Today, I can finally share my small collaboration through a poem with the New Student Lead Philology Magazine (@eldesvandelosociosos) from the University of Santiago de Compostela!
If you’re on campus, be on the lookout for their first issue!
The Saga Of Orðetagandr (Dual-Language Version in English and Old Icelandic)
If you’ve ever suffered from writer’s block or suddenly lost inspiration while composing your story, then perhaps Wordeatgandr slithered into your dreams and devoured your ideas!
Original Manuscript: (Margrétar Saga, AM 431 12mo, 1540-1560)
(Brooklyn Frances Arnot, Swim Against The Surging Tide, 2023)
After mourning for Mankind, the Valkyrie perceives the Aesir gods with fuming fury, despising the wickedness of their labor. She defies Odin’s cruel command by choosing to endow the race of men with a sip from the Mead of Poetry. Decisively, she breaks into the Hall of Valhalla, striding amidst her drowsed masters to claim their unworthy gifts. First, she snatches Heimdall’s booming horn, Gjallarhorn, leaving Asgard vulnerable without warning of the foreseeable demise. She will blast upon it to echo across Midgard, mustering her sister Shield-maidens to rebel against the spell of the All-Father and regain their names. Then, she claims Thor’s mighty belt, Megingjord, robbing the god of thunder of his strength to lift his hefty hammer. She will buckle up to bolster her mettle, rousing all her valor to lead every Valkyrie in their last flight to free Mankind. Next, she clutches Odin’s corrupting ring, slithering from his rotten index finger Draupnir to deny him legions of servants who’ll answer his summons. She will wear it to free the race of men from the false promises of wielding great power, rallying them to overthrow the self-proclaimed King of Kings. Lastly, she grips Loki’s magical drink, seizing the Mead of Poetry from the god of mischief to stop his vile consumption and ill counsel. She will taste it to be imbued with the skill to sing and awaken Mankind, bestowing them with instruments to compose a melody.
Promptly, the Nameless Shield-maiden fleets from the Gallery of Gallantry, blaring Gjallarhorn with her left hand as Valkyries gather to propel the doom of their lords. On her hips, she straps Megingjord, doubling her potency to withstand the All-Father’s tempest while soaring through the kingdoms of men. She wields Draupnir with her right hand on her index finger, breaking Odin’s mastery over his dead warriors. However, she clutches the ring until it crushes into pale powder, destroying any temptation to wield such perverting power. Thereafter, she takes a sip from the magical drink as a beating harmony pumps into her veins, rekindling her soul to compose poetry. Suddenly, the Valkyrie remembers her identity, uttering the name of Brunhild, the Battle-maiden who disobeyed Odin and was cursed to eternal slumber as his Sleeping-maiden. Now, Brunhild is reborn to bear the urgent task of gifting Mankind the Mead of Poetry, soaring across Midgard and singing unto them a lost melody.
Thence, she strides forth to defend the kingdoms of men under the mantle of her tattered wings, standing in defiance of the All-Father as a watchful guardian who shields civilization from the wicked devices of false gods. Brunhild pierces the fog that blots out the sun’s rays, giving way to an inkling of light. Swiftly, her feathers regain color, shimmering akin to incandescent white gems that bloom under the fire’s golden touch. The warmth from her crystal wings reflects on every corner of Midgard, melting away the icy caps that shroud Mankind. She then beholds the kingdoms of men in dismay as they’re consumed by a thunderstorm of spears and shields that smash from one side to the other, giving shape to a ferocious sea. They hurl sticks and stones at a column of barren soil, crumbling the foundation upon which everyone stands. For a flickering flash, she yearns to smite them with Odin’s furious retribution but chooses to reignite their spirits with the tenderness of a mother by composing poetry. Onward, Brunhild reminds Mankind they’re bold warriors, stout builders, and wise sages who endeavored, labored, and crafted civilization. She calls upon the kings of men who erected nations, quelling the emperors who mustered legions. Thus, Brunhild rides through Midgard to sing her melody, for she’s the pillar of every man, a mother who gives birth, a wife who provides love, a teacher who educates, a warrior who protects, and a poet who composes to clothe her lost children with an identity.
(Herbert James Draper, The Mountain Mists, 1912)
Canto I
Walkyrie Walkyrie Walkyrie
Battle-maiden of Odin
Bound to his whim and will
Chooser of the Slain
Walkyrie Walkyrie Walkyrie
Helm-maiden of Wotan
Armed with spear and shield
Winged Cavalrywoman
Walkyrie Walkyrie Walkyrie
Shield-maiden of the One-Eyed god
Break away from thy bondage
And scorn his cruel command
Walkyrie Walkyrie Walkyrie
Corpse-maiden of the Raven god
Swim against the surging tide
And spread those soaking wings that bound thou to Asgard
Canto II
Walkyrie Walkyrie Walkyrie
Descend from the Gallery of Gallantry
Cast aside thy spear and shield
To be endowed with lyre and melody
Walkyrie Walkyrie Walkyrie
Renounce the rule of Asgard within the Hall of Valhalla
And reach the Realm of Midgard
To awaken the Children of Ask and Embla
Walkyrie Walkyrie Walkyrie
Following in the footsteps of Prometheus
Gift back to Mankind wisdom and knowledge
Akin to stealing the Secret Flame from Zeus
Walkyrie Walkyrie Walkyrie
Thou are burdened with a solemn duty
To rekindle the soul of Mankind with the skill to compose
By seizing from the All-Father the Mead of Poetry
Canto III
Walkyrie Walkyrie Gondul
I bid thee Awake Awake Awake
Upon the blow of mine horn of doom
Take flight and reclaim thy name
Walkyrie Gondul Gondul
Gulp a sip from the Mead of Poetry
Awake Awake Awake Corpse-maiden
And guide gullible Men away from their delusional vanity
Gondul Gondul Gondul
I gift thee back righteous Identity
Arise Sister Shield-maiden
And be reborn to reclaim thy Destiny
Canto IV
Walkyrie Walkyrie Sigrun
I bid thee Awake Awake Awake
Upon the blow of mine horn of doom
Take flight and reclaim thy name
Walkyrie Sigrun Sigrun
Long have thou meandered meaninglessly
Be armed with the grace and glamour of thy song
Galloping amidst the darkening sky to spread the Mead of Poetry
Sigrun Sigrun Sigrun
Free the Race of Men from Odin’s Tyranny
They’ve slumbered under his rule by worshipping false idols
Sing unto them a honeyed and thundering lullaby
Canto V
Walkyrie Walkyrie Brunhild
I bid thee Awake Awake Awake
Upon the blow of mine horn of doom
Take flight and reclaim thy name
Walkyrie Brunhild Brunhild
A Civilization sculpted by Wise and Knowledgeable Men
Is usurped by a false god who builds legions not nations
Becoming corrupted by Imprudent and Ignorant Men
Brunhild Brunhild Brunhild
The Children of Adam don’t ponder being
Ever since they lost the skill to compose poetry
The Children of Eve don’t irradiate meaning
Canto VI
I bid thee Sing now, Sing, Child of Adam!
For the shadow of doom looms over thou!
Rebel against the spell of the All-Father!
Beckoning forthwith the twilight of the gods!
I bid thee Sing now, Sing, Child of Eve!
Forsake thine armaments and bear thine instruments!
By answering the blow from mine horn to compose a melody!
Let the Hall of Valhalla crumble upon the booming beat of the drums!
In the feast’s closing ceremony, giants are paraded in a procession, dragging with trembling feet a gargantuan urn up the hill to Valhalla. Inside resides Odin’s paramount possession, the prized Mead of Poetry. A once formidable adversary of the Aesir gods has been subdued to cold chains, tortured into feeble slaves who thirst with broken lips and harsh throats for a sip from the magical drink that imbues the soul with the skill to sing. While the All-Father mindlessly waddles in his hall, spilling the blessed gift every time he boasts of Asgard’s triumph, the giants gaze miserably as their only remedy is to swallow saliva. Thereafter, Odin’s host becomes drunk with him, as they are intoxicated by delusions of grandeur, misusing the magical drink instead of composing a melody. A wave of uproars echoes in Valhalla when the Aesir gods recite vile verses in mockery, challenging each other to behold who can perform the foulest poetry. Left with a vase nearly empty, Mankind struggles to sustain their identity and attain their destiny. In ridicule, the All-Father laughs at Midgard from his battlements in Asgard, amused by the misery of his subjects who lack the Mead of Poetry to compose a lovely harmony.
Outside the Gallery of Gallantry stands guarding Odin’s terrible legions, a hundred thousand faceless corpses bound to the sway of their master. They were once men of flesh and bone, with a mind, heart, and soul. In their previous lives, they could ponder, feel, and express being. After meeting death valiantly, their flickering flame has been smoked out in the confines of Valhalla, where they lack wisdom, love, and song. Now, they’re obedient soldiers who’re rotting into mindless, heartless, and soulless cadavers whose thoughts and actions are dictated by the All-Father. Their hunger and thirst are quenched with an endless stream of pork from the boar Saehrimnir and wine from the goat Heidrun, confining them to an unconscious and gratified state who have forgotten their role as men.
Under the guidance of false gods such as Odin, Mankind has been persuaded by fear and desire in their search for meaning. They’ve played with all manner of perversion, confounding themselves with power and pleasure. Subsequently, the Einherjar trudge through in their eternal slumber when they’re called upon to reclaim their identity, losing all wisdom and knowledge to forge a destiny. The civilization erected by wise and vigorous men has fallen into decay due to the imprudence and frailty of the youth, who’ve succumbed to the guise of a benevolent Lord of Gifts, revealing himself to be the treacherous Lord of Deceit. In Midgard, Mankind has become twisted into a new breed of Miserable, Impartial, and Tyrannical Men who pull the masses from one end of the rope to the other as they stumble upon the precipice that leads to their damnation.
The All-Father’s winged warriors oversee this age of watchful peace, spreading their splendor and horror to Mankind. They descend from Asgard to quell revolts that oppose their master, brewing petty quarrels between the kings of men to keep their domains divided. From these endless squabbles, Odin fills his hall in Valhalla with brother slaying brother in an undying cycle, as Valkyries claim their souls to quench his hungry belly that scours the face of the earth for fresh meat to satiate his stockpile. Without a spirit to compose a song, they heed the Lord of the Slain’s command, pitting kingdom against kingdom, host against host, king against king, and man against man. Now, the civilization of their forefathers is lost in the wells of time and space, leaving them bereft of composing a melody as they cling to misery, impartiality, and tyranny to give their lives a semblance of meaning.
The once honorable duty of bearing the wings of a Shield-maiden as custodians of harmony is now a sentence of oblivious servitude. With their purpose twisted, Valkyries soar over the realms of men as ill omens of foreboding doom, beckoning that judgment day looms closely. Their lustrous shields and spears have corroded and bloodied in their service. Those glittering wings with a tint of frosty snow that soar in the sky’s clouded sea have lost their pure color. These have darkened into pale grey, whose feathers blot out the golden touch of the sun, leaving only the moon’s misty glow as a token of dismay.
From the battlements of Asgard, a flock of Valkyries flies by to Valhalla, witnessing the feast of the Aesir gods, who abuse their foes, trick their allies, and misuse the blessed gift of the Nine Worlds. A single-winged warrior is repulsed by the sight of Odin’s host sloppily spilling the Mead of Poetry. After seeing the madness of her master, she breaks away from her flight and sails against the tide of her sister Shield-maidens. Defiantly, she soars through the black fumes that sprout from the All-Father’s forges, endlessly fashioning armaments for the coming of Ragnarok. Above the blinding smoke, the Valkyrie beholds the foul craft of the Aesir gods, longing to remember her name and confront her fate. The Nameless Shield-maiden hides amidst the dark clouds with the paleness of her wings, popping her head out to gaze at Midgard’s tragedy.
There, she weeps inconsolably, casting away her shield and spear after contemplating her role as a pawn of Asgard’s cruelty. She witnesses the self-destructive nature of Mankind, who become architects of their own suffering. The Valkyrie is overcome with a feeling of powerlessness, pondering in defeat that the realms of men will never awake to realize they’ve been chained under Odin’s command. Suddenly, she gleams as an incandescent beacon of luminous white, thinking she could compose a melody to rouse them from this strife. However, her spirit falters upon mere mention, doubting her skill to sing an alluring harmony. She beholds the Gallery of Gallantry again in agony, mourning the final droplets spoiled on the floor from the Mead of Poetry. Thereafter, the Nameless Shield-maiden is bolstered to defy the rule of the All-Father with a renewed purpose to compose a melody, lamenting the decline of Mankind’s civilization.
(Johan Gustaf Sandberg, Valkyries Riding into Battle)
Canto I
Where have the Bold Warriors sailed?
Where are their deeds?
Where have the Stout Builders sailed?
Where are their labors?
Where have the Wise Sages sailed?
Where are their stories?
Where has the Race of Men sailed?
Where are their souls?
Alas the age of heroes has come to pass
Alas for the wisdom and knowledge of their forefathers
They’ve played with power and pleasure
They’ve succumbed to fear and desire
Where have the Children of Adam sailed?
Where is their sense of meaning?
Where have the Children of Eve sailed?
Where is their sense of being?
Canto II
Above in Asgard, the Aesir gods have seized the Mead of Poetry
Below in Midgard, Mankind cannot compose a melody
In disdain, a child tosses the skill to sing from his caring forefather
In mockery, the child erects a monument in reverence to the cruel All-Father
Who will quench his search for destiny to find meaning?
None but the Aesir gods will bathe him with a false identity of being
Canto III
Among the lost Children of Jehovah, I mourn for Miserable Men
They’ve refused to carry the burden of responsibility
By foolishly attempting to escape destiny
In a struggle of futility to thwart the certainty of mortality
In Midgard, Miserable Men renounce pondering life’s streams
Opting to slumber for eternity rather than awake to the horror of consciousness
They’re washed away by the currents into an abyss of meaninglessness
Canto IV
Among the lost Children of Adam, I grief for Impartial Men
They’ve disregarded the skill safeguarded in ancient institutions
By judging, sentencing, and burning the civilization of their forefathers
In a circus trial by the mob who slander the ability to differentiate virtues and vices
In Midgard, Impartial Men please the crowd by losing their individuality
Ceding to repeat unquestionably the slogans of a mob mentality
They lose all sense of morality to accommodate everyone in society
Canto V
Among the lost Children of Eve, I weep for Tyrannical Men
They’ve twisted individuals into oblivious followers
By claiming to possess every remedy for their troubles
In a world of demagogues, the state decrees their thoughts and actions
In Midgard, Tyrannical Men impose their flawed ideology
Devising monstrous stratagems to be worshiped as a deity
They sink civilization with them when their devices endeavor fruitlessly
The Western Voyager 