Tag Archives: Kvasir

Vanaheim: ‘ Magic & Wonder’ 2/4′ The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

5 Jan

World Tree Norse

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:

Richard Biddle, Shirley Golden, Eleanor Perry

and Tom Murphy

 

Mjölnir*

by Richard Biddle

.

I’m Blackjack, the splintering demon
I’m Crumble-Crunch, the shattering spirit
I’m Master-Batterer, the god spike
I’m The Convincer

I’m Bludgeon, the thump engine
I’m Bear-Down, the clobber bomb
I’m Nightstick, the pulveriser
I’m The Divine Beater

I’m Conk-Buster, the thrash contraption
I’m Fragmentize, the king of knock
I’m Quarterstaff, the wallop machine
I’m The Creator-Of-Dust

I’m Lord Cudgel, the blunt
I’m Boomerang, the whomper
I’m Father Pummel, the bang shape
I’m The Almighty Contraption

I’m Billy Battle, the whack gadget
I’m Cosh, the form persuader
I’m Finish-The-Job, the power pestle
I’m The Appliance-Of-Pain

I’m Hickory Wallop, the trouncing baton
I’m Break-Up, the holy apparatus
I’m Crush, the truncheon of defeat
I’m The Deity Mace

I’m Smash Being, the hammerer of all
I’m Gizmo Hit, the machine of strike
I’m Pounding Device, the fashioner of atoms
I’m The Demigod of Battering-Rams

I’m Tap-Tap-Tap, the all-knowing utensil
I’m Murder Mallet, the totem of kill
I’m Head Swatter, the staff of non-compliance
I’m The Absolute Club

I’m Drive-It-Home, the homicidal implementing machine
I’m Whatchamacallit, the idol of heavy
I’m Prime Mover, the omnipotent weapon of means
I’m Total Annihilation

.
*Mjölnir is usually interpreted as meaning “That which smashes”, derived from the verb mölva “To smash” (cognate with English meal, mill); comparable derivations from the same root meaning “hammer” are Slavic molot and Latin malleus (whence English mallet).

An alternative suggestion compares the name to Russian молния (molniya) and the Welsh word mellt, both words are taken as meaning “lightning”. This second theory would make Mjölnir the weapon of the storm god identified with lightning, as in the lightning-bolt or vajra in other Indo-European mythologies.[4]

In the Old Norse texts, Mjölnir is identified as hamarr “a hammer”, a word that in Old Norse and some modern Norwegian dialects can mean “hammer” as well as “stone, rock, cliff”, ultimately derived from an Indo-European word for “stone, stone tool”, h₂éḱmō; as such it is cognate with Sanskrit aśman, meaning “stone, rock, stone tool; hammer” as well as “thunderbolt”.[5]

Mjøl in modern Norwegian (nynorsk) literally means “flour” or “powder”, so “Mjølner” (Norwegian spelling) can mean “Pulverizer” or “Grinder”.

.

.

.

The Music-Speak of Kvasir

by Shirley Golden

.

Born of Aesir and Vanir’s mouth-juices and truces, I am fashioned into this bone-cage, but no clothes quite fit. I’m sought far and wide, and I close my eyes and bear all burdens. I ponder predicaments, but only ever suggest and guide. For who am I to command another the best track to tread?

 The dwarfs invite me to their feast, and I accept in good faith. I sit at their tables of hammered gold. They mutter and lead me away from the merriment. They stab at my chest and heart; they collect three flagons of battle-sweat. They seal snug my mind-insight and take care not to brag of their prize. They stir in honey and make mead, creamy with music-speak, and they are so pleased with their hidden hoard. But such covetous pleasure is only ever short lived.

Now the giant, Suttung, keeps me, and his daughter, Gunnod, guards me. But she is seduced by Odin, and surrenders her secret stash. The wish-giver draws me into his food-cavern. And we take to the skies, soaring as an eagle over the mountains, and on to Asgard. Odin dives behind the stone-shield, but in his haste, a piece of me is expelled. He distributes my remains into assembled crocks.

The gods, aware of the spillage, deem it unworthy of retrieval: ‘the bad poets’ portion’ has no place in their realm. They discount the droplets as easily as a sprig of mistletoe, newly unfurled. They do not fret over the fate of the waste; for who would be foolish enough to use only the ill-conceived, unconsidered parts? But I yearn to draw the leakage back to my liquid heart.

It spreads, and stains, drips and trickles, flows and floods. With each age, it slops unchecked as ink spilled over page, print and screen. It streams into the lungs of new technologies where it is read, absorbed, given questionable gravitas. It seeps into the ether as dashed out titbits of text, words freely uploaded, dregs and haste; speak best not saved. The parts best served for poets’ growth. The parts best kept on the other side of the wall.

.

.

.

2.

slick theory

by Eleanor Perry

.

wolfhusks mock the pines the
scaly parts ] scrape out their
grit and jewel ] and bleached
thread is all that the mineral
will sing tricks for ] still the
quotas of star and stone are
only known in metrics ] or in
shrines.

they calculate the skin ] more
wolves and axes ] needles: this,
the latest speculation in reeling
particles ] til song or something
shudders from the pile ] to print
the value of each question ] oh
but there was so much heart
though

in the margins ] clay blue shells
worn and crashed like rubble
] in a lottery of constellation ]
wow, just look at how the carbon
scares ] plucked shimmering
from the balance sheet ] the
rockery ] to still the heart ] but
then, the heart is awkward.

.

MP3 to come

.

Vanaheim

by Tom Murphy

.

inside the fence
as I hang
I remember I am my own little ghost

there is the wound
stitched up for now

there is the flagstone
beneath which lies molten rock
thick and limitless and orange

then there is the small empty thing
formless and light
and when certain words are spoken
I cough it up
but it leaves behind its emptiness
and the emptiness is a tiny speck of infinite burden
containing time and all the feelings of lost
as a reminder

.

.

.

 .

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

.

Find out more about Richard, Shirley, Eleanor and Tom:

Richard Biddle

writings43.blogspot.co.uk

https://twitter.com/littledeaths68

Shirley Golden

shirleygolden.net

https://twitter.com/shirl1001

Eleanor Perry

https://twitter.com/nellperry

Tom Murphy

https://twitter.com/sandcave

 

As always, thank you for your interest.

.

Advertisements

Vanaheim: ‘ Magic & Wonder’ 1/4′ The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

18 Dec

World Tree Norse

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:

Jim C. Mackintosh, Rebecca Audra Smith,

Kate Garrett and Nat Hall

 

Vanaheim

by Jim C. Mackintosh

.

Somewhere in the folds of dreams, Vanaheim
Floats on ribbons of imagination; in time
To swallow heavens with magical disregard
For vain complexities born of human chaos
Banishing greed and fury to the grub of Utangard
 
No need for pale weakness in shabby human form. 
Though widening hollows struck its walls, a storm
Sparked by Odin’s scheme, of vengeful desire 
To suck wisdom’s juice from blackened earth
The mulch of trampled souls lost in bloody mire.
 
Breathless rivers pooled, their exhausted course
Amongst the crumble of once proud walls; a source
Of peace, a reluctant path worn across the middle plains
By sated Gods; a deal planted in shifting, bartered sands
But memories itch, to blister up amidst fractured stains.

The salted lick of revenge on Vanir wounds never far
In embroidered days of counselled grace, the precious star
Of Mimir’s wisdom doomed to fade in a severed blast,
Tossed in the saddle bag of bitter scorn at Odin’s feet
But in his weeping embrace, nurtured – spells yet to be cast

.

.

.

Kvasir’s blood

by Rebecca Audra Smith

.

Mix your battle-sweat
with your speech-tool.
Let your air-catchers breath.
Blend a bee’s love-making juice
with many worn out shoes.

Dip your glass to the vat, poets.

 

MP3 to come

Kvasir

Mead of Poetry

.

The throats of giants

by Rebecca Audra Smith

 

FRIGG FRIGG
FUSS FEREA FEEL
FREYJA FARE

Build a world with paper and pen
Eat among the grey halls
Hail the giants who stalk our minds

FAIR FREYJA FIND FIT
FAIN FIRSTLY FRIGG

I’ll take no food unless it is with you
In the grey halls and the darkness of a giant’s shadow we kiss
And fling the matches of our passion into the dark to momentarily flare
And fail your hair catches alight within the circles my hands make
I will take no sustenance no draft my throat will not be wet
Unless your lips have taken mine and kissed them into shining

COUNSEL ME

I long for counsel the giant wise
The giant vice our wisdom only comes
Twice a year when we sit and sup with Freyja
Drinking down the dwarves concoction
She told me I was so small

FATE FOLK FRIGG FRIGG FRIGG
FIND FOUND FLAIL

I will take no sustenance no draft my throat will not be wet
In the grey halls and the darkness of a giant’s shadow we kiss
I’ll take no food unless it is with you
And fail your hair catches alight within the circles my hands make
Unless your lips have taken mine and kissed them into shining
Fling the matches of our passion into the dark to momentarily flare

.

.

Frigg

Freyja

.

.

Inspiration

by Kate Garrett

.

sweet at the source with
star-dusted honey –
magic through the mouth
made of wise blood.
 
pray, let me pour
poems between my
fingers; you forget
flight, hit the earth.

 

MP3 to come

.

.

Njord and Skadi

by Nat Hall

.

Still dream of Vernal Equinox

He who sees through
seer’s jet black 
eyes will
ascend as 
high as skylarks to
watch lush land beyond 
twilight;
pines’
many branches,
mysteries,
where
grey owls
whose yellow 
eyes flick without 
sound,
where spirits 
shine to show your
way.
Here,
where north 
sky heaves & fills with birds,
in between worlds
jeer messengers
feasting on
both sides of
old ice,
each morning 
brings new carrion…
Far* – he-father,
tamer of
salt, wind & world waves, in
Noatun**,
home of clinker***,
tar & rivets –
where 
ships gather
and black backs**** act as
alarm clocks;
Mor***** – she-mother,
the great huntress,
who favours
snowflakes on high ground,
sap’s scent from fir trees in her hair,
she came to
him from her mountains 
to bear new fruits for the Vanir.

© Nat Hall 2014

.
Notes:

* Far – Norwegian for “father”
** Noatun – Njord’s dwelling place, that translates as “enclosure of ships”
*** clinker – Norse boat building technique, consisting of external planks overlapping & secured with clinched nails/rivets. 
**** Black backs – referring to a species of gulls, commonly known as Great Black-backed Gulls.
***** Mor – Norwegian for “mother”

.

.

 

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

.

Find out more about Jim, Rebecca, Kate and Nat:

Jim C. Mackintosh

bigbaffy.com

https://twitter.com/JimCMackintosh

Rebecca Audra Smith

beccaaudra.wordpress.com

https://twitter.com/BeccaAudra

Kate Garrett

http://www.kategarrettwrites.co.uk/

https://twitter.com/kate_garrett

Nat Hall

 nordicblackbird.weebly.com/index.html

https://twitter.com/nordicblackbird

 

As always, thank you for your interest.

.

%d bloggers like this: