The Horse:
“Red Crosse Knight, Sir George, my friend, my liege,
’Cross holt and heath, copse and mead, diverse lands,
Through daungers grand, heat and rain, snow and pain,
On my back have I not borne thee well and true?
Lest thou forget, it was me, it was, there with thee,
Beside that dragon, the Eastern land’s bane,
The which you hastily slew ’side Adam’s fane.
I and you, together we evil and fear overcame.
I, a courser true, run, run, and chase the wind,
Your hot silvery spurs urging me, pricking me on.
Tireless I am, faultless I am, hapless I am.
All day prattle you on and on about some
Maiden faire and bright; listen I do,
Listen I do – each time I hear the tale:
‘Saracens rude, Sans Foy, Sans Joy, Sans Loy,
Did I fight and win; splayed them wide I did.
And saved a maiden faire and bright, coy too.’
But, lo, look, think my friend, my knight, my liege:
Alexander tamed my kind, Poseidon’s gift,
Conquered the world on his Bucephalus blue.
Old winged Pegasus stood greater than me –
Only but by his wings that bore Bellerophon far.
Horses bearing heroes brave all have names:
Why, wilt thou not name me too?
Red Crosse, my friend, St. George august,
As thy name shalt immortal stand,
Hold not that high honor back from me.
Strider, Swift Foot, Mercury, Thrax,
Thousand Stepper, Chironides, Arete –
Any one will do, just that I am remembered.
The stuff of epic and song is what we are;
To be sung are we, through ages to come.”
The Knight:
“Go to, noble steed, you froward beast!
Verily knew not I thou thought such thoughts!
Fie, fie, fie upon me! ’Tis true, ’tis fact,
The deeds, the feats thou hast carried me on.
Forthwith, henceforth, now, today –
Call thee I shall ‘Agathippos.’ For indeed –
In troth, in sooth, a good horse art thou.”
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Baldr: An Epic Fragment
Field Report:
Brazilian Imperial Archaeological Expedition
North American Field Crew
43 Maktak 3652
To Fabrizio Cabral, Director, Manaus, Amazonas
According to the ancient maps, this week we have been excavating in a region known in former days as “Lowndes.” On Terça-feira we unearthed a large bronze disk that appears to have been once surrounded by green marble which had long since been stolen for other building purposes. On the upper side of the disk we found the words “Valdosta State University – 1906.” We believe that we have most likely stumbled on the institution of learning by this same name that is hardly mentioned in any annals after about the year 3254 (2500 C.E. in the old dating system). On Quarta-feira, we dug in another area we believe to have been a large library. Most of the books of that era were printed on paper, so little of what we have found has been preserved well enough to decipher. However, one volume of poetry that must have somehow fallen in between two large roof tiles was better preserved than the rest. Though we yet have no idea who the author of the text was or what legend of antiquity this poem preserves, we have been able to carefully open up this book and have reproduced the first few pages here for your perusal. We hope to make a full report of this poem’s content within the next few years after returning to our laboratory in São Paulo. There we will be better able to preserve the delicate pages and fully translate the work.
Abraçoes, João-David Rodrigues and Ornaldo de Camoes, Field Directors
Baldr
The Apology:
Within me lies a little tale of epic proportions,
Hither unto untold, rife with mythic distortions:
Lists of ships, heroes brave, catalogs of trees,
Ten books at least, knights on their knees,
Named swords, noble lords, magic rocks, 5
Animals who talk, evil villains in stocks,
Vengeful gods, lovely goddesses fair,
Stolen cattle, broken sails, a monster’s lair,
Dragons green, mean, and filled with fire,
Treasure aplenty to quench any man’s desire, 10
Young sons of Adam freed by pagan tears,
Quaking waters and an antihero’s fears,
Icy, sunlit caves and hard-hearted knaves,
Poisoned shirts and a prophet who raves,
Forests grand and dry deserts wide, 15
Castles, citadels, and a dolphin for to ride.
Virgil, Melville, Milton, Byron, and Homer of old,
What have they on me? Look as my story does unfold!
Time’s a factor though; it slips away so quick!
Just as I begin and get really into the thick, 20
I think: some critics have said the epic’s dead.
But no, it’s just a form the modern poets dread.
But who’d actually deem it worthy of study?
Just to think on this makes my poor brain muddy.
To bring back and resurrect the epic is my task, 25
That’s my story if anyone might ask!
Prologue:
“Thor, red-beard Thor, take that hot helmet off, set it down,
Rest yourself, lay Mjollnir aside, your hammer renown,
Shake out your curly locks, have some beer from my cup,
Then tell me a tale of the world when it first sprung up.” 30
I ended; he began: “Poet, poet boastful and bold,
Would you hear things yet to mortal ears untold?
Åsgard’s secrets to you I can never openly reveal;
Odin holds us in liege, manacled tongues he did seal.
Call on old bearded Bragi, my brother the skald, 35
With his rune-carved tongue, word-enthralled,
Enchanting the world with his pleasing rhymes,
Charming even giants with tales of the early times.
He with secret Etruscan letters rightly wrought,
His honey verse flows with hardly a thought. 40
Surely no storyteller am I, fighting, smiting,
The meek with my lightening bolts frightening.”
“Thundering god, I think your version will do;
I want to know what became of Baldr the true.
What power, what foe, what guile laid him low? 45
What conniving fiend could bloody heaven’s snow?
Rumors and lies plentiful circle, swoop, and abound;
Common bards hurt my ear with rough verses’ sound.
But set me straight, my avenging friend,
And I will carefully to you my ears lend.” 50
I finished. “Baldr, my brother, my brother dear,
Of all us Æsir in Valhalla bright and clear,
Most beloved stood he, of wondrous beauty grand,
Sunkist, golden locks, eclipsing the gods of any land.
So pure, so innocent, light and truth, without ire, 55
Loving and loved, he made to glitter our snowy shire.”
“But what of his horrid death, his fall, his decline?
How might he, one so strong and sublime
Have his thread cut so short, leaving us in the lurch?
What strange force could virile Baldr besmirch? 60
Was it a giant or demon from the dank nether reaches
Who finally brought his ashes onto Jutland’s beaches?”
Here begins the book the first. Thor begins.
“And so the story must be told. Listen you –
Nanna, Baldr’s bride, decided on a plan anew.
For to travel the earth and blue skies wide, 65
Across mountain and whale-way did she ride,
For to take an oath from every living thing,
Animal, vegetable, mineral, and spring.
For so greatly did she love her Baldr dear,
She harbored in her heart her greatest fear: 70
Were ever good Baldr to be taken away,
Midgaard would be cast in full disarray;
Ygdrassil might well be cleft half in twain,
And God above would look down in disdain.
From oak, holly, beech, and tamarack tall, 75
Rill, creek, river, wave, lake, and waterfall,
Hard iron, glittering gold, copper buried deep,
Soaring eaglekind and bears wrested from sleep,
Damascene swords, fell axes, keen arrow tips,
Belladonna with its poisonous nightshade hips, 80
Razor-teethed beasts of the darkling sea,
Craggy mountain trolls roaming wanton and free,
Giants in frigid Jötunheim, dwarves mining ore,
Dryad and Nyad, and cruel dragons as they soar:
Nanna exacted from them a promise both solemn and bold: 85
Never should they harm him whom her heart did hold.
Across the Kalevala heath to the Northern Witch's lair
Rode white-clad Nanna, the wind blowing her flaxen hair.
Behind nine adamant locks lay the stolen Sampo stone,
For to guard her loot the ancient thief stood there alone. 90
Nanna bargains and begs that old Ilmarinen's magic craft
Never be employed. The hag with a hideous mouth laughed.
'What amount of gold do you think Baldr's life is worth?
How greatly do you treasure your blissful marital mirth?
For your fine-countenanced consort, what would you give? 95
Would you send here to me your first-born son to live?
It is with this powerful rock that I hold all Finland in liege;
Were it not for my Sampo dear, mine enemies would me besiege!'
‘Fit it would have been for you to have been slain long ago;
All the gods would rejoice to see the deep Karelian snow 100
Littered with your black teeth, with your vile blood spilt!’
Then Nanna with steely resolve draws her dirk gold-gilt…
Brazilian Imperial Archaeological Expedition
North American Field Crew
43 Maktak 3652
To Fabrizio Cabral, Director, Manaus, Amazonas
According to the ancient maps, this week we have been excavating in a region known in former days as “Lowndes.” On Terça-feira we unearthed a large bronze disk that appears to have been once surrounded by green marble which had long since been stolen for other building purposes. On the upper side of the disk we found the words “Valdosta State University – 1906.” We believe that we have most likely stumbled on the institution of learning by this same name that is hardly mentioned in any annals after about the year 3254 (2500 C.E. in the old dating system). On Quarta-feira, we dug in another area we believe to have been a large library. Most of the books of that era were printed on paper, so little of what we have found has been preserved well enough to decipher. However, one volume of poetry that must have somehow fallen in between two large roof tiles was better preserved than the rest. Though we yet have no idea who the author of the text was or what legend of antiquity this poem preserves, we have been able to carefully open up this book and have reproduced the first few pages here for your perusal. We hope to make a full report of this poem’s content within the next few years after returning to our laboratory in São Paulo. There we will be better able to preserve the delicate pages and fully translate the work.
Abraçoes, João-David Rodrigues and Ornaldo de Camoes, Field Directors
Baldr
The Apology:
Within me lies a little tale of epic proportions,
Hither unto untold, rife with mythic distortions:
Lists of ships, heroes brave, catalogs of trees,
Ten books at least, knights on their knees,
Named swords, noble lords, magic rocks, 5
Animals who talk, evil villains in stocks,
Vengeful gods, lovely goddesses fair,
Stolen cattle, broken sails, a monster’s lair,
Dragons green, mean, and filled with fire,
Treasure aplenty to quench any man’s desire, 10
Young sons of Adam freed by pagan tears,
Quaking waters and an antihero’s fears,
Icy, sunlit caves and hard-hearted knaves,
Poisoned shirts and a prophet who raves,
Forests grand and dry deserts wide, 15
Castles, citadels, and a dolphin for to ride.
Virgil, Melville, Milton, Byron, and Homer of old,
What have they on me? Look as my story does unfold!
Time’s a factor though; it slips away so quick!
Just as I begin and get really into the thick, 20
I think: some critics have said the epic’s dead.
But no, it’s just a form the modern poets dread.
But who’d actually deem it worthy of study?
Just to think on this makes my poor brain muddy.
To bring back and resurrect the epic is my task, 25
That’s my story if anyone might ask!
Prologue:
“Thor, red-beard Thor, take that hot helmet off, set it down,
Rest yourself, lay Mjollnir aside, your hammer renown,
Shake out your curly locks, have some beer from my cup,
Then tell me a tale of the world when it first sprung up.” 30
I ended; he began: “Poet, poet boastful and bold,
Would you hear things yet to mortal ears untold?
Åsgard’s secrets to you I can never openly reveal;
Odin holds us in liege, manacled tongues he did seal.
Call on old bearded Bragi, my brother the skald, 35
With his rune-carved tongue, word-enthralled,
Enchanting the world with his pleasing rhymes,
Charming even giants with tales of the early times.
He with secret Etruscan letters rightly wrought,
His honey verse flows with hardly a thought. 40
Surely no storyteller am I, fighting, smiting,
The meek with my lightening bolts frightening.”
“Thundering god, I think your version will do;
I want to know what became of Baldr the true.
What power, what foe, what guile laid him low? 45
What conniving fiend could bloody heaven’s snow?
Rumors and lies plentiful circle, swoop, and abound;
Common bards hurt my ear with rough verses’ sound.
But set me straight, my avenging friend,
And I will carefully to you my ears lend.” 50
I finished. “Baldr, my brother, my brother dear,
Of all us Æsir in Valhalla bright and clear,
Most beloved stood he, of wondrous beauty grand,
Sunkist, golden locks, eclipsing the gods of any land.
So pure, so innocent, light and truth, without ire, 55
Loving and loved, he made to glitter our snowy shire.”
“But what of his horrid death, his fall, his decline?
How might he, one so strong and sublime
Have his thread cut so short, leaving us in the lurch?
What strange force could virile Baldr besmirch? 60
Was it a giant or demon from the dank nether reaches
Who finally brought his ashes onto Jutland’s beaches?”
Here begins the book the first. Thor begins.
“And so the story must be told. Listen you –
Nanna, Baldr’s bride, decided on a plan anew.
For to travel the earth and blue skies wide, 65
Across mountain and whale-way did she ride,
For to take an oath from every living thing,
Animal, vegetable, mineral, and spring.
For so greatly did she love her Baldr dear,
She harbored in her heart her greatest fear: 70
Were ever good Baldr to be taken away,
Midgaard would be cast in full disarray;
Ygdrassil might well be cleft half in twain,
And God above would look down in disdain.
From oak, holly, beech, and tamarack tall, 75
Rill, creek, river, wave, lake, and waterfall,
Hard iron, glittering gold, copper buried deep,
Soaring eaglekind and bears wrested from sleep,
Damascene swords, fell axes, keen arrow tips,
Belladonna with its poisonous nightshade hips, 80
Razor-teethed beasts of the darkling sea,
Craggy mountain trolls roaming wanton and free,
Giants in frigid Jötunheim, dwarves mining ore,
Dryad and Nyad, and cruel dragons as they soar:
Nanna exacted from them a promise both solemn and bold: 85
Never should they harm him whom her heart did hold.
Across the Kalevala heath to the Northern Witch's lair
Rode white-clad Nanna, the wind blowing her flaxen hair.
Behind nine adamant locks lay the stolen Sampo stone,
For to guard her loot the ancient thief stood there alone. 90
Nanna bargains and begs that old Ilmarinen's magic craft
Never be employed. The hag with a hideous mouth laughed.
'What amount of gold do you think Baldr's life is worth?
How greatly do you treasure your blissful marital mirth?
For your fine-countenanced consort, what would you give? 95
Would you send here to me your first-born son to live?
It is with this powerful rock that I hold all Finland in liege;
Were it not for my Sampo dear, mine enemies would me besiege!'
‘Fit it would have been for you to have been slain long ago;
All the gods would rejoice to see the deep Karelian snow 100
Littered with your black teeth, with your vile blood spilt!’
Then Nanna with steely resolve draws her dirk gold-gilt…
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