Tag Archives: Alvis

Nidavellir: ‘ Darkness and Gold’ 3/4′ The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

11 Mar

nine realms8

The Nine Realms

9 months, 19 poets and writers, 22 Artists, 3 musicians, 1 Viking boat : a magical reworking of Norse Mythology for contemporary audiences

 

Poems and Writing inspired by the Norse realm of Nidavellir (The Realm of the Dwarves)

Featuring:

Eleanor Perry,  Lenka Monk and James Knight

 

4.
paste nuptial

by Eleanor Perry

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in bird circles, empty is called miracle |
buttonholes are swallowed in the form
of letters | shiver gneiss, black fatted
in the vein | both moon and human | but
this is where you wrap your bright bones
in seaweed | and grieve upwards from
the huckles | gathered in a silt of listless

elegy | where austerity is called vessel |
and the glum dead are not bored of their
telephones |but what tender spokes do
not grow bleach-soft under muck and error,
remembering their habit of upright cups |
each giant corpse is an instant body of water

and it’s not important that we drink tizer
chasers| or that the sun is called shard
in these lipscuffed, dainty wastes of time;
in the barren pulse of teeth | weather is
always the best exit, assuming you have
come loose, or are strung out over the
fallen drift worrying about your own call
habits.

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Bottled 

by Lenka Monk

(Inspired by story of Dvalin, his brothers and Freyja)

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The first sip a fleeting glance.
And the thirst grows with every look, every taste.
Unyielding temptations inviting, invading.
Screaming, tearing, and gnawing the insides.

No one is immune under the influence.
The sips so quickly become gulps.
And there it is! The grinning luring want.
It seduces, yearns the possession of something
Just out of reach.

Yet, so tantalisingly close.
Already nestled around the heart.
Whatever happened to boundaries?
There are none.
In that moment they dissolved in the bottle of greed.

So drink it all without a backwards glance,
Until only emptiness stares back.
The glass shatters, spills out and floods.
Drains the senses,
Burns through layers of dignity.

Shame stained dawn crawls into hiding.
Although the want is purring, satisfied for a while.
It binds its time, till its next venture,
leaving the broken pieces embedded more deeply than before.

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The Dwarfs

by James Knight

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Larval coils In wet earth Awaiting spring
Time’s tectonic pulse
The mourners wore bird masks And cackled as the coffin was lowered
A troubling thought A gleam In the darkness
Best not to think about it
Hahaha yes I suppose you’re right they do look a bit like maggots especially that one haha it’s a funny old world isn’t it
Croaking Crow King Dancing in your blood

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MP3 to come

 

 You can read the overview of Nidavellir hereand read some Jotunheim poems here

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Find out more about Eleanor, Lenka and James:

Eleanor Perry

https://twitter.com/nellperry

Lenka Monk

Contact ArtiPeeps. 

James Knight

thebirdking.com

 https://twitter.com/badbadpoet

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As always, thank you for your interest.

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Nidavellir: ‘ Darkness and Gold’ 2/4′ The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

4 Mar

nine realms8

The Nine Realms

9 months, 19 poets and writers, 22 Artists, 3 musicians, 1 Viking boat : a magical reworking of Norse Mythology for contemporary audiences

 

Poems and Writing inspired by the Norse realm of Nidavellir (The Realm of the Dwarves)

Featuring:

Tom Murphy, Shirley Golden and Jim C. Mackintosh

 

Part 4

Niðavellir

by Tom Murphy

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the times when it’s darkest
bear the most precious things
they shine
wrought from stones
and jewels
and rarer minerals
each design unique
each with qualities, refined

guard them
don’t let them fade
reflect on them often
in case they’re forgot

 

MP3 to come

 

The Smile of Gold and Dust

by Shirley Golden

 

The first ray hits and he comprehends. It scatters the rich expressions that intoxicated and clouded his judgment. His skin, tightens, blackens and starts to flake like ash. Pain screams through skin and vein but Alvis can’t help smile at his opponent, even as his limbs crumble to dust. Cheshire-cat-like, it is the smile that remains when all else has collapsed.

It’s difficult to see what this clever, gold minor could find so amusing at such a moment. You’d need to be as wise as a dwarf, or as all-knowing as a god. Or possess a time machine and travel back to hear the words Alvis crowed as he strutted into Thor’s hall and demanded the hand of his daughter.

‘…there’s nothing I do not know…’ Perhaps it was that. Or, ‘…I don’t mean to hang around here any longer than I have to.’ But that must have stung a tad. Could such a remark really be the source of his amusement?

How did Thor start each question? Ah, yes, that was it: ‘Tell me, Alvis! You’re the dwarf who knows everything about our fates and fortunes…’

Turns out he couldn’t guess at his own.

It’d be easy to suppose that Thor delayed Alvis with his strength or even with a trick. But Alvis understands exactly why he stayed and time passed without his knowing. He can feel the rhythms and the pauses, heartbeat and breath. He can sense the rise and fall of meanings, pulsing through his veins like a rush of blood to the head. And there’s the beauty of piecing it all together, and how it bound him, tighter than Fenrir’s binding. And how he was compelled to reply and sustain the narrative that spun its potent mix of lyrical knowledge. Because Thor, with all his command, could not have held him captive until the sun broke through the dripping hall.

So, yes, he smiles because the god of thunder will boast of this victory for aeons to come. But Alvis knows it was not a god’s might that undone him.

.

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The Mock of Alvis

by Jim C. Mackintosh

What sort of man are you? Your pallor
Of death’s disregard, your slumbered
Bend lifted from the mortal slab of Gods.

You creep from the depths below
The growing one’s burdened weight.

Your shoulders soaked under
The vaulted ceiling of the dripping hall.

You dare to follow the shiner
To seek my unbound promise.

You shun Dvalin’s Deluder,
Its nibbled edge at your grubby heels.

You seek the folded comfort of the concealing helmet
To stand before Thor with the trickery of your wisdom.

Your fear, I sense, pushed on stormer’s edge
Whipped by Mjollnir’s Thunder will set you.

You dare to stir the essence of day
With your vain plans of matrimony.

You defy the endless depths of oceans
To drown me with your words.

You will suffer the lick of the hurrier
Catching your eyes, boiling your brains.

You betray the kinship of the dream goddess
To uncork your bottled, hopeless greed.

You should quaff your mead slowly, All-Wise
The last amber beads picked out in the sun.

You will crack and groan and stiffen.
I will laugh and mock and listen –

As your pale bones gather moss,
Your wisdom spent.
The sea of words will score
its drag marks
across you forever.

All the fates of men
Know this to be true.

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This poem is based on the Lay of Alvis in which the dwarf Alvis (All-Wise) engages with Thor in a wisdom contest to claim what he feels is his right, the hand of Thor’s daughter, Thrud in marriage. This is my interpretation of Thor’s response at the end of the fated challenge.

Thor is deliberately mocking Alvis by using the Dwarf phrases that Alvis would know –

The Growing One is Earth
The Dripping Hall is Sky
The Hastener is the Moon
Dvalin’s Deluder* is the Sun
The Concealing Helmet are the Clouds
The Stormer is the Wind
The Deep Ocean* is the Sea
The Hurrier is Fire
The Dream Goddess is Night
The Mead is Ale, Beer

*Dvalin was a dwarf who suffered the same fate overtaking Alvis.
*also referred to as Lagasta

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 You can read the overview of Nidavellir hereand read some Vanaheim poems here

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Find out more about Tom, Shirley and Jim:

Tom Murphy

https://twitter.com/sandcave

Shirley Golden

shirleygolden.net

https://twitter.com/shirl1001

Jim C. Mackintosh

bigbaffy.com

https://twitter.com/JimCMackintosh

 

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As always, thank you for your interest.

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