Wednesday, March 23, 2022

Song Of The Weavers


 
Song Of The Weavers
 
 
 
 
The Norns speak all they know
in pleaching and binding, in winding
on the spindle green thread from the Northlights,
white wool from the southern sugarmoon
as it sets in blood-orange dustfall.
 
Their rhythm curls out from
the tangleroot nest under the world tree
where they refresh the well
season to season, age to age, and all that was
and is to be is formed in their throats' call.
 
They have grown each feather
on the black raven's backs 
of thought and memory
and taken the Allfather's eye
for their balladry.
 
A hard hand makes a rock-hard life,
but their cloud-boned fingers can weave
hard lives into blooms made to jump up in sheaves
as velvet as rabbits, full-hearted sweet
as the last peach on the summertree.
 
They fire the wicker man's burn
and rain his ash into the fields
to weep for the rye
they will color again
in May's breath-dancing fly.
 
I only sit under the cooling stars
in the holiness of night with the 
owls' down floating, in the bright foundry of day
with the tongues of grass leaning
into the singing of their wild living cry.
 
 
 
 
March 2022
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 posted for earthweal's
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Images: The Three Norns, 1911, © Arthur Rackham    Public Domain
Northern Lights Over Iceland, author unknown, via internet  Fair Use

20 comments:

  1. Sigh. You wrote this in language that resonates in my soul.........so much beauty, especially the hard-hand stanza. But I loved every line, held my breath while reading. Absolutely wonderful writing!

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    1. Thank you so much, dear Sherry. I will be by to read at earthweal tomorrow.

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  2. Yes, very nice article of Nord faith in language as wind, light, wave-sweep & feathers, all germain to the grain and the "foundry" of morning skies. Maybe its an article of a dissipate faith or taproot we can't live without, but these wild excursions serve best from the bottle on the top shelf inscribed "In Case of Emergency." (The one next to it with the skulls is for silence.) The "only" in the final exultant stanza is a proper drop of humility, to be even proximal to such glory. How easily these wild poems crush under the marching boot. Thanks Hedge.

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    1. Ha! Thanks B. It's nice to know even bots love my work. ;) Deleted now, tho I regret the lost banking opportunities in Dubai. Yes, the moments when the we hear the wild speaking must be savored before the wheel of the everyday juggernaut drowns them to oblivion. Thanks for getting me to listen.

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  3. I am enchanted by your imagery and the echoing sound world you have created here, Hedge!

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  4. I really enjoyed this. It swept me away into ancient Norse energies. The World Tree figures in my personal cosmology too and I have been neglecting it lately. Thanks for pulling me back to these old awarenesses. I really like you art work too. Suzanne - Mapping Uncertainty

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  5. I liked the ravens, of course, but what really stood out for me was "The bright foundry of day." It's a perfect characterization. I don't recall ever finding the word "foundry" in any poem before, let alone used so aptly. Only you could come up with that, Joy. Sometimes, when reading something of yours, I wish there were someone at hand who I could turn to and ask, "Did you see that?" the way one does when witnessing an acrobatic trick that makes a fool of gravity.

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    1. Thank you Shay. I know they are frequent flyers in my poems, but I just couldn't leave the ravens out of this one,could I? I'm so glad you liked it. Your wotds, as always, mean a lot to me.

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  6. Aah - such beauty. Those cloud fingers held me in awe and the weaving of the images and worlds - just wonderful.

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  7. You've widened the lens of the Fates for me as I felt them only involved with human life, but these Norns are creators of all life and sound and even the transformation of human ash into fertility and into the innocent grass we sit on or lie under. Powerful piece. Thank you.

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    1. Yes, technically you're correct Susan. The Norns were the weavers of men's fates, but I extended the metaphor. Chalk it up to poetic license.

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    2. The best license for insight.

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  8. hi joy!

    another spectacular poem, demonstration of nature's independent mind, love the language in this... moonsugar, dustfall etc... "in the bright foundry of day" really liked that line. sorry i missed so many new poems form you. i have a lot of catching up to do, but i'm looking forward to it!

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    1. Thanks,Phillip. I've missed reading your work.

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  9. A beautiful moment you have described here, Joy, it's so bewitching. So many lovely turns of phrase, the sugarmoon, the blood-orange dustfall, the cloud-boned fingers, the May-dancing fly, the holiness of night, the tongues of grass. It's so visceral, I can smell it. It's like being witness to a spell being cast and getting caught right in it <3

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    1. Thank you so much, Sunra. So many of my poems are dark, I wanted to write something more hopeful here.

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  10. I too so admire 'the bright foundry of day'. You sing the weaver's song so well, Joy. Only one who knows these hands could write so tellingly. ~

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"We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, out of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry." ~William Butler Yeats

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