the dawning light plays through her hair.
the sun’s bright herald comes to tear
the nighttime’s veil, the winter’s bale,
so lenten blooms can fill the air.
through dewy chill the foot road block
goes click-clack as my shoe soles knock.
i step along, to robin song,
as hastily i race the clock.
the ore-roofed city wagon cart
arrives on time to play its part.
we all hop on and then it's gone
so our long working day can start.
with hourly toils we pass the day—
our sanctioned life-tolls we must pay.
a lonely pain we daily train,
that lines may rise and earning stay.
sleepily he lounges in the living room
entering his cozy canine dreams
after an arduous afternoon of gazing·
musing· wondering as he watches through the window·
until it’s time to break from the waking world &
see what delightful treats the dreamfolk have to offer him
þá féollon léaf on fréorigre sæternnihte
þá hé on hwéolhengest hrædlíce gestág
sé þe ábær hine on hámsíðe þéah on hléorum bewéow
norþan wind· genéatas ábidon
æppelwín him héoldon hát & gewyrtod
as leaves fell on a frigid friday evening he briskly boarded the wheeled steed, which bore him on his homeward journey, though upon his face the northern wind blew about him· companions awaited him keeping cider for him hot & spiced
sitting in their office station· fighting with their care's deflation·
waiting for their next vacation in the misty ancient wood·
they continue in their labor· ever seek to help their neighbor·
eagerly they did whatever favor that they thought they should·
ever finishing whatever endless tasks they thought they could
and at last go to the wood·
finally with every tissue readily from work they issue·
pack their basket like a witch who gathers for some healing stew·
mounting now their metal stallion they head off upon their galleon
quickly from the gray battalion towering above their view·
speedily they quit the angled towers high above their view
now the woodland to pursue·
when they reach their destination in that cold and green location
with the woodland population whispering its timber spell
they can listen to the townsfolk talking seated bout the round oak·
hear the wind stroke needles growing tall and green about the dell·
they can walk absorbing wind and pinetree needles in the dell
until they must say farewell·
i met a merry man whose ditties made the lanterns shine
his lilting lyrics lead the tavern through his song’s design
he carried them with rhyme and rhythm to a woodland glade
where tall green grasses girded by fresh blooms by winds were swayed
but while his lovely tunes were playing likewise in my ears
i did not join in songsewn astral daydreams with my peers
for through his glee upon him both my gaze and thought were fixed
because within his eyes the hues of highland pines were mixed
his fingers stroked his fiddle with a gentle kind of care
and care was on his countenance as winters left their wear
his traveled cloak did not conceal the fullness of his frame
and though i tried to master it my mind i could not tame
at length his lines concluded & his fiddle was set down
but then amidst the moving mob my vision seemed to drown
the songs’ end signaled folks to scramble off to bed till dawn
and by the time the dust had set, the merry man was gone
i went and saw the ocean where
the salty air blows in the bay
the sands were cold but velvet smooth
the shells would move· in foam would sway·
i looked upon the roaring waves
a ship did brave the tossing tide
it let outburst its blaring horn
from ears were shorn all sounds beside·
the misty wind blew in my face
but i embraced the foggy breeze
the bushes grown from jagged rocks
and craggy blocks of scrub oak trees·
the beachgrasses stood tall and brown
a leafy crown on ridges where
the stones were tinted orange as
the shorage for their mooring there·
yet i could not stay long upon
the gaping yawn of seaside strand·
the time was spent in which to bide
admire the tide· in loam to stand·
though strangled hours have cast away
the restful gray of coastal times
i may at last unlock from thought
the bliss i caught with rolling rhymes
there was an alaskan king crab
who felt that his wardrobe was drab
so he went from the shore
to the crustacean store
& found many new shells he could grab
ing and his ielfe ǽfengereordes þurhbrúcaþ·
sicol on borde béor on handa
and on horne æppla· eofor and béon
sind regngiefa onforan· fæste sind cnottan
on inges giefstóle· ælfhám biþ blíðe·
“ING-IMAGE
Ing & his elves full-enjoy their evening meal;
a sickle on the table, beer in hand
and in a horn, apples; a boar and bees
are mighty gifts in the forefront. Firm are the knots
on Ing's gift-seat. Elvenhome is joyful.”
þá gewítaþ wintres wéan of þǽre lyfte
þá léoflíce lenctenes léoþ ic ágale
tó ósum and ielfum inges sigeþéode·
moldan mægnu myrgiþe sáwaþ
forðý ic gréne þráge grétan wille·
wes hál hréðe hréþsigores rícen
frostbane fýrenu· on þissum fréolse lenctenes
þínne cyme geond foldan sceal ic cýðan hlúde·
ingelǽde þá hǽte hléowþ of cíele
þætte ielda bearn blissian scoldon·
hál wes éastre ǽringes síþbode
golde gewǽdod glǽm brǽdende
of þǽm néolan næsse nihthelm út ácnyssende·
onǽlaþ wé nú éastweardes héahfýr
and dægrǽd meldiaþ manna gehwelcum·
As winter’s woes depart from the air / gladly I sing the song of spring /
to the gods and the elves, Ing’s glorious people. /
The Powers of the earth are sowing delight, /
so I wish to greet the green season.
Hail Hréðe, goddess of glorious victory, / fiery frost-bane.
On this spring festival / your coming over the land shall I loudly herald.
Usher in the heat, a warm shelter from the cold, /
so the children of the people may rejoice.
Hail Éastre, early morn’s march-herald, /
clothed in gold, spreading splendor / from the low horizon,
expelling the shroud of night. / Now we are kindling
high flames eastwards / and declaring the dawn’s light to every person.
orendel was an elven lord
upon an elven throne,
and when the sun had gone to bed
his astral light was shown.
the even tiding’s lullaby
went winding through the world
and reached reclining dreamers
as his shining road unfurled.
those sleeping minds would follow him.
upon a nightly barge
would fare the weary passengers
into his elven charge.
he’d speak to them of history,
the tragedies of time,
for six or seven hours long
until the bells would chime.
but as the years went on
the weary passengers would stall,
as brush was burned and woods
were wiped for building towers tall.
and now forgotten fairy
princes drift away like smoke;
for toils, for oils, the strangled
lights of elven beacons choke.
il y avait une épée
qui ne pouvait pas rouiller·
elle dormait au fond du lac
sur un lit de zostère
et portait un sautoir de perles·
la lame d’argent
fut nacrée du chatoiement vert·
les goémons amortissaient
la poignée d’escalibor·
de cet étang brocéliandais·
une seule main la peut manier
à nouveau·
car le souffle du dragon
ne la forgea que pour
le défenseur de l’albion·
this is a small piece based on a summarized reworking of my final poetics paper from spring of 2016 — it is on my own poetic theory. i hope it provides, at the very least, a bit of insight into my own poetic process & understanding.
aristotelian poetics
in his work poetics, aristotle put forward a poetic theory that sought to answer the following two questions:
“what is poetry?”
“why is poetry?”
aristotle’s answer to “what” was a combination for three characteristics in increasing order of importance:
μέλος (melos) – a musical quality that is pleasurable to the audience
ὄψις (opsis) – the creation of visual imagery which immerses the audience
λέξις (lexis) – poetic diction, carrying the meaning of the work
for the “why,” aristotle posited that the answer was κάθαρσις (catharsis), the purification that comes through a vicarious release of emotion.
this poetic analysis, to varying extents, lies beneath virtually all other theories in western poetics. for example, the imagists placed a greater emphasis on ὄψις than aristotle did.
aristotle’s analytical schema can be very useful, but i tend to conceptualize poetry a bit differently. i like to explain my poetic framework using four parts which work in tandem, & seek to answer the “what” “why” & “how” of poetry. the names i developed for these poetic aspects come from old english.
onwrigennes
onwrigennes is the discovery, explanation, or uncovering of a thing. gertrude stein said that poetry’s defining feature is “the discovery, the love, the passion for the name of anything.” onwrigennes is the bringing to light of some thing to be examined — it is the putting on trial of an idea, an event, an entity, a thing. it is some revelation.
i place this in contrast to arguments that poetry reveals “truth” — a poem need not have such pretension to assert any universal or even situational validity, but it should introduce a viewpoint or perspective on some thing.
dréam
dréam is music which engenders ecstasy or pleasure. it is one step shy of galdor (“enchantment, spell” ← galan “to sing”). dréam is close to a kind of synæsthesia — it is when verse is successful in separating the conscious mind from immediate reality & brings it into the world of the poem. in aristotelian terms, it is ὄψις (& other senses beyond visual) through the vehicle of μέλος. this quality can be achieved through an intentional control of prosody.
hunigtéar
hunitéar is the virgin honey from a honeycomb which is distilled to make mead — it is nectar that is both thick & sweet. this describes the diction of the poem — it is thick & chalk-full with meaning & flavor. poetry strives for economy of language — any well-crafted prose can express an onwrigennes, but hunigtéaren diction & gedríme (dréamful) verse provide an insightful & personal experience of an onwrigennes — a poetic experience.
scúwa
the final aspect of my poetic framework is the scúwa. this is a projection or shadow that exists within the world of a particular poem — it is a presence which can exist in the background of the poem, or which constrains or guides the poem without the conscious awareness of the poet. the scúwa can amplify or interact with the onwrigennes of the poem, though it often takes the form of the cultural experiences or background of the poet, or their social biases which inform or constrain the poem. it can be easy to confuse a poems scúwa with its onwrigennes, but although they can be intentionally intertwined by a poet in interesting ways, the former serves as a subset of context, while the latter concerns the poetic topic itself. there can be both multiple informative scúwan, as there can be multiple interpretive onwrigennessa.
application in poetic analysis
using these four poetic principles, i’d like to look at this haiku by matsuo bashō (translation sam hamill, 2000).
行く春や
鳥啼き魚の
目は泪
yuku haru ya
tori naki uo no
me wa namida
spring passes
and the birds cry out—tears
in the eyes of fishes
the poetics of haiku extend the onwrigennes of the poem transpersonally, to the level of natural processes as a whole. while the brevity of haiku often leaves them particularly open to interpretation, one potential onwrigennes is the experience of the passage of time which, while beautiful, also portends loss. the haiku form is hunigtéar taken to an extreme level – no syllable is wasted, and there are only 3 syntactic particles in the entire (japanese) piece. the poem’s dréam evokes the cries of birds, and the unusual image of crying fish. whatever this poem’s onwrigennes is, it relates very consciously with the scúwa of mortality that transforms the beauty of spring into a poignant experience for the speaker.
summary
my analytical and compositional framework for poetry consists of the following parts.
onwrigennes — the discovery, revelation, &/or trial of a thing or idea – this is the subject matter of the poem
dréam — the synæsthetic quality of a poem achieved through prosody (music) & language
hunigtéar — the compact economy & richness of poetic diction
scúwa — the often unconscious underlying shadow(s) within the world of a poem, &/or the cultural context/biases of the poet that are apparent within a poem
these can all take varying forms & play various roles in different poetic traditions, but i find them useful in my analytical process & in my own composition, so even though it’s a bit esoteric, i decided to share it here.
red beacons blink
against grey green
clouds stained yellow
by seattle light· the night
swallowed in the roar
of soaring travelers·
unwelcome fowl in a tainted
emerald sky
