguhn Sheridan, and Wilfred Altmarker - charged through a Calontir shield wall & died gloriously.  It is ever so slightly embroidered, as such legends become over generations of the telling.  The next to last verse is partially borrowed from the Magnusdrapa, where the poet speaks of ravens pulling corpses from a burning house (fast fried corpses).  It was just too good to pass up.  In the poem, I have used fewer kennings than might be expected, in order to keep the flow of the narrative intact.  Among those used are: 

spear storm - battle 

Yngvar’s Bane - Morguhn Sheridan (for the classic battles between the two great knights of Æthelmearc)

bloodswans - ravens

bloodstorm - battle 

blood fest - battlefield

raven wine - blood

half tonne of pot roast - the line of four fighters who tipped the scales at just over 1100 pounds. 

Enjoy!

Fridrikr