Poem of the day

[pallas_athena]

To Juan at the Winter Solstice
by Robert Graves
There is one story and one story only
That will prove worth your telling,
Whether as learned bard or gifted child;
To it all lines or lesser gauds belong
That startle with their shining
Such common stories as they stray into.

Is it of trees you tell, their months and virtues,
Or strange beasts that beset you,
Of birds that croak at you the Triple will?
Or of the Zodiac and how slow it turns
Below the Boreal Crown,
Prison to all true kings that ever reigned?

Water to water, ark again to ark,
From woman back to woman:
So each new victim treads unfalteringly
The never altered circuit of his fate,
Bringing twelve peers as witness
Both to his starry rise and starry fall.

Or is it of the Virgin's silver beauty,
All fish below the thighs?
She in her left hand bears a leafy quince;
When, with her right hand she crooks a finger, smiling,
How may the King hold back?
Royally then he barters life for love.

Or of the undying snake from chaos hatched,
Whose coils contain the ocean,
Into whose chops with naked sword he springs,
Then in black water, tangled by the reeds,
Battles three days and nights,
To be spewed up beside her scalloped shore?

Much snow if falling, winds roar hollowly,
The owl hoots from the elder,
Fear in your heart cries to the loving-cup:
Sorrow to sorrow as the sparks fly upward.
The log groans and confesses:
There is one story and one story only.

Dwell on her graciousness, dwell on her smiling,
Do not forget what flowers
The great boar trampled down in ivy time.
Her brow was creamy as the crested wave,
Her sea-blue eyes were wild
But nothing promised that is not performed.

Tonight, with friends, I went to see 6comm accompanying Freya Aswynn's ritualistic recitation. Much of her text was adapted from parts of the Elder Edda, and her harsh, unrelenting voice suited those repetitive verses strangely well. It made me really want to hear them spoken in Old Norse, but I think Aswynn's intonation is about as close as I'll get to listening to a skaldic poet. 6comm's soundscapes made it a properly astounding experience.

Afterwards, a group of five of us or so were talking about myth and poetry and the books we'd loved in childhood, and I mentioned this poem (attributing it, incorrectly, to Dylan Thomas.) When I looked it up, it seemed a good match for the mood of the evening.

Comments

[larissa-00.livejournal.com]

I'd not seen this before, but it's making me think of The Waste Land.