..Poetry

[Lyfing]

What is to think of poetry..??

Here we have Odin who is a god of poetry. He steals it's mead. There is Bragi, and, maybe, Aegir also, with his brews.

Joseph Campbell got me thinking about poetry with this..

A distinction must be drawn, through all our studies of mythology, between the attitudes toward divinities represented on one hand by the priest and his flock, and on the other by the creative poet, artist, or philosopher. The former tends to what I would call a positivistic reading of the imagery of his cult. Such a reading is fostered by the attitude of prayer, since in prayer it is extremely difficult to retain the balance between belief and disbelief that is proper to the contemplation of an image or idea of God. The poet, artist, and philosopher, on the other hand, being themselves fashioners of images and coiners of ideas, realize that all representation—whether in the visible matter of stone or in the mental matter of the word—is necessarily conditioned by the fallibility of the human organs. Overwhelmed by his own muse, a bad poet may imagine his visions to be supernatural facts and so fall into the posture of a prophet—whose utterances I would define as “poetry overdone,” over-interpreted; wherefore he becomes the founder of a cult and a generator of priests. But so also a gifted priest may find his super-natural beings losing body, deepening into void, changing form, even dissolving: whereupon he will possibly become either a prophet or, if more greatly favored, a creative poet.

Three major metamorphoses of the motifs and themes of our subject, therefore, have to be recognized as fundamentally differing even though fundamentally related, namely: The true poetry of the poet, the poetry overdone of the prophet, and the poetry done to the death of the priest. Whereas the history of religion is largely a record of the latter two, the history of mythology includes all three, and in doing so brings not only poetry but also religion into a fresh and healthily vivified relationship to the wellsprings of creative thought. For there is a tendency (“poetry underdone”) to rest in the whimsies of personal surprise, joy, or anguish before the realities of life in a universe poets never made; whereas in religion the opposite tendency may prevail—that of rendering no personal experience whatsoever, but only authorized cliches.

Occidental Mythology, pages 518-519

And Thomas Carlyle put it into a creative perspective with this..

Thought does not die, but only is changed. The first man that began to think in this Planet of ours, he was the beginner of all. And then the second man, and the third man;—nay, every true Thinker to this hour is a kind of Odin, teaches men his way of thought, spreads a shadow of his own likeness over sections of the History of the World.

ON HEROES, HERO-WORSHIP, AND THE HEROIC IN HISTORY

Earlier today, I was thinking about the Eddas and how there was an Elder One known as the Poetic Edda and a Younger One known as the Prose Edda which was meant to be a book to teach folks poetry..!! That got me to thinking about the importance of poetry and how it can create worlds of itself.

Going with the distinctions Campbell made above there are drastically differing ways to interpret the magic of life. What he would have called the first function of mythology. There is a poetic way and a dogmatically prophetic way. We have completely rebelled from the latter in favor of the former. It was never in us anyway. Maybe that is why there are periods of our history called the Renaissance, the Reformation, and what we see these days with Heathens in full-bloom.

I got to thinking about memorizing the Poetic Edda again. That was actually the starting point of this thread. A few years ago I thought it was a good idea, and memorized Grimnismal. I chose it because of it's telling of cosmology and the happenings in Valhalla, which into I read a very heroic journey. The only hard copy I have is Hollander's translation. I was thinking of the good parts of memorizing his translation. It is one which is in favor of preserving it's wisdom in a poetic way. It's a translation though and wouldn't the Icelandic be better..?? Not if one was looking to make poetry in their own language in the same spirit. And, wouldn't it be better to make a study of the poetry itself..??

One of the things we don't have so much anymore are poets singing new songs with our gods and goddesses. Rydberg was one with the epic he saw in it. Goethe was too. And, maybe, so was Tolkein. I look forward to the days when such spirits sing again...

Any thoughts..??

Later,
-Lyfing

EDIT: I liken this line of thinking with Psychonaut's threads called..New Gods and Contemporaty Heathen Iconography and even also..Theological Consistency they all play big factors in the realization of this our poetic potential..

[Gooding]

Beautiful, Lyfing. I find it wonderful that our ancestors still have so much to teach us and that eternal truths are expressed in descriptives such as the kennings and verses of the Eddas. I think that the Spirits of Kvasir and Bragi will sing their loudest once we've finally staked out our territories, consecrated them to the Aesir and Vanir and have reclaimed our heritage fully.

[Psychonaut]

What is to think of poetry..??

Here we have Odin who is a god of poetry. He steals it's mead. There is Bragi, and, maybe, Aegir also, with his brews.

The relationship between poetry and mead is an interesting one. It happened that just after I read this post yesterday, I put on an Agalloch album. This couplet from "A Desolation Song," struck a chord and resonated with the myth of the mead of poetry:

In this cup, spiritus frumenti
For this is the nectar of the spirit

I know he's singing about whiskey (spiritus frumenti), but the analogy works with any alcoholic beverage. I think that we can look at the poetic process as being analogous to the fermentation process. We begin with the raw materials, our mind, our wit and the kernel of an idea that we wish to express. These ideas are then "fermented" through reflection, meditation, etc. until the "ingredients" come together to transform into something new and different: a poem, a song, a hymn. I've noticed this with my own songwriting; that the kernel of an idea with form, but that if I really want it to come to fruition, I have to bury the idea in my subconscious for a few days so that it can develop on it's own, away from my critical faculties. Without fail, the kernel blooms and reemerges a few days later, more developed and harmonious than it was when I first thought of it.

One of the things we don't have so much anymore are poets singing new songs with our gods and goddesses. Rydberg was one with the epic he saw in it. Goethe was too. And, maybe, so was Tolkein. I look forward to the days when such spirits sing again...

Any thoughts..??

As for authentic Heathen poetry, I have to say that I'm less than impressed with much of what I see nowadays. There are two beacons of light worth mentioning though:

1). A fellow who goes by Pip (Piparskeggr) who posts here occasionally as Ullarsskald consistently writes inspired verse. He's shared but a little with us on this board, but I've read much of it elsewhere and have always been impressed.

2). A Heathen musician from Oregon named John Haughm fronts the group Agalloch. Theirs is, in my opinion some of the most authentically Heathen music and poetry being made today. Their song, "In the Shadow of our Pale Companion," is some of the most powerful contemporary Heathen verse that I can think of.

Through vast valleys I wonder
To the highest peaks
On pathways through a wild forgotten landscape
In search of God, in spite of man
'til the lost forsaken endless. . .
This is where I choose to tread

Fall. . .so shall we fall into the nihil?
The nothingness that we feel in the arms of the pale
In the shadow of the grim companion who walks with us

Here is the landscape
Here is the sun
Here in the balance of the earth
Where is the god?
Has he fallen and abandoned us?

As I'm stalked by the shadow of death's hand
The fire in my heart is forged across the land

Here at the edge of this world
Here I gaze at a pantheon of oak, a citadel of stone
If this grand panorama before me is what you call God. . .
Then God is not dead

I walked down to a river and sat in reflection of what had to be done
An offering of crimson flowed into the water below
A wound of spirit from which it floated and faded away

. . .like every hope I've ever had. . .
. . .like every dream I've ever known. . .
It washed away in a tide of longing, a longing for a better world
From my will, my throat, to the river, and into the sea. . .
. . .wash away. . .
. . .fade away. . .

Here is the landscape
Here is the sun
Here at the edge of the earth
Where is the god?
Has he fallen to ruin?

As I'm stalked by the shadow of death's hand
My heathen pride is scarred across the land

[youtube]eQHQsxvW5b4[/youtube]

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[Piparskeggr]

Heya Chris;

As you likely can see, I'm catching up after a long, illness-driven absense.

(znip)

1). A fellow who goes by Pip (Piparskeggr) who posts here occasionally as Ullarsskald consistently writes inspired verse. He's shared but a little with us on this board, but I've read much of it elsewhere and have always been impressed.

(znip some more)

Thank you so much for your kind words.

As I have written before, a Skald is NOTHING without the Folk.

Writing for myself, it's an interesting mental exercise, but worth little in the long run.

I'll look over what I posted and see what else might be of interest.

I did post a new one to the "All Lore was Hearthside Tales" thread.