Poem: Jörmunísskast

‘Alex!’ you cry; ‘wherever have you been? And don’t you owe us a poem?’ you enquire. Well, dear reader: you are indeed correct. Though my blogging has been less than impressive so far—blame the writing of personal statements—I do nevertheless have a poem in store for you. ’Tis known as Jörmunísskast (literally ‘Great Ice Castle’ in Norse) or Aslaug the Banished.

It may be helpful to know some of the underlying context behind this, however, before you go jumping in. Aslaug is in mythology proper a noble princess raised by peasants; I, however, have taken liberty to name Aslaug a daughter of Loki, and a former idol of man. Being displeased of her power, Odin banished her to Niflheim—the land of ice.

Aslaug, of course, was less than pleased with this development; and so she schemes, in her grand ice castle, of how she may contrive to grasp her former power.

As befits a dark goddess, Aslaug is a bitter old soul. She harkens to the days of old, when men bowed to her might, and she was great; and she holds her new protégées—the creatures of the Ice: Frost Giants, sea serpents, great bear-like beasts—in contempt. Jörmunísskast, on the other hand, is forged of her own power. It is a testament to her invincible power; to her rule, over her dark, cold realm.

In any case; I’ve given you enough on the way of background. If you are unfamiliar with the better known tenets of Norse mythology, Thor and Loki are the gods of thunder and wickedness (respectively) and have been at each other’s throats since time-immemorial. Hrothgar is a clement King described in the Beowulf saga; Midgardr is the ‘middle world,’—the human realm; and the serpent is Jörmungandr, a massive sea serpent that encircles Midgardr, and a child of Loki. Now, feel free to take a look…

Jörmunísskast, or Aslaug the Banished

Jörmunísskast, how great are thee!
O’er fallen cries of great white beasts
You stand tall; and even Winter’s
Inclement caress
Can but grace those
Gleaming icen walls.

You call Jörmunnordr—the
Great North—your timeless foe;
And yet, as you stand proud;
As you hold defiant, to savage Viking cry
And mighty Godly bellow
You call Jörmunnordr, brother.

Neither invaders’ grand desire
Nor death’s timeless machinations
Can defeat the regents of the Ice.
Your graceful, arrogant towers
Reach, with foolish hand, to Asgard’s
Fickle realm.

Of Niflheim, you are; and in
Your everlasting purlieu, your land
Of ice and star; your Queen,
Aslaug
Grows restless, in audacious
Treachery.

Like Thor and Loki,
You, Jörmunísskast, are but damned
To battle eternal; for she,
Man’s bitter love past
Shall forever lust for that
Forbidden fruit.

‘Let man tremble against the powers of the ice,’ says she;
The capricious beast!
‘Let him wonder, as he enjoys ephemeral fire,
‘Of what patient foe lurks deep in northern Hinterland.’
’Tis true, her word: for man knows
The fickle heart of that capricious god.

When the Frost Giant’s breath shall blow far;
When darkness shall covet stars
Aslaug’s dreams shall find solace.
In her throne—a sculpted totem
Of Winter’s incipient fury—she smiles
Eyes gleaming, cold blue.

Like Hrothgar’s magnanimous caricature
She walks, form posed in lethal grace;
Ice follows faithfully, and the Cold Ones
Await her bloody promise.
‘Rise! Rise, creatures of the ice,’ she calls.

Her hand aloft, her sword alight
She calls to Jormunisskast:
‘Stand with me, great ice castle;
Stand, and let our enemies
Know Winter’s age-old wraith.’
So says man’s former Queen.

In Midgardr, the serpent coils
And the gates are torn asunder.

I shall also take the liberty to draw your attention to a few of the particulars. Take:

Neither invaders’ grand desire
Nor death’s timeless machinations
Can defeat the regents of the Ice.
Your graceful, arrogant towers
Reach, with foolish hand, to Asgard’s
Fickle realm.

The first few lines concern themselves with our castle’s impressive record: it has repelled Aslaug’s enemies in Asgard (the realm of the Gods), and it has even defeated the dauðr—undead beings of the ice, and former denizens of Niflheim.

The lines thereafter, however, are interesting in that they pay homage to a Christian myth: the Tower of Babel. Aslaug, the former God, still desires a place at Odin’s side; and, fittingly, her pride is what ultimately resulted in her losing it.

Let us also take a look at Jörmunnordr—the Great North. In some ways, it is Jörmunísskast’s enemy; or, implicitly, Aslaug’s foe. After all: Aslaug despises its denizens, and Jörmunnordr is a wall against her former worlds.

And yet, the two are like rival brothers. They seem to possess great dislike of one another; and yet, nevertheless, they share a fraternal bond—a brotherly camaraderie forged of common enemies and desires. There is also a literal aspect to this: the ice castle is designed both to hold the Great North’s elements at bay, and to guard Aslaug from her enemies. The former leads the two to enmity, while the latter is a gift they share.

Very well. I have discussed this little side-poem in detail; now I must concern myself with essays, more poems for the Fallen Saga, and of course: the Ark. With regards to the latter, I shall present to you two things: firstly, the ‘Upcoming’ page, which has been requested; secondly, I shall plan and begin the Ark.

Until then—may the stars be with you.

Dulce Bellum Inexpertis; A Poem

Good morrow readers!

Firstly, I ought thank Jenna Hiott—out interviewee for the post prior. Her musings have not only been intriguing (and perhaps even sought to enhance my inchoate philosophical knowledge) but they have also been blessed with your attention.

In any case: being a tour host for our darling Sage’s Blog Tours is not a mere one-time affair. Indeed, it requires commitment, and variety; both of which will be met in my upcoming book review. I won’t speak too much of that now (the details are not yet revealed, anyway) but what I can say is that I am planning to review a fantasy come dystopian sci-fi novel. It should make for interesting reading—I hope.

The review will be available on Goodreads (and perhaps Amazon) and will also make a brief appearance on the blog—along with all the pertinent details. This has two purposes insofar as you are concerned: firstly, you will check out Mr Stargazer’s reviews. This is very important; for Mr Stargazer is an avid, assiduous reviewer, and will be terribly cross if you were to ignore his musings.

Secondly, it will be a good opportunity for Mr Stargazer to bash other authors. Ooops—best not say that... oh, dear, he’s heard me now... too late...

The Fallen Saga

I have promised you another episode in the Fallen Saga; and I am happy to inform you that my promise is fulfilled. Meet Dulce Bellum Inexpertis: a tale of war, of death, and of the humanity behind the angelic. (For those of you unfamiliar with the immortal Latin tongue, the former is an oft-said phrase meaning ‘Sweet is war for those unknowing’.)

Firstly, you may want to read it...

The Fallen Saga

Brief Analysis

Since I am meant to be revising (school never was a kind beast, alas) my analysis shall be brief. Apologies; blame fate.

The first stanza is basically an objective-correlative (with perhaps a dash of pathetic fallacy):

Oh, how sweet is war!
How the very earth trembles in awe
And delighted fear; how even the sky—seemingly
So insouciant; so untroubled by dark countenance—
How even it must grow vermilion
As if in sweet expectancy.

You may notice such oxymorons as ‘delighted fear’. There are two reasons for its use: firstly, this Saga is a treasure trove for oxymorons. I suspect it may be source of oxymoronic inspiration for many poems to come.

But more importantly, I believe it captures an inherent contradiction. War is a terrible business; and even the strongest of forces will lose men. And few can say they do not fear death. Yet there is also something ecstatic—delightful, even—about those who wish for war. Perhaps the delusions of grandeur may be adduced; perhaps some, though unwilling to admit, desire blood and death and suffering. Alas, a deeper analysis is not on the books for now.

As for the last two lines: there’s something of that same hunger for blood imbued within the very world itself. Make of that what you will.

I’m going to fast forward through much of the rest—pointing out a few of the more vivid sections, e.g:

How soft
Are those traitor wings; how frightening
Are those wicked swords of darkness; those
Arrows past graced
With blood.

In order to reach what I believe are particularly noteworthy sections:

And so Lake Ayre
Claimed many a fallen being
That dark day. They smile, now;
Death’s cruel grip
Imbues them with eternal unlife.
Peace is not their gift.

Lake Ayre, as you know (or at least you should know, if you’ve been paying attention to any of this) has been referenced previously. It is a key feature of the Valley of Angels—specifically, it is where the most peaceful denizens reside. Mermaids, nymphs, harmless water creatures, and so on call it home.

Thus, Lake Ayre’s ominous degradation—‘The Ancient mirror—Lake Ayre—/ Grows pregnant with dark seed’—to this terrible culmination has symbolic meaning. In war, it is often the innocent that are most deprived of what is precious.

Another important stanza is:

Merthiol!
‘Aye, teller of truth,’ says he;
‘Do you wish me—indeed—
‘To bring peace to tormented souls?’ he asks
As if in jest.
‘In light, shall they not abandon us for good?’

To speak further of this stanza would require far more time than I have on offer. It’s meaning is clear, as it is; you, dear reader, must ask why.

Our closing lines are the age-old Latin truth:

Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori
Set dulcius pro patria vivere.

(Sweet and fitting it is to die for one’s fatherland; sweeter still to live.)

The Saga Continues

Hail readers!

Today, another episode in the Fallen Saga shall be presented. But first: check out my interview on Books and Banter (link here). There, you may learn of dragons, magic, and the secrets of a writer.

Now, onto the third episode of the Saga—entitled, perhaps appropriately, the Darkness Arisen. First of all, give it a read:

Read the Fallen Saga: Episodes One to Three

I am, unfortunately, still busy with the miscellany of school (there are many after a mock exam); therefore, I shall concentrate on the more intriguing features of the Darkness Arisen. Take, for example:

We are the Fallen.
We have walked
As bearers of the light;
We have suffered, and destroyed
As vassals of the darkness.

First of all, note the juxtaposition of ‘Fallen’ and ‘walked / As bearers of the light’—the purpose of this is to play on the whole notion of fallen in rather literal terms. Note, too, the mention of suffering: the demons are not mere caricatures of evil, prancing around as if entertained by their own depredations. They have suffered. And maybe—just maybe—they act not out of inhuman malice, but out of a very human emotion.

Vengeance.

There are many more subtle (or hopefully subtle) little motifs. Take:

Exiled, for we dared to question—dared
To believe
Not in empty promises light

The ‘promises light’, of course, refers to those of Heaven and its leader; by context, they are implied devoid of merit—made as if by fickle whim, and just as easily broken.

These lines—

The fires of Inferno
Have burned our souls to dust;

—Are not merely there for effect (though that is a worthy enough reason, and they certainly ought paint a pretty picture); but also, they are a suggestion. Has the Demons’ punishment—exile in Hell—destroyed them? Has it made them evil? Or do these—

But—like the Phoenix arisen from the ashes of betrayal—
We shall return to righteous glory.

—suggest a substance of hope in its boastful claim?

You shall find out soon enough. Episode Four is to be written. Until then—there’s the interview…

Words, Poems; Alex Stargazer’s Weird and Wonderful Musings

Hellooo! I have been rather busy last week, with exams (my old time favourites) and other stuff.

But with this week’s holiday, I can entertain you lot—I do entertain you, right?

First up, some obscure words. Yes, I have fallen way behind on that, so it had to be a plural.

(‘Yay! Two obscure and incomprehensible words to read. What fun!’ you say.)

But, anyway. I digress.

Acquiesce

Pronunciation: /ækwɪɛs/

Etymology: From LATIN ‘acquiescere’ meaning ‘to rest at’: combination of ‘ad’ (at, to) and ‘quiescere’; to rest. Weird, huh?

Definition: (The above will seem even weirder now:) To express agreement; to concur and be willing.

Examples:

‘It is the ineluctable nature of persuasive people; they shall always get what they want, even if they don’t really want it. Others always acquiesce.’

‘To acquiesce; or to deny your friend in favour of empiricism?’

‘Acquiesce with the dictator’s demands. Or else.’

(I’m a little morbid, aren’t I?)

Now, on to the next word: exigency. This is an odd one. It has two possible meanings! And yes—they’re both very different. English...

Exigency

Pronunciation: /ɛksɪdʒənsi/

Etymology: From LATIN ‘exigentia’; in turn derived from ‘exigere’ meaning ‘enforce’.

Definition: Now here they are—number one is ‘a sudden and pressing demand; a crisis’; number two is ‘excessive and/or difficult requirements’. Since my name is Stargazer, I shall try and come up with something creative for both meanings. Maybe I’ll even write something ambiguous. Now that would be really clever...

‘The exigencies of bad times often come in the way they do: unexpectedly, frighteningly, and devastatingly. Woe befalls all who are subject to them; the vicissitudes of the incompetent leaders that lead us.’

‘He was exigent, annoying, and frequently wrong; but there was a kindness to him, also, that was hard to resist.’

‘Exigent fool prone to random fits of rage and exigency.’

Beat that!

On to Poems, Bunnies, and Musings

First off: the bunnies.

Well, one bunny, I should say more correctly. (‘What’s he going on about?’ you say; well, please bear with.)

Today, on the Sun’s Day, I—or rather my dad—found a bunny. In the middle of the road. Blind. And young. Well, you can probably guess from there on; but you’d be guessing wrong. I didn’t take her in with us—and no, I didn’t abandon her either. Eek!

No, we gave her to the owner of the nearby pub. She was really quite happy, I must say. Mummy even looked kinda jealous. Hehe.

Moving on from bunnies, I have written five poems, submitted them to an uppity-tightety—my bad, literary—magazine, and yes, it was predictable from all that: I got rejected. Too bad. There are other ways for a poet to express themselves; and as you can guess, one of those is through this blog.

I shall, however, not give you all of them. I’m keeping the big guns for something special...

The Maiden and the Lake

Download and View on Google Drive

I am going to write a short essay on this. If you don’t like essays, don’t read it. Although, I suspect anyone crazy enough to follow my blog would probably be fairly comfortable with essays already...

Essay

The poem is about following your dreams.

If you were still trying to deduce that, I’m sorry. In any case: a poem’s message should not be didactic—for such a thing cannot be considered a work of art; rather an essay like this one—and neither should a poem’s message require wrestling from its cold, dead words. (Haha.)

A poem’s message should be pretty clear. If it isn’t, I’m not doing a very good job; please tell me!

In any case, the poem is partially metaphorical—the Little Ones in particular, represent the man’s inner demons—but also a straight up narrative: the scenario depicted should resonate of a wish come true.

The narrator is unnamed. This is not random: the narrator is the archetypal wishful lover; the one constrained by unyielding biology.

And of course, what tale can speak more of wishes? Love, and unsurmountable barriers, is my answer.

Imagery is also quite an important aspect of the poem. Here’s a badly kept secret: poems aren’t novels. You cannot build empathy, and love, and a desire for sucess, in the reader’s mind with quite so few words; you must instead appeal to our visual sense—our fastest sense. (Or ‘bandwidth capable input device’ if you want to go into tech-speak.)

The poem also takes in irony certain aspects of superstition. Take, for example: ‘On the seventh day, / Of the sixth month (of the sixth year)[.]’ Seven, now, there’s a number: a prime number; Seven Deadly Sins; seven days; seven, seven, seven.

As for six? Well, ‘six six six’ and Old Nick’s here.

The irony, of course, is in the fact that the man does not drown, and neither is he abandoned; the man gets what he wants. If you are so inclined, you will also notice that deceiving foreshadow is used in other ways as well—the ‘omen of joy’ and ‘the moon is but a memory’ and so on and so forth.

Indeed, the latter quote presents an irony in and of itself. The moon—as the mythology scholars among you may be aware—is often presented as the symbol of femininity. And yet, the man himself is rather un-masculine. It is also rather fitting, since the Maiden—a.k.a the moon—decides to keep him waiting.

And thus concludes the essay. It wasn’t terribly long (I don’t think). Besides, this isn’t my best poem; those are reserved for the Secret Project.

Thank you for reading. You can leave a comment, if you like. This isn’t meant to be monologue, y’a know?