Blood Songs
| Wyndreth Berginsdottir |
|
in progress
One: Autobiography © 7/16/2009 k.l. kahan In my heart have I woven wet red weeds, warped and wefted of gut and gore; skull-strung bone-beamed; war-weighted with fey foemen’s fixed fates Gnashing teeth, I gnawed splintered shield-edge; beat with bright blade my bare bloody breast. Wailed I woe-songs; waiting while warlords weeping wound-dew wavered, went with swan-clad sword-maids. Watched I wave-steeds wend the whale-way burning bright as Baldr. Each einherjar ascending this woman witnessed. With my heart have I named you, Northmen, my bold brothers; you smiling swains, ruthless and red as my own blood. Two: Soliloquy © 2009-11-19 k.l. kahan “I remember the stories. I remember the songs. I remember our time, Son of Odin, Sea-wolf, Battle-tree. I remember the full moon on the ice and the snow unbroken on the land and how the coldest wind from the north drove men mad with its wailing in the dark.” “I remember the sweet burn of the mead and the great hall fires and the skalds singing; I remember the creak of the strakes bending to the waves and the songs of the rigging under full sail and a fast wind.” “I remember the feuds and the blood and the sea’s salt and the cry of the wolf and the weeping of widows and the raven‘s exultation. I remember the eagle banners and the war drums and how the smoke from the war-fires darkened the skies like nightfall at midday, and the sweet song of steel on bone.” “I remember. I remember. Northman, you are not alone.” Three: For Norway (Utøya 7/22/2011) © 7/22/2011 k.l. kahan My blood says I am still your bastard daughter across the century separating the steps my grandmothers made from your shores to this great grassland; illicit sister to siblings whose names I do not know-- your sovereign sons and daughters dear, still and scattered, their fair hair, whose hue I share, rough and running red. Blood brothers, blood sisters, these pale hands rise and reach, hating the space between us. But this heart, heavy with exile, falls a moment still, knowing no sleek-hulled ship sails swiftly enough to bring us back together now. Four: Floodgate, Fieldstone (My thanks to Heri Joensen for letting me use his title.) © 2/14/2014 k.l. kahan O my dear ones dreaming of death. My bold blood-brothers bearing handfuls of harm, burning bright with brave deeds; wear like war-weeds this red friend, Fury, close to your skin. Be the bloodtide battering bleak beaches bare, the war-wave no floodgate can constrain, casting bones like runes, read and red. Heap the helm-hosts high, piled deep as fieldstones, picked clean, left and forgotten by better men. This is who you are. Five: Song of the Spear © 2013 k.l. kahan Blood-bird flying fatemaker winged wyrd-worker sharp-tongued harsh harridan fierce fey-maker long right arm flensing finger Sing with me In my hands We make fate Norn-shuttle Thread cutter Hel’s handmaid hail-hard and hungry greedy gashing gull long-tailed warhawk gleaming eagle hunting hearts Sing with me In my hands We make fate Scream-skald ruthless redhead fair foe-feller breast breacher bane of bones war-wanton Sing with me Sing with me In my hands We make fate 2013 klk Six: Hymn For the Thundergod © 6/28/2014 k.l. kahan Thor Odinsson, Thundergod, this night sky belongs to you. Your storm roars across Ymir's dark dead vault, shaking all I stand on. Its harsh brash brightness burns across the sky. I avert my eyes, made modest by the sound of your voice, but never subtle. So shove me to my knees with your wild wind, whip me with my own soaked hair, until I am wet with you everywhere. Wash it off, this stink of captivity; the perfumed stench of madness, decay; the dirt of graves and the pyre's ashes bound to my skin. Wash it off. Wash it off until I am clean of everywhere I have ever been against my will. Make me remember how I hold nothing in my hands. How I hold nothing in my hands, but you. Make me again who I was who I am wet beneath your weight your torrid skies swollen with powerful portents and skalded by striking death. Make me remember raising my voice above wailing wind and thunder to cry out your name. How I was not afraid of my hottest blood, how it beat, incandescent in my veins. Or strike down my defiant heart still howling curses beneath my breast. It does not know how to be silent and lie down, our eyes open to the sky, full of rain and light. |
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