Helheim: ‘Death & Hollows’ The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

The Nine Realms

9 months, 23 poets and writers, 22 Artists, 3 composers, 1 Viking boat: a magical reworking of Norse Mythology for contemporary audiences

 

Poems and Writing inspired by the Norse realm of Helheim (The Realm through which men must pass to reach Nifelheim)

Featuring:

Eleanor Perry, James Knight and Tom Murphy

 

6.

whip shrug figurations

by Eleanor Perry

.

we dig grisly at the slagheap ridge | where stark
proteins broke in the ash | there are high-voltage
moths and tumours in the masonry | brash ga-ga-
ganglia lolling in twists and graphs | and that tweed
squirm in the kitchen, darting and novelizing, all
sleaze and gravel shudder | we need to wake up
next to the aluminium industry | pull hungry and
hip reckless | our hardboard tetrahedral gods –
bright and shining with their clerical safeguards |
this is rock-n-surf | there are no other meat splinters
in the fissuring hour of the liver | and I have put the
whole galaxy into spilth and multicode | these back-
lands full of weird mimiviruses frothing in the gaps |
high-balling in the green of telemarketing | where I
quietly slang viridians

.

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Hel

by James Knight

.

Switch on
Switch off

Silvered faces
Inside the mirror

Do come in
Make yourself at home

WTF! I can’t see a thing
Only my face
I look like a fucking weirdo
What’s going on with my eyes?

Switch on
Switch off

Fold yourself up, put yourself in my hand
Wait

Switch on
Switch off

It’s simply not true to claim that we’re the party of privilege
We stand for honest, decent, hard-working

Switch on
Switch off

Drive more website traffic
In fact, our data shows that using a
Drives 43% more engagement

Silvered faces
At home

My eyes

Put yourself in my hand

Switch on
Switch off
Switch on
Switch

 .

.

 

Part 6

Helheim

by Tom Murphy

.

the creepy motherfucker never unchancy
reeled and hollered
as I removed the breath from his throat

snow crunched and swirled
I crunched and swirled
he grew cooler

there was a boast
an insult or two
breaths he should have kept to himself

blood was spilled of course
coursing unbound
feezing on the ground

 .

.

 

Find out more about Eleanor, James and Tom here:

Eleanor Perry

https://twitter.com/nellperry

James Knight

thebirdking.com

https://twitter.com/badbadpoet

 Tom Murphy

https://twitter.com/sandcave

.

As always, thank you for your interest.

 

The Nine Realms Indiegogo Campaign:

http://igg.me/at/the9realms

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

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

.

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.

.

. 

Bottled 

by Lenka Monk

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

.

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

.

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 here, and read some Jotunheim poems here

.

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

.

As always, thank you for your interest.

.

Jotunheim: ‘ Strength & Might’ 2/3′ The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

19 poets, 22 Artists, 3 musicians and a Viking Boat

The Nine Realms

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

 

Poems and Writing inspired by the Norse realm of Jotunheim

Featuring:

James Knight, Rebecca Audra Smith and Kate Garrett

 

Skrymir

by James Knight

.

Thursday started routinely:
night departed,
birds sang,
colours fattened.
Then a succession
of unsuspicious things:
yawns, mucus, footsteps, a door,
a toilet, urine, hands, water, a towel,
more footsteps, stairs,
another door, a kettle,
a tea bag,
milk (no sugar).

Then sitting and looking at nothing in particular
and thinking less
and sipping hot tea.

Then (too early in the day,
almost certainly too early):
writing.

White paper, black pen,
a picture in my mind
(through frosted glass)
of a giant,
foetal,
straining against womb walls,
a question mark made flesh.

So I started to write
but the words worked against me.
Phrases bridled,
clauses rioted,
sentences slipped beyond meaning,
paragraphs undid the tale
I was trying to tell,
unmade the giant,
hid his portrait in
a hall,
a glove,
a food bag,
a mountain,
an ocean,
the tides,
a cat,
a dragon,
a hammer,
a journey.

I put down my pen
and placed a blank sheet of paper
over the one that had been spoiled.
A gesture, nothing more.

My tea was stone cold.

That night, I dreamt
and saw the giant’s immortal coil
in the night’s red womb,
heard laughter
through the waves of nothing.

On Friday, I uncovered the sheet
where words tugged and tumbled
and saw the giant,
saw his story,
there all along,
larger than life.

.

MP3 to come

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Skrymir

.

The Daughter of a Giant

by Rebecca Audra Smith

.

You rode a motorbike and carried a she-wee
When on your blob you stuffed yourself with a cup made of silicone
poured the blood into the toilet’s gut.

Surviving on beer, your bike fed off petrol, gulping it down with the miles
when you came across two women, back broken from their trudge, sex workers,
world weary, you strung together your hands and your bones to make them laugh

You raced with thought to see who would win and found it went pissing against a tree, obsessed with its own initials while you skirted the growing puddle
and leapt to the finish line, revved up

They said you were more mountain than woman, they dared you to pick up a cat.

It flowed hissing into your arms and burrowed its nose into your chest,
rubbing the glands of its cheeks into your fingers as you found the soft spots of its ears-
you hefted it easily, like you hefted the weight of the world

.

MP3 to come

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Freyja’s Feather Cloak

by Rebecca Audra Smith

.

Woman made a cloak of feathers, picking odd tufts of pigeon from the streets
Lacing the peacock shine of a magpie grinning wing into the design
Pulling at dove to get the white, plucking at raven for the sheer fun of its gloss

When they asked her to put on her cloak and marry him, she said no
When they told her this was her fate and she must go, she said no
When they told her it was best for the family and herself, she said no

They pulled at the pattern, unstitched the thread, bound it up again,
sent her anyway.

.

MP3 to come

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Freyja

.

mountainside

by Kate Garrett

.

supporting the green burden graceful
outcrops jut against mists
inside the frozen womb of a giantess
roots vein the rock, midwife of elements

​*​

devourer

by Kate Garrett

.

a line of pebbles signs
a ‘cut here’ instruction
& the river is guided, it slices below
to his drowning & cursing, caught in the flow

​*

 .

.

Gjalp

.

 

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You can read the overview of Jotunheim here , and read some Vanaheim poems here

.

Find out more about James, Rebecca and Kate:

James Knight

thebirdking.com

https://twitter.com/badbadpoet

Rebecca Audra Smith

beccaaudra.wordpress.com

 https://twitter.com/BeccaAudra

 Kate Garrett

kategarrettwrites.co.uk

https://twitter.com/kate_garrett

.

As always, thank you for your interest.

.

Vanaheim: ‘ Magic & Wonder’ 3/4′ The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

The Nine Realms

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

 

Poems and Writing inspired by the Norse realm of Vanaheim

Featuring:

Lenka Monk, James Knight and Joanna Lee

 

In the name of…

by Lenka Monk

(Inspired by the story of Freyja and Thorgerda)

 

In the hour of need, every second stretches like a steel spring.
Do the years flash by?
Or is it simple moment of repentance.
Whispered prayers.
Does anyone really listen?
Absolution would taste so sweet.
Does it give you strength?
Does it fill you with hope?
Does the courage shine through one last time?
Do you upturn the alter to stop the requiem?
Or is it an offering of a blackened heart on the cold marble.
Whose name touches your lips?
Breathe it in; bathe in the way it sounds.
And it’s not just any name, it’s so much more.
It’s an antidote for poison.
It’s water caressing your dry lips.
It’s the scent of home deep within your lungs.
It’s an ecstasy tingling on your skin.
It touches forgotten places, revives senses,
And as blinded as you once were, you are no more.
For there’s no room for the transient madness,
When with each uttered syllable of the name,
The shade brightens.
The unexplained power that brought you north of that edge.
What once was in the haze has cleared.
Oh the view, the view is breathtaking.
Clarity, renewed, reshaped, reassembled,
Strums chords with sleight of hand.
And it resonates loudly in the name of your saviour.

 .

*Freyja is a goddess associated with love, sexuality, beauty, fertility, gold, seiðr, war, and death.

*Thorgerda, is a woman who threatens to commit suicide in the Egils Saga.

.

.

Freyja

by James Knight

.

Welcome to my pied-a-terre,
My dear.
Careful where you sit;
Yesterday one of my guests
Mistook my cats for cushions
And nearly sat on them,
The silly bugger.

Glass of Scotch?
Sherry, maybe?
Mine’s a white wine and soda;
It goes further.

It’s deathly cold in here,
Don’t you think?
Bloody storage heaters
Are worse than useless.
I could weep,
I really could.

Do you like the photos on my mantelpiece?
That one’s Eric and that one’s Steven and that one’s John.
All dead now, of course.
So are Keith, Clive and Chris.
They died heroes’ deaths,
Every one of them.
When I look at them
I know they’re in a better place.
I keep Ben in this locket,
So he’s always near my heart.

Death isn’t sad, you know.
No worse than going for your flu jab.

Drink up, dear.
You look as if you need it.
You might die tomorrow,
So you might as well enjoy today.
That’s what Ben used to say.
After he lost his arm I had to drive him around everywhere,
Bless him.
He called my little Ford a chariot.
We used to laugh!

By the way,
A man wrote me,
Which explains
My Monty Python falsetto.
Men can’t do women
(Haha!),
Though they’d like to think they can.
Just look at The Waste Land:
That was written by a man
(If that’s the right word for a bookworm in specs)
And is full of unconvincing female voices.

I’m so cold I’m shivering, look!
Another glass?

.

.

.

Seeking Odhrærir at the corner coffeeshop

by Joanna Lee

a dragon sits in the sun, baking mythologies between his toenails.
eagle feathers drift on his nostril-ed breath.

he does not belong here among the cloud stria in almost-white,
the sky filled with the promise of emptiness, the wet-wool heavy.

behind the bar, Gunnlöð is humming to herself
with a song on the radio she hasn’t heard in years.

honey trickles over her dry lip, cracks on winter-sunned concrete.
hickory leaves flit dead across lanes of traffic.

some days it just won’t come,
no matter the spit and the blood.

i think i hear your name in the background,
and i almost turn. tendril-ed smoke

like tears down a dawn cheek that day
you woke wordless in darkness and left

curls along the floorboards just
enough to keep the pipes from freezing.

Gunnlöð looks up, wonders if she, too, could fly.

.

*Odhraerir/Óðrerir,refers either to one of the vessels that contains the mead of poetry

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You can read the overview of Vanaheim here , and see some Asgard poems here

.

Find out more about Lenka, James and Joanna:

Lenka Monk

Contact ArtiPeeps. 

James Knight

thebirdking.com

https://twitter.com/badbadpoet

Joanna Lee

the-tenth-muse.com

https://twitter.com/la_poetessa

 

As always, thank you for your interest.

.

Asgard: ‘Warriors and Ravens 1/5’ The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

The Nine Realms

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

 

Poems and Writing inspired by the Norse realm of Asgard

Featuring:

Tom Murphy, Joanna Lee, James Knight, Nat Hall

 

Asgard

by Tom Murphy

.

on the first night I was called by the jackdaw
tapping on the sill after the moon went dark
“fly” she said, and I was able to follow
a cold night but I soared
over the meadow
into the wood
across the bridge

I saw bodies hanging in the tree
the nine lives offered
the snake
the wolf
the elk
the hare
the frog
the cat
the fox
the calf

by the fire
the old man sat
a circle already prepared
so deep was his look
he saw my birth
through my left eye

.

.

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All the world needs is another dumb princess

by Joanna Lee

 

 

Click on the poem to enlarge. 

.

 

To find out more about the back-story to this poem click here.

 

 Ymir

by James Knight

.

Ymir used to be a big nothing;
Now he’s everything. 

His hair is the grass, the trees, the reeds
His scalp is the desert
His skull is the empty vault of space
His brain is telecommunications
His skin is a reality made of matter and mirages
His forehead is the Ten Commandments
His eyebrows are lethargy and a thousand easy lies
His eyelashes are the meshes of love
His eyes are stars, supernovas, lightbulbs, fireworks, napalm, nuclear war
His ears are the remains of imaginary animals 
His nose is a sad farewell
His nostrils are wormholes to another dimension where the Bird King reigns from his electric throne
His lips are a debate on the meaning of the word “jihad”
His teeth are Coca Cola
His tongue is mother of all languages 
His cheeks are zoology
His chin is Mount Olympus 
His neck is an execution at dawn
His shoulders are art installations attempting controversy through the juxtaposition of childhood and terrorism 
His arms are escape routes to Hell
His hands are bird cages or prison cells or holding bays or rooms without doors 
His chest is archaeology 
His ribcage is the phantom city at dusk
His heart is time
His lungs are the four winds, weather, disaster
His abdomen is sentiment
His digestive system is a labyrinth of corridors and offices 
His hips are cemeteries
His genitals are every whimsical thought anyone has ever had
His legs are mannequins staring murderously at passersby
His feet are oceans. 

The rest of Ymir remains uncatalogued
In boxes 
In a basement 
Under the ruins of a building
Forgotten by the story-tellers.

.

.

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(Superstition)

by Nat Hall

.

Feel flight feathers & falcon’s skin.

Now walk through clouds, realm of Æsir,
where ravens perch on primal
strand of the rainbow;
where rain falls red
and Mjollnir *
sleeps –
he
who
wears blue
will not be seen as the shaman,
but a rider extraordinaire –
Huginn & Muninn**
side by side,
birds of
battle wish for
wisdom.
Rumour rambles
inside gods’ dreams, he
who controls the many moods of
heavens’ eyes, fruits of
the Earth and fights
giants, can be
called in the name of law,
farming men frown to his chariot…
Skygods in mighty citadel,
home inside halls, walls built by a tricked
gigantic mason,
there is a sly one among them –
he might just be a half-brother, metamorphic,
so fair of face, unafraid to turn a
stallion, hides black inside.
And if you doubt
superstition,
wait for the slain,
flames, ferryman – hear
valkyries*** run on
floorboards,
stand
on
other side of
the shore.

Now let gods gaze at the cauldron.

Let them drink tides of golden
mead brewed for them in
the sea god’s hall.
From his high
seat at
Valaskjalf*.
He, mighty seer, surveys it all in the nine realms.

© Nat Hall 2014

.

1 * Mjollnir: Thor’s hammer;’** Huginn & Muninn: Odin’s ravens – Huginn (thought) & Muninn (Memory)
2 ***Valkyries: Odin’s twelve maidens who conducted the slain warriors of their choice from the battlefield to
Valhalla (Vikings’ paradise). Valaskjalf: Odin’s Hall

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You can read the overview of Asgard here

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Find out more about Tom, Joanna, James and Nat here:

Tom Murphy

https://twitter.com/sandcave

Joanna Lee

http://the-tenth-muse.com/

https://twitter.com/la_poetessa

James Knight

http://thebirdking.com/

http://chimeragroup.wordpress.com/

https://twitter.com/badbadpoet

Nat Hall

http://nordicblackbird.weebly.com/

https://twitter.com/nordicblackbird

 

Watch out for more Asgard poetry next week!

As always, thank you for your interest. 

‘Ends and Beginnings’ Circle 3/4: Transformations Poems (Book 15)

TRANSFORMATIONS

February 2013-March 2014

17 poets, 15 months, creating 1 contemporary reworking of Ovid’s Metamorphoses

See the Transformations Page for more details or the ‘Present Collaborations’ Tab

__________________

Poems Inspired by Book 15

.Featuring:

James Knight and Eleanor Perry

.

 The Assassination and Transfigeration of Julius Caesar

-a mannequin ballet

by James Knight

…………………………………………………………….

an unwrap in flux

by Eleanor Perry

 

 

 

 

You can find more about James here:

http://thebirdking.com/

https://twitter.com/badbadpoet

 

You can find more about Nell here:

 https://twitter.com/nellperry

http://themusicofbreakages.wordpress.com/

 

.

BE THERE AT THE START AND HELP US MAKE THE VIRTUAL REAL

14 Poets, 15 artists, 1 contemporary reworking of Ovid’s Metamorphoses

Consider pledging:

Transformations Kickstarter Campaign:

http://kck.st/1i2e721

Campaign Video:

http://goo.gl/khucJx

.

‘Monsters and Rites’ Scratch 3/4: Transformations Poems (Book 14)

TRANSFORMATIONS

February 2013-March 2014

17 poets, 15 months, creating 1 contemporary reworking of Ovid’s Metamorphoses

See the Transformations Page for more details or the ‘Present Collaborations’ Tab

__________________

Poems Inspired by Book 14

.Featuring:

Karin Heyer and James Knight

 

Persuasion not force

(Pomona and Vertumnus)

by Karin Heyer

 

Weaving, weaving story into story
Pomona in her garden
stood and listened.
He told her that he loved her —
it was in vain.
She tended her garden,
never any want of watering,
that is how her garden grew
into a magical creation
of living growth and beauty.
He still told her that he loved her:
it was in vain!
For her he changed his thought and appearance,
he used all manner of persuasion,
for she was his first and last love
and behold
a fairy-tale ends well,
the dream is there,
unhampered as the angels,
she paid homage
and listened
to her first and last love.

 

Scylla

by James Knight

.

She movement
wading moments

was as waist some forced clad of deep mountainous up in waving into mass to some gently of the kind to pool flesh top and only surged amid soft up a white

Before find through mass stuff
of which gates
water narrow blood
clung there around
orifice and close sat

On her as slime to either groin though
and her side erupt forced what form
with yelping shape monsters

The at power
thinking opening
the infinite entrails
her
the part smaller of sinuous waste
of a figure and
her
itself monster

She fair
foul shreds close-fitting in retreats fragments

fur and fears
white enormous skin bulk dazzling
as were white serpent pushes of forced coiled arm’d

With seeking into colour wide
her gigantic larger dazzled Cerberian thighs
lizard space
when mouths her
or disclosed the full legs
serpent sections sun

Worm
her hideous voice
peal lull Adam
when jaws pause

Sir Cerberus’s seething had and would

She contents seen sweet creep stands of looking
If the raging hole
the soft disturb’d dogs
rose trees dominant
note her by eyes
womb beasts

And below bubbling emerald-green sibilation kennel
the spring flickering her surface and like hands yet from Adam great too
there which saw lamps were still her part
long bark’d truncated
of a flexible and thighs the gale white howl’d

Within and thin with unseen belly form a

Scylla emerge of strange comes

.

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You can find more about Karin and James here:

Karin, as yet,  does not have a website

James Knight

http://thebirdking.com/

https://twitter.com/badbadpoet

.

Tomorrow  you will find the second of our ‘Supporting Mental Health’ Anxiety and Release Collaborations featuring poet Rod Kok and artist Heather Burns. Definitely worth a look! Thank you, as ever, for your interest.

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