Category Archives: Poetry

Viking Treasure: Big Load of Beer

I just read a Viking galdralag poem called Havamal:

Byr’i betri
berrat ma’r brautu at
en s’ mannvit mikit;
vegnest verra
vegra hann velli at
en s’ ofdrykkja ols.

Interesting how the meter works. The ThinkQuest site provides the above text, and then this version in English:

Burden better
bears none abroad with him
than a cool discretion;
with worser food
will fare you never
than a big load of beer.

Something seems lost in translation.

Speaking of lost, have you heard about the treasure chest discovered in Old York? A father and son with metal detection equipment unearthed a well-preserved cache of silver and such.

The ancient objects come from as far afield as Afghanistan in the East and Ireland in the West, as well as Russia, Scandinavia and continental Europe.

The hoard contains 617 silver coins and 65 other objects, including a gold arm-ring and a gilt silver vessel.

[…]

It was probably buried for safety by a wealthy Viking leader during the unrest following the conquest of the Viking kingdom of Northumbria in AD927.

I wonder about the “leader” concept suggested in the article. Not a King? Regia Anglorum gives some stirring details of the conflict in the area:

England was being ruled at that time by King Athelstan, grandson of Alfred the Great, who took the throne in 925 at the age of thirty. Athelstan was not a soft king: he was a warrior in the tradition of his grandfather, father and aunt, and was determined to have an English kingdom that reached to the borders of Strathclyde. His ambitions worried the northern kings, but, when he met Sihtric at York, Athelstan gave away his sister in marriage to the king of York, in return for the Scandinavian becoming Christian. It seemed as though the Clan Ivarr was secure in its throne.

That security lasted until 927, when Sihtric died and Guthfrith took over. Athelstan invaded Northumbria and expelled Guthfrith and Olaf, Sihtric’s son. He entered York, demolished the Scandinavian fortifications, and distributed the loot he found there to his army.

Impressive how long the leader’s lead container was able to preserve the goods. Good thing Athelstan’s men did not find all the loot in their day.

While we may want to celebrate the discovery of precious metallic goods from ancient times, beer recipes or even ingredient farming methods may be the real treasure still waiting to be recovered.

The Talk

by Erlend Øye

And so I’m back and I am stuck here in the same room.
A thorough shuffle to the mail my first excuse
not to immediately face the day’s agenda.
Some very awkward words I need be telling you
of a feeling that in motion through I’ve carried
for it to be worn off upon return
that grew inside me like a credit taken
in a currency I could no longer earn.
No better way,
no other time,
no other call,
no better line,
as soon as now, within your room
it can’t go on,
I’m not in love with you.
My mouth has got a funny taste of metal,
a pencil line’s been drawn upon my face.
Weight has come to hang around my shoulders
for the knowledge of a doubt I can’t erase.
Hey boy you never finish what you’ve started
says the man I wanna be who I am not
who will sacrifice his part as easy lover
to never be the one who holds and drops

Crossover Dreams and Rescue

Rubén Blades in a NYT interview suggested it is best to self-motivate to survive:

That’s what I think the whole trick of saving oneself comes down to. If you’re going to swim, you don’t expect to be picked out of the water by a boat that may never come.

At this point I feel like I should translate the lyrics to Pedro Navaja.

It’s the story of a small gangster, of whom the song makes us a very successful portrait, who attacks a prostitute. In the aggression, the girl defends herself by shooting Pedro Navaja. They both die, while a drunk finds the bodies, searches them, and sets out again while singing out of tune what immediately becomes the chorus of the following ‘montuno’.

Instead, I think I will just say that swimming is not something that gets easier through collaboration. The more people in the water, the more they ultimately still have to save themselves or perhaps just one other — may the strongest swimmer survive. They may even interfere. A boat (e.g. technology-enhanced processes that can be leveraged by people trying to save themselves or others) is an entirely different story — may the strongest sailors provide value unto others and be justly rewarded for his/her collaborative efforts.

Chinese regulate dancing to avert “young love”

Here is an amusing story that reminds me of the American movie Footloose. Crazy kids doing crazy expressive and touchy things can not be trusted to avert the disaster commonly known as falling-in-love. Xinhua’s English news feed provides details:

Parents with traditional values are alarmed at the prospect of boys and girls dancing hand in hand, believing the risk of their children falling in love and losing track of exam results would increase.

“Four students will be grouped together to perform the waltz and they will change partners regularly as soon as one song finishes. This way, the risk of young love will be lowered,” said Yang Guiren, an official in charge of art and physical education with the MOE [Ministry of Education].

Never mind Footloose, this reminds me of square dancing classes I was required to attend in grade school for “physical education”. All of these schemes sound positively ridiculous as everyone knows kids fall in love regardless of what they are doing. Glances through bulletproof glass, or even just secret messages ferreted through secured chambers by note or IM are the very nature of the resilience of young love. Instead, I would argue, MORE exposure to each other in regular doses is the surest cure for youthful adoration.

Is there a LARRY and CURLY to go along with the Chinese MOE? Will they ban poetry next to prohibit the messaging of young love?

Consider, for example, Chinese poems based on the story of the Magpie Bridge. Here is one by Qin Guan, translated by Professor Kylie Hsu:

Among the beautiful clouds,
Over the heavenly river,
Crosses the weaving maiden.
A night of rendezvous,
Across the autumn sky,
Surpasses joy on earth.
Moments of tender love and dream,
So sad to leave the magpie bridge.
Eternal love between us two,
Shall withstand the time apart.

The part of the Magpie Bridge story that seems suspect to me is the weaver “enjoyed her marriage so much”. Perhaps if the Heavenly Mother had left the bridge alone, the weaver would soon have settled back to earth to find her weaving more rewarding and increased productivity. Am I being too cynical?