#alliterative verse

[whiterosebrian]

Eight Chants to Reach Yggdrasil

A while back, I wrote a series of poetic chants meant to enter a meditative state as magical practitioner.  I recently realized that I would be better served with chants focused on connecting to Yggdrasil, the cosmic tree in Nordic-Germanic mythos, as a means to mentally enter the wider numinous reality.  Thus, I worked on a new batch centered around world tree in mind.  Some have rhymes and others have alliterations, while a couple break from the pattern of quatrains.  I intended to focus on different thematic and symbolic aspects of Yggdrasil.

I walk towards the World Tree

As a pilgrim seeking power, wisdom,

And healing along the heights and the depths.

With sincere respect I receive the gifts.

Like the old volvas and wizards,

Along with shamans of different lands,

Along with Odin and his twin birds,

I bond with the tree as my mind expands.

I gaze upon the greatest tree

Holy wells water the roots.

Deities gather to fulfill their duties.

The branches reach and embrace all.

My ancestors worship at sacrosanct trees.

Gods and kindred join their reality.

A birthright resides within my flesh.

I am ready to approach the powers and be blessed.

Yggdrasil, the cosmic ash, is the key.

Four stags feed on the leaves

Near the top of the World Tree.

Dewdrops that gather on the antlers of Durathor,

Dwalin, Dain, and Duneyr fall

To the rivers flowing within our realm,

Where the kindred wait for human contact.

Yggdrasil grows among the stars,

Deep in the heart of the glittering cosmos.

My mind and heart will travel far

And also find Yggdrasil close.

For now, I leave everyday life,

Abandoning the comforts of common reality.

I find my way through the fertile dark.

Now I approach the magnificent ash.

Through windy nights, Odin hanged,

Thirsting and bleeding, from a massive tree.

Upon revival, he joyfully sang

Runic songs to share with everybody.

[rhunedhel]

This is a short snippet from my ongoing translation of Sir Gawain and the Green Knght.

[eri-pl]

I found a beautiful thing

OK so I found (in a reblog) a translation of Oath of Feanor to Old English, but original blog is either deleted or blocking me (I don't know but I can't reblog it, I get an error).

So please tell me if this link shows for you and if it does, enjoy!

[found thanks to @randalekobolt but can't reblog it from their blog either]

[raointean]

Sindar Week Day 2: Folklore

I learned about alliterative verse poetry last semester and fell in LOVE with it, and it turned out Tolkien did to, as a small chunk of his poetry is in that style. He mostly used it for the Rohirrim, but I decided "screw it, this is fanfiction. The Sindar can do it too." I also like thinking about what the Sindar thought of the first sunrise, since they didn't have the context of the Darkening of Valinor, Morgoth's rampage, and the making of the sun and moon.

This is the folk story I think they would have come up with, complete with a drawing!

Dŷlfôf ignited you outside Dear Doriath.

Made for Warmth While he Worshiped,

Singing to Sparks in the Sky,

You Waited, Withering, Wordless.

Never turning, Dŷlfôf Neglected you.

Fury Fanned your Flickering embers

And a Vow of Vengeance was Voiced.

“Splendid Stars above Sparkle indeed,

But they do not Blaze with the same Brio.

Great, shall I Grow. Gargantuan, to kill

Those Little Lights so Lofty.

Then, you will Venerate my Vivid Visage.”

With your Violent Vow now Voiced,

You Bound Beyond the Borders of kindling

Onto the Open plains Afore you.

You Burned the many-Bladed Brush,

Consumed every Corner of that Country

Until your Aurora Extinguished the Eyes Above.

Only then did Dŷlfôf Divert his gaze

From the Hallowed Heavens’ Heights

To your Wroth, Radiating, Resplendence.

Instead of the Adoration you Expected,

Fear Filled Dŷlfôf’s Face

And he Fled your Fierce Flames.

He Called to the Constellations, the Coward,

For Protection from his own Progeny’s Power.

Furious, you Flooded the Flat plains,

Set your Sights on the Stars,

And Howled your Hurts to the Heavens.

“My Maker has Mistreated Me!

For Your sake, he Used me Wretchedly!

Now, I Come to Kill you Constellations,

Drown you in your Dark Domain.”

But, the Breadth of air was too far to Bound

So you Set out, Searching for a Summit

Leaving Wounds of Woe in your Wake.

By the Sea, you reached Such a Spire

And Hurled yourself into the Hateful Heights.

Elbereth’s Eyes Extinguished.

The Sky Spread, Cerulean, before you.

Far you Flew to vanquish your Foes,

Whooping as you Whirled across the Wilds.

Below the Blue you Brought

Kingdoms Cowered in Confusion

And Grief for their Goddess’ lost Gaze.

For Awhile, your Anger was Appeased;

The Stars were Sequestered behind the Sky

And you Subjugated the Ceaseless Space

Until, in the Outlying East,

You Started to Sink.

Eventually, you Alighted on an Eminent peak:

Sapped, Spent, Subdued.

Weary, but not Willing to Withdraw,

You Gathered your Grit to Go

And Flung yourself up to Fly Forth again.

For Awhile, your Anger was Appeased;

The Stars were Sequestered behind the Sky

And you Subjugated the Ceaseless Space.

You Soared over the Summit you had Seen,

Whisked West across the Waves,

Glid across Glens in the Gods’ lands,

And, at last, to the Edge of Evening.

Startled at the Sudden Scarp

The Treacherous sea failed to Check your Charge

And you Fell to the Foundations Forgotten.

Again, Arda’s skies Alight with stars.

Again, Fire Forgone in their Favor.

Again, Fury, Flight, but this time Furtive.

Under Arda, you crept East

Your Scraped Soffit Stained the Sky

From Indigo to Amaranth with Ichor,

But you Rose again, Robust and Ready.

And, for Awhile, your Anger was Appeased;

The Stars were Sequestered behind the Sky

And you Subjugated the Ceaseless Space.

You Soared over the Summit you had Seen,

Whisked West across the Waves,

Glid across Glens in the Gods’ lands,

And, at last, to the Edge of Evening…

I kinda tried to base this drawing on petroglyphs, to get that ancient feel. Also, I think "the eyes of Elbereth" is one of the coolest things I've ever come up with!

@sindarweek

[willknightauthor]

MANTICORE

[loudlylovingreview]

Dawn Potter: Piers Plowman

Nay, in all that toil, backbent, flash of cigarette, eartips red in sunsplash sunsorrow, handsground to bone—Listen—In the groans of cattle, insects angelsing,skyskiff clouds break and gather, swallowsswift as thought strip the summerspunair, clank of baler, of rake, seesaw swish of mower knives,beehives ablaze in the heartstab hours—Now ask—Who mutters the low notes, croons the old…

[alabasterandpitch]

Alliterative Alchemy

Alas for the Art of Alchemy, but such is the Alchemy of the Artist; to transmute the dross of drugs and dreams, poison and pain, into moving melodies and sublime sounds, into precious poems and wondrous words, opera magna that move the minds and heal the hearts of the mournful many, spreading like so many sunlit summer sparks blazing(ly) brief, beautiful but for a scarce second they sear the soul

[writinginnorthnorfolk]

Just a Dint

Spring has dinted winter’s doom – to the delight of wind-blown clouds;little stirs in snow-stricken woods, save fragile webs. Rooks in flocks forge homeward, fresh-snapped twigs in beaks,coal-black and burnished, in branches chattering. Before March gales come galloping, graceful catkins dancebeneath a pale and partly faded, pink half-hearted sun. Kim M. Russell, 23rd February 2024 Image by…

[perfektunperfekte]

eine einzige emotion übeschwemmt und überquellt herzschläge halten hände während warme wogen weich meine mimik definieren du durch mich durch meinen magen bestreichst, bis blumen wachsen, wo wiesen zuvor alleine waren

[hhimring]

https://alliteration.net/community/speculative-fiction/

Forgotten Ground Regained: Speculative Fiction Authors and Fans

Webpage on alliterative verse in sci-fi and fantasy.

Scroll down for links to poems inspired by Tolkien

[whiterosebrian]

Gathering in a Sacred Grove

I am seriously looking into establishing a group of animistic spiritual seekers who will tend to the land of the Great Lakes and its inhabitants.  If that sounds weird to you, I have a very long story behind such thoughts, and I can link you to longer text posts where I begin discussing them.  I’ve been typing a manifesto for such a group, a druidic circle.  I decided that I should compose a poetic introduction.  The purpose of this bit of poetry is to hint at the fantasy and history of the old druids, one that I do discuss within my manifesto.  I attempted to imitate the earliest Irish poetry, which was (at least according to Wikipedia) apparently syllabic and alliterative.  I actually did much typing and deleting and retyping in the Word document, wanting this to make the best first impression as possible.  I started to worry that I handicapped myself with the self-imposed seven-syllable lines, but I somehow managed.

Men and women come wearing

White robes, leafy wreaths as crowns,

And glinting golden collars

While they step in the sacred

Grove of trees in dawn’s sunlight.

Each one lifts a staff and sings

Praise to the holy powers

In the soil and in the sky.

Dulcet voices draw the vole,

Robin, butterfly, rabbit,

Owl, fox, and deer out from where

They often hide from humans. 

On the mound in the middle,

A fair goddess manifests.

This is, in fact, a fancy,

One to which folks sometimes flee

To escape from dreary days.

What ancient truth can be teased,

Through much careful query, from

Those figures of fantasy?

What has inspired stories of

Wise mystics of trees and mounds?

Suppose that today’s people

Learn important lessons from

Druids who died long ago.

[rhunedhel]

More from my ongoing online translation of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. This is from the third part, where Sir Bertilak is hunting a wild boar. Meanwhile, in the castle, his lady stalks Sir Gawain ...

[eri-pl]

Another alliterative verse

While seeking Feanor's speech, I found this gem from Lays of Beleriand and I will again do a very ignorant analysis (sorry I cannot internalize the more subtle rules of how this should work, Jirt seems to ignore them and it makes this even harder)

(Early Silm, so Noldor=Gnomes, and there are 9 male Valar and so on and so forth)

Lo! slain is my sire | by the sword of fiends,

his death he has drunk | at the doors of his hall

that Gnome and Elf | and the Nine Valar

and deep fastness, | where darkly hidden

the Three were guarded, | the things unmatched

not Fëanor Finn’s son | who fashioned them of yore –

can never remake | or renew on earth,

recarve or rekindle | by craft or magic,

the light is lost | whence he lit them first,

\ * ??? proto-Taniquentil? (or whatever it's called)

the fate of Faërie | hath found its hour

Thus the witless wisdom | its reward hath earned

of the Gods’ jealousy, | who guard us here

to serve them, sing to them | in our sweet cages,

to contrive them gems | and jewelled trinkets,

their leisure to please | with our loveliness,

while they waste and squander | work of ages,

nor can Morgoth master | in their mansions sitting

at countless councils. | Now come ye all,

who have courage and hope! | My call harken

to flight, to freedom | in far places!

The woods of the world | whose wide mansions

yet in darkness dream | drowned in slumber,

the pathless plains | and perilous shores

no moon yet shines on | nor mounting dawn

in dew and daylight | hath drenched for ever,

far better were these | for bold footsteps

than gardens of the Gods | gloom-encircled

with idleness filled | and empty days.

Yea! though the light lit them | and the loveliness

beyond heart’s desire | that hath held us slaves

here long and long. | But that light is dead.

Our gems are gone, | our jewels ravished;

and the Three, my Three, | thrice-enchanted

globes of crystal | by gleam undying

illumined, lit | by living splendour

and all hues’ essence, | their eager flame –

Morgoth has them | in his monstrous hold,

my Silmarils. | I swear here oaths,

unbreakable bonds | to bind me ever,

by Timbrenting* | and the timeless halls

of Bredhil the Blessed** | that abides thereon –

may she hear and heed – | to hunt endlessly

unwearying unwavering | through world and sea,

through leaguered lands, | lonely mountains,

over fens and forest | and the fearful snows,

till I find those fair ones, | where the fate is hid

of the folk of Elfland | and their fortune locked,

where alone now lies | the light divine.’ 

** I guess that's proto-Varda?

[amoebasareverysmall]

The Alliterative Morte Arthur

[nochd]

Be he friend or foe or foul offspring of Morgoth Bauglir, be he mortal dark that in after days on earth shall dwell, shall no law nor love nor league of Gods, no might nor mercy, not moveless fate, defend him for ever from the fierce vengeance of the sons of Fëanor, whoso seize or steal or finding keep the fair enchanted globes of crystal whose glory dies not, the Silmarils. We have sworn for ever! ---J. R. R. Tolkien, untitled manuscript, in The Lays of Beleriand p. 135

Be he friend or foe, or seed defiled of Morgoth Bauglir, or mortal child that in after days on earth shall dwell, no law, nor love, nor league of hell, nor might of Gods, not moveless fate shall him defend from wrath and hate of Fëanor's sons, who takes or steals or finding keeps the Silmarils, the thrice-enchanted globes of light that shine until the final night. ---J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lay of Leithian, in The Lays of Beleriand pp. 211--212 Repeated on p. 217 by Celegorm: "Be he friend or foe, or demon wild of Morgoth, Elf, or mortal child or any that here on earth may dwell, no law, nor love, nor league of hell, no might of Gods, no binding spell, shall him defend from hatred fell of Fëanor's sons, whoso take or steal or finding keep a Silmaril. These we alone do claim by right, our thrice enchanted jewels bright."

(Tolkien much later decided not to call the Valar "gods" because he didn't want to imply that anyone worshipped them.)

Fëanorian Bredliks

…So, y’all know the bredlik poetic form? Well. I wrote some poems for my dear murder-elves. Here’s the Oath.

nor foe nor frend nor fowl nor clene, nor Morgoth’s brood, nor Valarin, nor elf, nor man thats unborn stil, can haf or tuch a Silmaril.

so hear our word, Eru on hi - doom us to dark if they dont di. Wind-king, Star-quene, they witnes to - wel get you, thefes. wel kinslay you.

[more on AO3]

[notruevampire]

Wondering Warrior

One wandering wayward warrior waits, wading, while wondering whether whales weep when water won't wash weathered whalers' weapons away