The Whale Road

Beorg's Vision 

"Beneath this pool are three 

     who set the path for me 

and weave the garments we

must wear —my fate, laime, 

     remains a mystery."

Sila unties knots,

     in dark rooms

where a boy grabs,

          parts fur.

Night follows night,

until soot marks

     brother's brow.

Sige chases her above

     clouds,

          moon's lakes.

     She sprints free.

In the hall of Hel, souls are tickled

By augury above, by living ones

Who seek absent friends and lovers,

Even how their fortunes fare, or how

The slain might be tempted to return

As something —save this goat, gutted.

Beorg

     Sige, Sige sits at my hall.

Sige's sitting at my hall,

Thinks his man's home.

     Man snuck out the back.

He snuck out the back, yes,

Now waiting for Sige to leave.

     Sige's man looks past trees.

He's peering through the trees,

Just waiting for Sige to leave.

     How we pass our time, yes.

Sige, Sige, we're past our time,

Day after night, night after day.

     Sige's man sits at my hall.

His man's sitting at my hall,

Thinks I'm home, but I'm not.

     Thinks I'm home, but I'm not.

I snuck out the back as I do, yes,

Waiting for Sige's man to leave,

     Just waiting for his man to leave.

Sige's man sits at my hall,

I'm past waiting for him to leave.

     How we pass our time, yes.

Sige, Sige, we're past our time,

Day after night, night after day.

Murmuring

The jarl wants tribute. We could say, 'no,' but then he would come and take it. And kill us all. Yes? You, Hild, you may say, 'We steal or we die.' I, Sige, will not take from the neighbors, yes? I hear murmuring from the breech, ha ha: 'Sige is afraid of our jarl and our neighbors.' Sige fears only the whales, ha ha. So, we go with the whales to a far place, again. This time will be the third time, yes? You, Beorg, elder, you may ask, 'What if the jarl attacks us here while Sige and his men are following the whales?' Thank you, Beorg. Then you fight or die, ha ha ha. Third time, remember. I will be quick. I will be back. I will be back. I will be back. I will be back, ha ha. I will be back!

Thralls

1

Forest Mother has

risen from the stream.

     Still water bears

her up, and she blesses

          us, calls us:

we drift into her

     and awaken

under her limbs,

her leaves, her berries:

when Sige embarks,

our flies will watch him 

     —we who see all.

2

Under moonglow,

     we killers of goats,

we, wild, ineffable, secretive,

as if two-horned

     or two-shaped

          or ivy-covered

               or bull-faced, 

warlike, howling, pure.

3

          We stir and stir:

"Use the dark green parts of leeks

     in that broth," Hild demands.

4

We givers

     of mead, unmixed:

          Sige calls us, "You of the trees,

of the black goatskin,

you may pour mead on me as well!"

5

          We hear

Sige ask Hild, "Were these white

     petals always here,

          beneath me?"

6

With us, but magnified, 

          the fly’s eyes,

green then translucent blue,

then misty, glance around the dock:

     fly behind a cart,

          then over Sige's boat

moored to the rubble,

off shingle.

7

     Three ash trees scour

the sun: being born,

moon waves,

     tidal washing,

          then seaweed,

               gulls, haze: 

our flies watch us,

          see all:

     Sige embarks.

Hild

Now that Sige is gone

with loosened lapwork

and cracked step,

come into me, Jesus.

Come into me and dull this pain

with Your sweet breath

that cools as it burns.

Darling Jesus hold me

while You drop to Earth.

Cover me with Your delicate

white thighs and shield me

from my Sige

     who is jealous

          of Your embrace.

Don’t let Sige steal my spirit.

     Don’t let Sige take me

     away from You.

Come into me and dull this pain.

Make those small holes

into tearing voids

that blind me to the precious drops

     spilling out my nostrils,

     spilling down my throat.

O, Jesus, I love You.

Your flight has trembled the leaves,

     but don’t worry.

I can't die without You.

I can slumber inside Your arms,

now that Sige is gone

     with loosened lapwork

          and cracked step.

Elegy

Chest gets sore then lung

          flops out sliding

on the floor like whales

     blubbering redness

over this slate darkened

     anew by our mess

of monks, blood, and ale.

     Don't you do it, Hel!

Don't you stop my heart

     nor make me skrelly

then turn me to jelly!

     Slowly, rather, numb

me, please, more dumb

     than by my own hand.

Though not with con

     traband, you under

     stand! Don't grab me

by the jerkin and shake,

shake, shake! Too many

     sounds to undertake:

"That was no murder."

That was your mother?

"She's not complaining."

She's not complaining.

Don't you do it, Hel!

Don't you stop my heart

     nor make me skrelly

then turn me to jelly!

Lord of bread led to all

     we carry aboard 

then torch his hall

with one who kneads

     tied to his hip.

 

Sige calls to our foes.

Sige calls for my stræl.

Sige calls for my bow.

Sige calls for Hel.

Stand! Don't grab me

     by my sword hand

to shake! Too many

sounds to undertake:

"All is mind, heart, courage!"

The all is brains and hearts.

"All is kwelling, not turnips."

The all is rings and beag.

Sige calls us to stow.

Sige calls us to row.

Sige calls us to row.

Sige calls for Hel:

"Don't you do it, Hel!

Don't you stop my heart

     nor make me skrelly

then turn me to jelly!"

"Sige, the rocks, Sige!"

Sige, the whales, Sige.

"Sige, the rocks, Sige!"

Whales, Sige, whales.

Side to side floating, we

dark and white, cold,

cold.

     Slowly, rather, numb

us, please, more dumb

     than by our hands.

That swell, our barrow,

     and the next, the next,

till we sink to Hel beneath 

     that swell, or the next,

     the next.

Sige's Men

Far from Hel's passion or claim

     upon our pale fields, glittering

lilies spread under twilight. Pour

     down some shadows. Our wings

flex like boughs tempest blown:

     unlike apples thrown to earth.

Down, under our wings spread,

     yet lower still where our gifts

lie within the whale's bosom,

     deep beyond flame or sweat.