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                                                           Darraðarljóð
                                                      (Song of Darraðar)

                                               




From the Icelandic Njal's Saga.
A man called Darraðar has a vision:
Twelve Valkyries are weaving the fate of an ongoing battle on a grisly loom...


                                              Blood rains from the cloudy web
                                              On the broad loom of slaughter.
                                              The web of man grey as armour
                                              Is now being woven; the Valkyries
                                              Will cross it with a crimson weft.

                                              The warp is made of human entrails;
                                              Human heads are used as heddle-weights;
                                              The heddle rods are blood-wet spears;
                                              The shafts are iron-bound and arrows are the shuttles.
                                              With swords we will weave this web of battle.

                                              The Valkyries go weaving with drawn swords,
                                              Hildr and Hjörþrimul, Sangríðr and Svipul.
                                              Spears will shatter shields will splinter,
                                              Swords will gnaw like wolves through armour.

                                              Let us now wind the web of war
                                              Which the young king once waged.
                                              Let us advance and wade through the ranks,
                                              Where friends of ours are exchanging blows.

                                              Let us now wind the web of war
                                              And then follow the king to battle
                                              Gunnr and Göndul can see there
                                              The blood-spattered shields that guarded the king.

                                              Let us now wind the web of war
                                              Where the sacred banner is forging forward
                                              Let his life not be taken;
                                              Only the Valkyries can choose the slain.

                                             Lands will be ruled by new peoples
                                             Who once inhabited outlying headlands.
                                             We pronounce a great king destined to die;
                                             Now an earl is felled by spears.

                                            The men of Ireland will suffer a grief
                                            That will never grow old in the minds of men.
                                            The web is now woven and the battlefield reddened;
                                            The news of disaster will spread through lands.

                                            It is horrible now to look around
                                            As a blood-red cloud darkens the sky.
                                            The heavens are stained with the blood of men,
                                            As the Valkyries sing their song.

                                            We sang well victory songs
                                            For the young king; hail to our singing!
                                            Let him who listens to our Valkyrie song
                                            Learn it well and tell it to others.

                                            Let us ride our horses hard on bare backs,
                                            With swords unsheathed away from here!



..."And then they tore the woven cloth from the loom and ripped it to pieces,
each keeping the shred she held in her hands...
The women mounted their horses and rode away, six to the south and six to the north."





With thanks to Michaela Macha and her brilliant website.

After An Illness, Walking the Dog
By Jane Kenyon


Wet things smell stronger,
and I suppose his main regret is that
he can sniff just one at a time.
In a frenzy of delight
he runs way up the sandy road—
scored by freshets after five days
of rain. Every pebble gleams, every leaf.

When I whistle he halts abruptly
and steps in a circle,
swings his extravagant tail.
Then he rolls and rubs his muzzle
in a particular place, while the drizzle
falls without cease, and Queen Anne’s lace
and Goldenrod bend low.

The top of the logging road stands open
and light. Another day, before
hunting starts, we’ll see how far it goes,
leaving word first at home.
The footing is ambiguous.

Soaked and muddy, the dog drops,
panting, and looks up with what amounts
to a grin. It’s so good to be uphill with him,
nicely winded, and looking down on the pond.

A sound commences in my left ear
like the sound of the sea in a shell;
a downward, vertiginous drag comes with it.
Time to head home. I wait
until we’re nearly out to the main road
to put him back on the leash, and he
—the designated optimist—
imagines to the end that he is free.

 

 

On Stella's Birth-day
By Jonathan Swift (c.1727)


     Stella this Day is thirty four,
(We won't dispute a Year or more)
However Stella, be not troubled,
Although thy Size and Years are doubled,
Since first I saw Thee at Sixteen
The brightest Virgin of the Green,
So little is thy Form declin'd
Made up so largely in thy Mind.
Oh, would it please the Gods to split
Thy Beauty, Size, and Years, and Wit,
No Age could furnish out a Pair
Of Nymphs so gracefull, Wise and fair
With half the Lustre of Your Eyes,
With half thy Wit, thy Years and Size:
And then before it grew too late,
How should I beg of gentle Fate,
(That either Nymph might have her Swain,)
To split my Worship too in twain.

Bullies don't rule - Simon Hamill

Can you remember when we were at school,
There was always a bully or two.
Hiding behind their so called friends
Just waiting to pick on you.
Things haven't really changed that much,
Bullies still out there being mean.
But they haven't got friends to back them up
They hide behind a computer screen.
How sad their lives must really be,
When it's trolling that gives them their kick.
Cowards and bullies are what they are,
What they do,just makes me feel sick.
When we write,we write for fun,
And we know what we write,
Doesn't suit everyone.
But we won't put up with ridicule and doubt
From some sad bully,
Who doesn't know what their talking about.