#warrior poet emphasis on warrior

[dragons-ire]

All The Colors Of Love

(For Holi Festival 2024)

In a time long ago, there dwelled a king whose power and grace were matched only by his cruelty. He ruled his lands with a jealous heart, ever wary of anyone or anything that could threaten his reign.

The story begins with him, but it is not about him.

Guided by the advice of his court soothsayer, the king believed that the child of his own sister would one day grow up to slay him and usurp his throne. When his sister fell in love with a neighboring chief, he had them both held under guard, ready to kill their child as soon as it was born.

However, by luck and by her own cunning, his sister managed to save her child’s life. He was delivered in a thunderstorm that caused a flood in the surrounding country, keeping the king from snatching the infant to kill.

The child’s father, holding the baby over his head, waded out into the storm. The waters seemed to part for him, as if the divinities themselves were watching over their plight. He waded until he came to the home of a simple animal herder, where he arranged for the child to be hidden until his destiny could be realized.

Though the child was the son of a princess and a great chief, he was raised in the humble life of a herdsman. He was called Madhav - ‘honey’ - for his sweet nature as a child and grew up playing with the children of the countryside, the sons and daughters of other herders and milkmaids.

The early years of his life were idyllic; spent wandering the countryside looking after his herd, playing the flute and getting into mischief. And as he grew older, his playfulness turned into flirtatiousness behind it. He was popular among the girls of the village, the milkmaids and herders' daughters, always chasing one or another of them. 

And not an idle pursuit, for he truly loved each of them, and they loved him in return. 

Until there came a day that would change his life forever.

Madhav was wandering in the forest, playing the flute, when he came across a procession of riders and carts bound for a nearby shrine. Immediately, he stood to watch it pass, half-hidden from the road.

And amidst the pilgrims and guards, he saw the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Madhav's heart skipped a beat as he caught sight of her. Her grace, her elegance, her sheer aura of nobility lingered with him, like a haunting melody that refused to fade.

Then, as if drawn by his attention, she turned her head to look straight at him.

It was as if time itself had paused, and all he could see was her ethereal beauty. And as she gazed back at him, sensing his presence in his hiding place, her eyes reflected the feelings that stirred within his own heart back at him.

In that moment, he fell deeply and powerfully in love with her, and could tell that she too, had fallen in love with him with but a glance. He vowed to learn more about her so he could truly win her heart entire.

He went to her to learn her name - Radhika. She was the daughter of a neighboring village chief, visiting the shrine to give devotion before returning to her marriage and her home. Madhav, though disheartened to learn she was promised to another, was resolute in his admiration.

Though he thought also of his status as a lowly herder in contrast to hers, the darkness of his skin marked by the sun next to her - fair as moonlight. As time passed, he began to doubt that he may be able to win her affection, or that he was even worthy of it to begin with.

He went to his mother with his doubts. And, like mothers often can, she knew what to say to her son to try to assuage him. Though she had raised him as her own child, she revealed to him then his true origins - how he had been hidden from his cruel uncle in their village to spare his life. 

This was no comfort to Madhav’s heart, for as he looked ahead, it was as though he could see a greater destiny unfolding before him. Greater than the simple stirrings of the heart - something ordained by the providence of the divinities. There would come a day he would need to confront his uncle and slay him. It would take him from everything he had known, and part him from his beloved Radhika.

As for his second moment of hesitation, his mother only smiled. She suggested: ‘if it is the difference in your colors that troubles you, why not paint your beloved in any color you care to.’

Meanwhile, Radhika also vowed to learn more of this man with whom she felt nothing but great affection. Though, as she moved about the village, all she heard of Madhav was of his sweet and mirthful nature. And more, of his affections for every milkmaid and herding woman that they seemed to share with him.

Her heart was then struck by jealousy and anger. Her mind filled with doubts of her own. To her mind, it seemed only that her feelings were not reciprocated with the same devotion. That she was to be somehow diminished, perhaps unworthy in her own way.

She vowed to confront Madhav about it one night when they were due to meet. And when the night arrived, she dressed herself in fine robes of white. With her pale face floating above like the light of the moon, she shone like a divine being herself.

She met him in the forest where they had first laid eyes on each other and confronted him about his behavior. And he laughed to hear it, though not out of malice or any unkindness, but simple amusement.

And he explained to her that though he loved and was beloved of many, she held the highest place in his own affections, and that there was no other who could compete with it.

On hearing the words from his lips, Radhika’s heart was lightened again, though only somewhat. They both knew that circumstances would not permit them to marry and truly be together, despite their great and enduring love for the other. She would need to return to her life one day, and he to the great destiny laid out before him before his birth.

But that night, they were together, and the challenges to their love they would need to overcome were as far away as the stars overhead. And they danced together, there in the forest, and put it out of their minds.

And Madhav, remembering his mother’s advice, took colored gulal to smear across the face of his beloved, painting her features and her white clothing in all the colors he liked, as a symbol of their love for each other. And she reached for him in return, to mark his face and clothes by her own hands.

And they vowed that, whatever was to come, they would remain devoted to each other. And the obstacles of the future would be those that they would face together, with exuberance.

As life is meant to be lived.

[haljathefangirlcat]

Sorry for the spam. I have a lot of Volsung-Nibelung-Dietrich Cycle thoughts. But what do you think Volker's early life was like? His job is minstrel, which means two things in a medieval context: a knight with no real estate who was someone else's retainer, and traveling musician, and very often these two meanings would overlap, because knights with no independent income would take up music to make ends meet. However, the official establishment of minstrels/ministerialis as a social institution was around the Carolinian empire, which is later than original historical inspiration for the death of the Nibelung Dynasty or Attila. And I think the German is Volker Spielman, so he's technically just a musician? Volker is also called THE Minstrel, so was he the official court poet for the Burgundians? Scops of England and Skalds of Scandinvia had a fairly prominent position at court, where they not only entertained and recounted the deeds of their leaders, but also recited oral history and use satirical songs to spur people into action on the eve of battles or quests, so do you think Volker was filling this role for the Burgundians?

Aww, don't worry about it! Sure, it was a bit... unexpected, I guess, but that's mostly because I'm not used that many asks, in a row or not, on any topic. XD Also, I totally get the excitement of meeting someone else on here willing to talk about all of this. ;)

As for Volker... you know, I've often wondered about it, too. In the Nibelungenlied, at least, he seems to be placed pretty firmly in Gunther's court, but then again, we don't actually see that much of him before the Burgundians travel to Attila's court and the story starts (imo) zeroing in on Hagen's relationships and connections.

I'm pretty sure "Spielman" is the right term, but on the other hand, I'm not sure if that would indicate a very specific/well-defined role or be more of a "he's the Music Guy in our group, we identify him by his music before any other achievement or title."

Later representations/adaptations of him may not be very relevant to the question, but now that I'm thinking about it, he seems to be THE court poet in Worms in both Lang's and Reinl's Die Nibelungen movies. (Although, frankly, I've always thought he doesn't get enough space or importance in the former.) Stephan Grundy, too, gives him that kind of role in Rhinegold and Attila's Treasure, even if, due to setting his story in Late Antiquity, complete with Germanic migrations, foederati, and wary Romans, he puts more emphasis on him being not just a musician but a keeper of the Burgundians' mythological, historical, and genealogical lore. He also has him act as a messenger and an ambassador of sort between tribes.

I'm also thinking back to this one academic paper... "Volker von Alzey - the figure of the minstrel and standard~bearer in medieval Nibeîungen tradition and in German literature from 1819 to 1968" by David Noble. Bear with me because I read it ages ago, but iirc, at one point the author considered, among other theories on Volker's origins as a literary figure, the hypothesis that the Volker von Alzey we get specifically in the Nibelungenlied might have inspired by an historical nobleman from the Rhine area who was an Imperial administrator (or seneschal?) and standard-bearer who might have just happened to have a talent for music.

In my headcanons, I kind of always go for an aristocrat warrior/court poet angle, as it seems the neatest solution to me, but no matter what prominence and sway on other nobles and royals through his talents, eloquence, and wit I think up for him, I also generally picture him as... like, lower nobility, in a sense? Or at least, lower than, say, Hagen, who gets the "his ancestors totally descended from the Trojans" treatment in the Waltharius. Both because I enjoy the idea of Volker being just a bit of a self-made man, and because I really, really like the idea of the Volker/Hagen friendship (... or "friendship" ;)) and, more than that, their respect for each other and ability to discuss things as equals (like the "we should stand from the bench for Kriemhild" thing or, later, the "please don't go fight a bunch of Huns on your own" thing during the night watch... both arguments Hagen wins in the end, but he does that by convincing Volker and appealing to the affection they feel for each other, not by ordering Volker around) going easily beyond that kind of stuff.

... also, I thiiiiiink there's a little bit in Adventure 33, or anyway during the fight between the Burgundians and the Huns, where Hagen mentions to Gunther that he has a higher position than Volker when they all sit at a table together, and that he thinks Volker should get to wear finer clothes than he currently does? But I might be misremembering (or misinterpreting!) either the phrasing or the intention of that. So take that with a grain of salt, lol.

[babyrdie]

[I saw your post about Troilus and wanted to add something]

Troilus' Parentage:

Canon Sources: Troilus is consistently described as the son of Priam and Hecuba, the royal family of Troy, across nearly all classical Greek and Roman literature. His supposed fatherhood by Apollo appears only in an obscure scholia, which comments on an even more obscure text, the Alexandra by Lycophron.

The Scholia Confusion: This scholia, attributed to Apollodorus (who is often a secondary source to actual ancient authors), has caused some to assert Apollo as Troilus' father. However, this claim stands against centuries of texts and traditions that firmly place Troilus within the Trojan royal lineage, not Apollo’s.

Misinterpretations of Lycophron’s Alexandra

Obscurity and Attribution: Lycophron’s Alexandra is a notoriously challenging text filled with cryptic prophecies. Furthermore, its authorship and historical accuracy are in question. It is Roman-friendly and may have been revised or even authored by a later Roman writer. As a result, the Alexandra holds limited authority in establishing any canonical story.The “Lust” Misunderstanding: The text reportedly mentions Achilles’ “lust” (eros) for Troilus. However, in classical Greek, eros often means desire in a general sense, such as the desire to fight or fulfill a mission without sexual connotation. Many examples, including Homer’s Odyssey, use eros in this way, particularly in war contexts. Here, Achilles' “lust” would simply mean his desire to kill Troilus due to the prophecy, not any inappropriate or additional implication.

The Influence of Roman Revisionism on Lycophron's Alexandra and its Portrayal of Greek Heroism

Lycophron's Alexandra is a fascinating and enigmatic work that has perplexed scholars with its dense references and allusions to Greek mythology and obscure legends. Written under the patronage of Ptolemy II in Alexandria, a center of Greek culture in the Hellenistic world, the poem reflects the cultural and political priorities of its era. Given Lycophron’s context as an Alexandrian poet, his motivations likely aligned with Ptolemaic interests, glorifying Greek culture, with an emphasis on Athens. Yet, Alexandra, as it has come down to us, seems to bear marks of later Roman influence, specifically in ways that undermine prominent Greek heroes like Achilles, which reflects Rome’s mythic alignment with Troy and their tendency to revise narratives for ideological purposes. Alexandra, while originally a Greek text, may have been subtly but significantly altered by Roman scholars to serve Rome's ideological interests, showing how it evolved from a Greek celebratory poem into a complex work with ambiguous loyalties and mythic interpretations

The Patronage of Ptolemy II and Lycophron’s Intended Audience

Lycophron was active in Alexandria during the reign of Ptolemy II Philadelphus, a ruler whose patronage shaped Alexandria as a hub of Greek intellectualism. Under Ptolemy II, Alexandria became the cultural capital of the Hellenistic world, with an emphasis on promoting Greek arts, philosophy, and literature. Ptolemy’s rule, steeped in a desire to legitimize his authority through connections to Greek heritage, would have likely encouraged Lycophron to glorify Athens as a central pillar of Greek culture. Through this lens, Lycophron’s choice of material and mythic themes would have naturally aligned with honoring Greek cities and heroes, as his patrons would have wanted to see their heritage glorified

If Lycophron had a mandate to celebrate Greek accomplishments, then Achilles, the legendary Greek warrior of Homeric fame, would likely have been depicted with admiration. Achilles, as a symbol of Greek valor and heroism, represented an essential cultural touchstone for Greeks. Therefore, any criticism of Achilles or subversion of his heroism would be incongruent with Lycophron’s expected motives. Given the likelihood that Lycophron’s original work was sympathetic to Greek heroes and cities, subsequent changes in tone or portrayal may point toward later editorial interventions

Roman Influence and the Trojan Ancestry Myth

Rome’s foundation myth, tracing back to Aeneas and the Trojans, set up an ideological divide with Greek heroes like Achilles, who had fought against the Trojans during the Trojan War. As Rome established itself as the heir to the Trojan lineage, its scholars and writers frequently reinterpreted Greek myths to either elevate Trojan figures or diminish Greek heroes. This rewriting aligned with the Romans' self-perception as descendants of Troy, an idea central to their cultural and political identity. Given this mythological rivalry, Roman scholars would have had strong motivation to reshape narratives that celebrated Greek heroes, especially those who had opposed Troy.

If Alexandra underwent Roman revisions, one might expect precisely this type of adjustment: Achilles, the epitome of Greek heroism, would appear less valorous or noble, casting Greek heroism in a more ambivalent light. By emphasizing Achilles' flaws or downplaying his heroics, Roman editors could subtly reorient the narrative to make Trojan descent appear morally superior. These changes would be consistent with a broader Roman trend of appropriating and reshaping Greek culture to fit Roman ideals, as evidenced in works by writers like Virgil, who constructed Aeneas as a pious counterpart to the sometimes morally ambiguous Greek heroes.

Alexandra as an “Obscure” poem and its Fragmented Mythic Content

The designation of Alexandra as an “obscure” poem is particularly telling. As Julius Caesar reportedly remarked, the poem's purpose was to demonstrate the author's vast knowledge of obscure myths. Alexandra is filled with obscure references, some of which likely derive from local or alternative versions of myths that did not enter the broader mythological canon. The poem’s complexity and allusive style, as well as its reliance on lesser-known mythic fragments, suggest that it was not solely a literary work but also a display of learnedness, a compendium of myths and tales familiar only to specialized audiences.The reliance on rare mythological variants also means that Alexandra would have included narratives that might have been deemed controversial or non-standard by later audiences, especially Romans. Roman editors or scribes could, therefore, selectively edit or emphasize certain parts to align the poem more with their mythological worldview. Moreover, by retaining the label of “obscurity,” the Roman rewriters could excuse any deviations from the more widely accepted myths, suggesting that the variations were merely part of Lycophron’s intent to showcase uncommon myths, even if they had altered those myths to serve Roman ideological aims.

Roman Revisionism and the Fate of Greek Cultural Texts

The cultural interplay between Greece and Rome was complex, as Rome sought both to adopt and to adapt Greek culture. While Romans revered Greek literature, philosophy, and art, they often reshaped these cultural products to reflect Roman values. Alexandra seems to have been no exception. As a work that celebrated Greek myths and histories, it would naturally have attracted the interest of Roman scholars who wanted to both preserve and influence the Greek literary canon. The Roman revision of texts like Alexandra would align with their broader cultural policy of assimilating Greek heritage while subtly bending it to fit Roman ideology.By reinterpreting Alexandra and possibly diminishing figures like Achilles, Roman scholars could use the poem to communicate a version of history in which Rome’s Trojan ancestry was justified and valorized The story of Achilles, who embodies Greek martial excellence but also unchecked rage and defiance of the gods, could be presented in a way that highlighted his flaws rather than his virtues, casting the Trojan forebears of Rome in a more positive light by contrast.The Alexandra that survives today may not be entirely the work of Lycophron. Though he wrote it under the patronage of Ptolemy II with intentions likely aligned to glorify Greek heritage, later Roman revisions may have reshaped its portrayal of key figures, especially Achilles, to fit Roman ideological narratives. In transforming the poem from a piece rooted in Greek heroism to a complex, “obscure” text that fits Roman ideals, Roman scholars may have inadvertently obscured Lycophron’s original message. By emphasizing Trojan virtues and minimizing Greek heroics, Roman editors played a subtle yet profound role in redefining Alexandra, transforming it from a Greek celebration into a document reflective of Rome’s self-image. Thus, Alexandra serves as a case study in how political and cultural influences can reshape literature, illustrating the enduring power of myth in the hands of those who write and rewrite it.

The “Father’s Altar” Ambiguity

Apollo as Patron, Not Father: Some suggest that because Troilus dies “on his father’s altar” in Alexandra, Apollo might be his father. But given Apollo’s role as Troy’s patron god, this phrase more likely implies that Troilus dies on an altar dedicated to Apollo (who symbolizes the city’s protection) or Priam’s altar (as Priam personifies Troy’s kingship).Oracle Language: Greek oracles are famously indirect. “Father’s altar” could mean Troy’s altar as much as it could mean Priam’s or Apollo’s. This nuance further weakens any attempt to establish Apollo as Troilus’ literal father.

Well, since I don't study areas related to classics, history, archaeology, etc (my field is another), I won't add much comments here. I'll just post the ask for those interested. I especially don't have much contact with Rome, so yes. If anyone wants to add something that agrees with anon or disagrees with anon, feel free to do so though.

From what anon has said, the only things I know are about Priam generally being Troilus' father and not Apollo (though on Tumblr people often use the Apollo version. Which is precisely why I'm not a fan of the popular interpretation that the offense to Apollo was Achilles killing his son… Troilus is usually not his son, so in my opinion the offense was probably committing sacrilege in the temple, similar to other characters' action, like Pelias in one version, Neoptolemus in many versions, etc. Troilus doesn't need to be Apollo's son, Apollo was offended by Achilles anyway) and about Alexandra, as we know it, being both an obscure text and a subversive text (which I discovered while researching the myth of Achilles' Skyros episode… when I got to Alexandra, scholars seemed to agree that it's a subversion, but they seemed to disagree on how the subversion was done).

[mlemedt]

Orphia & Eurydicius- Elyse John

💛💛💛💛🤍 (4/5)

——————————Summary & Introduction———————————

I’ve had this particular review on my to-do list for a few days now, but I’ve finally decided it simply won’t write itself, and the best way to come up with words is to just begin with one.

Orphia & Eurydicius loosely follows the original tale but with one major change. Orpheus has become Orphia, muscled heroine and warrior poet, and Eurydice, Eurydicius, the gentle shield maker. I did appreciate how this character now felt much more complete. Despite having studied this very myth in school I could not tell you much about Virgil’s original character. Eurydice was not a great focus of the myth, perhaps as it was passed down her part got lost.

💧

—————————Commentary & Criticisms————————————

Much emphasis was placed on this gender bend, as Orphia maintained the more masculine attributes of Greek Heroes and Eurydicius, remained rather meek. Much of the novel explored their sexuality and, I believe, tries to destigmatise women taking a more dominant role in relationships. Whilst it appears ridiculous to say, I think John took this too far, to the point Orphia had little other personality. Eurydicius, whilst indeed not the protagonist did not feel entirely complete as well. A huge theme in this novel was female empowerment, but again, I just don’t think it was executed well. Whilst it is indeed an important conversation, it felt every other paragraph Orphia had something to say about her sex. Whilst this is fine, much of her questioning didn’t make all that much sense. There’s a particular scene with Orphia in the hall of the Gods and it is pointed out that many Goddesses are absent. We find out it is because Zeus sent them on separate missions because he was afraid of them uniting against him. Whilst John is trying to convey women are stronger together than divided, it simply didn’t read well, as Zeus is also portrayed to look down upon women (This is indeed quite accurate.) It simply doesn’t make sense that he would be afraid of the Goddesses if he thought himself better and more powerful. It’s entirely possible, I’ve misinterpreted something, but much of the reasoning behind women’s backseat role in society in this novel, is because men are afraid of their power? I just think the attention was in the wrong place. Little was discussed about the actual reasons of women’s minor role in the Ancient World which I think would’ve provided a much more stimulating argument.

(It very much projected issues and arguments of today into a world of the past, where this sort of commentary just didn't fit well.)

This, I think was another incidence of telling and not showing, and it was just tiring.

💧

Furthermore, another issue I had was the characterisation of Orphia. I discussed briefly in ‘Psyche & Eros’ how Psyche had fallen into the trope of ‘Strong Female Characters,’ but if Psyche fell then Orphia was drowning in it. Whilst I certainly have no qualms with Orphia being muscled, independent and just more dominant, there was actually little else to her. Despite being written in her perspective, I learnt little about her in 380 pages, other than her desire for equality.

I had a similar problem with Eurydicius also. Whilst it makes sense he’s not quite as fleshed out as the protagonist there was just little to him overall. Additionally, there was little sustenance to their love story, which, in a book titled by its two lovers, I would’ve thought important.

💧

My final note is Johns writing style. Whilst absolutely beautiful, I felt I was sometimes getting lost in the words. Perhaps this is just me, but I remember a particular scene where John describes ‘an orb above the ocean’ and it took me a minute to realise she was talking about the moon. I wouldn’t usually comment on something like this as it’s quite subjective but I felt it happened a lot in this novel. It was almost excessively poetic to the point it was tiring. However, her lyrical and descriptive style really lent itself in the latter half of the novel.

💧

———————————————Praise————————————————

Whilst I certainly had a slow start to this book, and struggled from chapter to chapter initially, Johns writing style truly comes into bloom in the latter half of the book. Once the story gets going it is certainly enjoyable and I had in my mind that it certainly could no longer only be 2/5. And this is my dilemma. I didn’t think that I could rate a book so tactless about feminism 4/5 but a book that made me cry and brought me such a surge of emotion couldn’t possibly be anything less. (Perhaps tact is not the right word here, feminism doesn’t need tact, but rather its implementation was just abrupt and awkward to read.) Whilst I did not think highly of Johns writing at first, she truly proves her skill when it comes to writing grief. I will be completely honest, that I could not stop crying for the last 100 pages. Thinking about turning each page made my stomach churn. Thinking about writing this review makes my stomach churn. A writer as powerful as that ought to be deserved 4/5 stars. Her lyrical style is certainly pleasant but is entirely overwhelming in those last few chapters. The aches and pains described I could feel in myself, and I felt that John truly knew what it was to lose someone. As a result of this, I’ve listed some of my favourite quotes throughout this review.

“A story is a legacy, more than gold or marble can ever be. A story gives and gives. It creates new tales and poems and songs, and its children heave with birthing pains of art.”

💧

—————————————Conclusions———————————————

To conclude, I had quite the tumultuous relationship with this novel, but Johns skill and lyrical mastery of words truly created a most powerful novel, that brought me to tears, and does not deserve anything less than a 4/5. But I do believe perhaps characters could’ve been crafted more intentionally as they lacked a little intrigue, but the ability to evoke such emotion cannot be understated. I encourage you to also read this and would be curious to know if you also felt such a range of emotions toward this novel.

”For in hearing a story we bind it to ourselves. We understand it in a way that is real to us, like a sunrise inking the sky with pale pink outside our window, presented for only us to see.”

💧

“The story of Orphia & Eurydicius flows from ear to ear and as mortals absorb it, they learn not only what it is to die, but also what it is to be fully alive.”

💧

“Desperate people who hear the tale begin to nourish hope that they will find love: a bond so fairly balanced that the pain of life will be worth it, and their joy will weigh evenly against the agony of their grief."

💧

“If I must die, I would live first.

💧

♥♥♥

-Gaia

⚠️ Content Warnings ⚠️

-Minor sexual themes

-Discussions of rape

[theblogs2024]

Jazz Rap - The Remarkable Hip Hop Rap Sub-Genre

The blend of the 'yesterday-fashion' While using the 'today-trends' known as Jazz. Jazz-rap is that's why, a fusion with the early hip hop African-American tunes plus the present-day prominent musical formats.

The term 'Jazz', which was previously also composed as "Jass", was first reportedly employed for songs in Chicago, in 1915. This musical fashion originated within the early twentieth century like a confluence of African-American tradition and the European musical traditions. The shape has often evolved and incorporated the 'existing'. Jazz rap is exclusively a hip-hop sub-genre that has advanced in the late eighties and early 1990s. The new music is affected by hip-hop rap beats when the lyrics are sung out within a rap-model. The distinguishing element Here's the kind of content material in this sub-style and also the musical devices applied.

The lyrics are sometimes Afro-centric; laying emphasis on the importance of African people today. They themes also comply with political consciousness, historical consciousness, intellectual feelings, conscious rap and the final positivity. One can understand, that's why, why this style isn't really a well known selection or a favourite amid lots of. It talks of actuality and the truth that has an effect on all of us. Folks opt to flip a blind eye on the "unwell" of our society because it is a less complicated route to choose. Jazz-rap However, can make the Daring make an effort to lurch ahead and uplift the set-up during which we Dwell. One of the most renowned South-African groups which laid the foundation for this kind of rapping and influenced hip hop audio considerably was the "Past poets".

They emerged from the Black Nationalist thread from the civil rights moments within the late 1960s and went on to produce audio which comprehended social dedication. Amid other artists and groups who played a poignant function within the emergence in the genre is Louis Amstrong with his 1925 rap music - "Heebie Jeebies", Gill Scott-Heron, and the Watts Prophets. They initiated using jazzy tracks. Next the ground breaking traits, arrived the band "Cargo" with the single "Jazz Rap" in the album Using the exact same title; and thus went down as the main recorded jazz-rap-one. The genre experienced arrived.

Discussing the devices, the musical design is distinguished by the use of the trumpet, trombone, clarinet, piano, electric powered-guitar, electrical-bass, drums and turntables. They're a couple of common devices fundamentally used for The everyday jazz-instrumentation.

The jazzy auditory themes are the real taste on the songs. The lyrics and the rhythm make this way stand a part. For just a audio lover, with the mental aptitude as well as a starvation once and for all new music this is where we prevent.

Check more info. here: Zen Warrior

[amitapaul]

1519 -105

29/23

#23GloPoWriMo

Year 2023 Month April Day 23

Prompt Dated 23/4/23

Response No : 1

Poem No : 29

%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^

Featured Poem :

Our featured participant for the day is Moment of November, which inverts Emily Dickinson’s “My Nosegays are for Captives” into a lovely verse that takes roses as its starting point.

My Roses are for Seekers

Napowrimo Day 22: Pick an Emily Dickinson poem and make it your own.

I chose “My Nosegays Are For Captives”

The original:

“My Nosegays Are For Captives”

My nosegays are for captives;

Dim, long-expectant eyes,

Fingers denied the plucking,

Patient till paradise,

To such, if they should whisper

Of morning and the moor,

They bear no other errand,

And I, no other prayer.

My poem:

My Roses are for Seekers

My roses are

For seekers, world-weary;

Eyes bloodshot and blurred,

Souls impatient and ready.

To such, if they

Would only shout out loud

Of expectant constellations

And refuse to cease the sound,

They would have no farther

To go.

I’d give of mine, with plenty

Left to show.

Poetry Resource :

Our daily resource is African Poems, a website devoted to presenting poetry from Africa, with an emphasis on making oral poetry available to a wide audience through recordings.

The city of Ògbómọ̀ṣọ́ is located within Oyo State, south-western Nigeria. It is close to a forest region that was an area of indigenous iron mining and smelting. The towns in this region are home to the largest concentration of Ògún festivals in Yorubaland, Ògún being the Yorùbá god of iron, blacksmithing, tool making, hunting and warfare. More poetry about Ògún can be found here.

The village was founded in the 17th century by hunters who formed a mutual assistance community, Egbe Alongo (Alongo Society), that also served as a military pact to defend against slave raiders. The village grew as refugees fleeing slavers, and later the Fulani Jihad in the 19th century, were offered shelter in Ògbómọ̀ṣọ́. The town established a reputation as a birthplace of warriors that continued through the 20th century when soldiers from the region became famous during the Nigerian–Biafran War.

One of the indigenous genres of music that originates in Ògbómọ̀ṣọ́ is Ìjálá Ọdẹ, a style of oral poetry mythically and ritually associated with the worship of Ògún. Ìjálá poetry was historically composed by hunters to describe the characteristics of the animals they hunt and to eulogise hunters and warriors at their funerals.

The poet Ògundáre Fóyánmu was born in Ògbómọ̀ṣọ́ in 1932 and died on the 13th October, 2012 at the age of 80. Introduced to oral poetry through his father, an Egúngún chanter, Fóyánmu became instrumental in the evolution of Ìjálá Ọdẹ in Ògbómọ̀ṣọ́.

This rendition by Ògundáre Fóyánmu was recorded on Saturday the 25th August 1978 and performed before the traditional ruler of Ògbómọ̀ṣọ́, Ọba Jimoh Oladunni Oyewumi, who is here referred to as Akano Oladunni.

Here, the poet lists the lineage of kings who ruled Ògbómọ̀ṣọ́ since its founding by the hunter Olabanjo Ogunlola Ogundiran and his wife Esuu in 1659. We hear Fóyánmu praising the successful battles of the early leaders, before moving on to celebrate the traders, musicians, farmers, soldiers and other indigenes of contemporary Ògbómọ̀ṣọ́.

The performance ends with Fóyánmu encouraging the citizens of Ògbómọ̀ṣọ́ to join the cooperative society, reflecting the mutual assistance pact made by the founders of the city in the 17th century.

My thanks to Adéjọkẹ́ Yéwándé Olúwájọbí for the translation that follows.

Ogbomosho

Akano Oladunni, (1)

always remember your progenitors in all your endeavours.

The king of Ogbomosho!

Because paying homage is important.

As the spirits of predecessors will on this note support the successors.

Ogunlola bears the name of the first king. (2)

Truly!

Soun Keeetan, the spirit of Laberinjo,

the greatly feathered peacock,

the highly-armoured warrior.

All these greetings belong to the First Soun!

The one who brings elephant to town.

The one who fights with all bravery.

The one who strikes in the battle like thunder.

The powerful one who is always daring.

The one who has armoury all over him.

The one for whom drums made from brass were massively beaten.

May you get home safely!

He will always support you as a father supports his child.

And Jogi Oro Apati who does not fear war at anytime. (3)

He challenges both the oracle and the idols.

Welcome!

He who does as he wishes.

All hail the king!

He will also support you.

And Ikumoyede Ajao, (4)

the one who possesses royal semen,

the endowed king of Bambi.

Welcome!

The king who had five wives,

each of them had one child for him,

and every of the child became king.

Oh Foyanmu, you are versed in history!

Ikumoyede was the husband of Agbo-in,

the daughter of Alaafin of the Old Oyo empire.

And she bore Toyeje, the fiery general. (5)

Ikumoyede was the husband of Balusoke Adubo.

Adubo was a native of Ajase-ipo town.

She was the mother of Oluwusi Aremu, (6)

the one who was slim and possessed long plaited beads.

Welcome!

Ikumoyede was the husband of Aina.

Truly!

She was the mother of Lawyer Gbadewuwon,

the envy of all royal men.

Ikumoyede was the husband of Asande,

a native of Irawo town.

Welcome!

Asande ogun was the mother of Idowu Ibolanta (7)

Welcome!

Ikumoyede was the husband of Ogunrun.

Ogunrun was a native of Agun town.

Bravo!

She was the mother of Akintunde,

the one who enjoyed eating snakes.

Ibikunle of Ibadan did not let us mourn.

As he always emerged with valour.

He was indeed a pride of the ancestors.

Oh Foyanmu, may the spirit of the king support you!

May he support you as a father supports the child.

Amen!

ETC

Prompt :

Finally, here’s our optional prompt for the day! Start off by reading Arvind Krishna Mehrotra’s “Lockdown Garden.”

*******

Lockdown Garden

BY ARVIND KRISHNA MEHROTRA

1

Close to each other,

socially undistanced,

the mulberry leaves,

uniformly green,

shall turn brown together.

It’s like a herd dying.

2

Firm to begin with,

the mud clod

could’ve injured you.

It crumbles in your hand.

3

In the heap of dead

leaves crinkly as

brown skins, those

breathing things

foraging around

the bamboo stand

are jungle babblers.

4

It was planted

all wrong, too

close to a wall,

under the mango

trees. There was

nowhere for it

to go except up

like a mast and

that’s where

it went, taking

its leaves with it—

long, tapering.

I never saw them

fall. It never

flowered, which

would’ve helped

me look it up in a

book of flowering

Indian trees. Now

I’ll never know

its name nor of

the bird singing

at evening

in the shrubbery.

5

She stood outside

the gate, a woman

my age, head covered

with flowery print,

a sickle in her hand.

Could she come

inside and cut

grass for her goats?

It was ankle high.

Her face was inches

from mine and I felt

her breath on my skin.

It’s after I’d turned

the corner that I heard

what she’d said.

6

The shingles unwalked on,

the doors bolted,

the squirrels back in their nests.

Under the moon a bird floats

and settles on a branch.

The sky is pale.

The leaves of the ironwood

when new every spring

are a deep pink.

The evening goes out like a flame.

We’ve seen different things.

It’s always been so.

Tell me, love, what you saw today.

*****

Source : Poetry 2020

*****

Now, try to write a poem of your own that has multiple numbered sections.

Attempt to have each section be in dialogue with the others, like a song where a different person sings each verse, giving a different point of view.

Set the poem in a specific place that you used to spend a lot of time in, but don’t spend time in anymore.

%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^

Poem Title : THE CHAIR

%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^

1

The chair, the desk,

the large rooms,

the cubicled sections

the long corridors

the colonnaded porticos

and the lawns

with formal borders

a crooked fir tree

graceful frangipani

bougainvillea and quisqualis

and the bridal creeper

trailing over

the boundary walls

I never really knew

how much the gardens

meant to me

and the vases of flowers

on the tables.

2.

Teatime was always the best of times

and of course it was always teatime

Well, after eleven o’clock, definitely

Bearers in white with red cummerbunds

and ornate turbans of red and white

with gold piping seen here and there

between the folds, and a stiff hoopoe’s crest

of starched white mulmul topping the confection

could be seen soundlessly floating up and down

the gleaming corridors of power with polished door of teak and mahogany opening on both sides

amidst the potted palms and aspidistras

bearing silver trays with silver teapots

( later steel ) and milkpots and sugarpots

spoons and strainers and starched damask napkins

with Brittania Marie Wafer Biscuits and trail mixes

of spicy salted vermicelli and roasted gram and pulses

at the very least ; at best piping hot samosas

plump with mashed spiced peas and potatoes

served with a dash of Kissan’s tomato sauce

which is in fact mostly made of pumpkin

and ice- cold rosogullas in their own syrup

or sugar- bombs of soft sticky hot gulabjamuns

served with fresh hot Darjeeling tea

O the tinkling of those spoons in those teacups

and the tiny clouds of steam rising like mini dragons

from each fine porcelain or bone-china tea-cup when tea was poured from the hot teapot pot

into each translucent cup, table brewed -

a soupçon of milk, and one sugar, please .

3.

The gossip was always hotter and spicier

than the snacks and the tea, especially

in the rooms of the departments of personnel

finance and cabinet coordination, especially

on Tuesday afternoons, when the Cabinet

usually met, and transfers and postings were decided :

you could see hacks from over a dozen newspapers

eager for slivers of news that even a passing peon

could drop, before the big feast of the post- cabinet

Press Conference, with pakoras and pineapple pastries

and ready- mixed tea from aluminium tea kettles

for official spokespersons, assistants, clerks,

and media persons. Four thirty to five , in the Secretariat Conference Hall

under the pink Clock Tower in the Old Secretariat.

4.

To sit for hours

in colour- blocked

salwar - kameez-

dupatta- jacket

poring over petitions

and yellowed pages

of the law books

and “ reporters “

of High Court

and Supreme Court

Judgements with

titles and years

etched on their

covers and spines

in gold on red black

or brown leather

sparring with lawyers

in their black coats

and gowns and stiff

starched white collars

bow ties and recording

evidence and citing

precedents and dictating

judgements in tones

sonorous to drowsy

stenographers…..

5.

Upstairs in the record room with the port- hole windows

records from a hundred fifty years ago were slowly

falling apart among the district gazetteers, and the clerks

and record- keepers wheezed and coughed

with asthma and tuberculosis, driving up the costs

of medical reimbursement.

6.

One day the marigold garlands and rose bouquets

came out in cartloads and speeches were delivered

framed and presented to a jolly good “ fellow”

and a farewell ride given on a car pulled by colleagues.

That night, a buffet dinner at a posh hotel.

Then silence, more or less.

7.

Cholai, the principal under- gardner,

brought home a bunch of handpicked flowers

on my birthday .

We had some tea and biscuits

and a pleasant chat in the verandah.

Birds sang to us - I , relaxed on my rattan recliner,

He , very proper, on a polished shisham chair.

%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^

Poet : Amita Sarjit Ahluwalia

Poem 29/23 rd Day

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[molagboop]

Missed this post the first time around because i was face-down in the proverbial gutter but here are some Things (starting with my brain rot):

Mawkin warrior culture puts an emphasis on the written word as a potent weapon in one's social arsenal. There's no shortage of literature heads in the ranks, and Raven Beak himself was an ardent warrior poet in his youth. He still writes, but he's not slipping nearly as many impassioned couplets into the pockets and satchels of prospective nest-guests as he was some-odd 600+ years ago.

On that note: he's a bisexual king. If you asked him about it, he'd look at you funny because Chozo don't really think about gender and sexuality the same way real life humans do, but he'd probably end up quoting Wise Wing the Elder on how relations come in many forms, and there are those who love some and those who love many, and each one's interpretation of the greater concept of "love" is manifold, and however you spend your waking breath is worth something if only for the fact it led you somewhere. In fact, you probably shouldn't ask him about it unless you're willing to sit down for an hours long philosophical discussion. He's a shrewd academic with a vast library of knowledge, this topic can get pretty abstract, and he's very willing to engage the younger generations in sharing ideas. Sometimes he seems like he doesn't know how to be brief when philosophy comes up.

Raven Beak never had any children of his own, but he's very good with them. He was a community-raised child himself, and helped take care of the kids hatched to soldiers in his barracks early in his career.

He's a polymath, and can operate most of the essential systems on ZDR without assistance. He's had a very long time to learn new things, and he hasn't wasted a second of it. Raven Beak got his start with mechanical engineering, loosely following his father's footsteps while he meandered around the academic/career space, figuring things out and writing flowery prose. He eventually found himself at the foot of weapons development, and contributed to projects which made the accumulation and discharge of Energy via arm cannon even more efficient, as well as developing several suit-bound projectiles. During his understudy, he began his military career, and eventually indulged his childhood interests by immersing himself in the field of biology. His studies went across the board here, but he started with animal science before landing on microbiology, and later genetic engineering. This guy is everything: he's a physicist, a climate scientist, a mathematician, and a leading expert in biological warfare.

He and Grey Voice were Very Good Friends. That sentence can be interpreted in several ways, all of which are correct.

Raven Beak holds Old Bird in very high esteem. Every time they meet, Raven Beak will kneel, greet the short raisin of a bird, and extend a palm with offers to take his coat and the like: "Are you cold, Wise Grandfather? Do you require fluid refreshment?" Etc. Raven Beak ensures there is a consistent stock of Old Bird's favorite teas and other treats onboard his cruiser in case he ever needs to cater to the old guy.

I mentioned the other two big names of planet Zebes, so I might as well namedrop her as well: Raven Beak is utterly disinterested in Mother Brain at best, and absolutely loathes her at worst. Raven Beak has many opinions on artificial intelligence and what it should and should not do: he thinks Mother Brain is too nosy and that she does too much around the planet. Every time he visits Grey Voice in person and seeks to talk to him about anything of marginal importance (Grey Voice being a leading figure on Zebes), he will whisk him away aboard the Mawkin cruiser where Mother Brain can't follow, because foreign AI is not permitted on Raven Beak's vessel. His house, his rules, and he says no nosy robutts.

Mother Brain hates it when Raven Beak does this, and will stubbornly park her mobile orb frame right outside the cruiser at the closest acceptable distance and wait for Grey Voice to disembark. Her consciousness is simultaneously attending to matters elsewhere, but she makes an effort to watch the door so she can scoop up his attention first chance she gets.

Sometimes during their private talks, Raven Beak would invite Grey Voice to stay the night on the cruiser to give him a bit of a break from his many duties and catch up with his old friend. Mother Brain hated this. Raven Beak was keenly aware of her ire, and invited Grey Voice to partake in meals and trivial happenings onboard the ship to prolong his stay and increase the chances of Mother Brain having to wait in a shower of acid rain for his return. Raven Beak wasn't just doing this to be catty: he had hoped to find the limit of what she was willing to endure before giving up so he could perhaps someday have one visit where Mother Brain and Grey Voice weren't so high strung and up each other's rear ends. Loosen some of the tension, teach the dog with separation anxiety that its master wasn't disappearing forever when it left the house, that sort of thing. It never worked, and the stubborn lump of muscle despised Raven Beak until the day she died. She concocted special plans to "deal with him" and everything as leader of the Space Pirates, but her army never got to the point where she felt confident enough to actually challenge the Mawkin... and she got distracted by the whole metroid thing. Figuring out how to use the metroids as a weapon took precedence over making motions to trounce her sworn enemy.

With my brainrot out of the way, let's talk about things I don't go off about nearly as often:

Samus is proficient in most things mechanical. She performs maintenance on her own gunship (knows how to mod it to boot), takes care of her suit, that sort of thing. When mercenary work is in short supply, she moonlights as an auto mechanic: she works on personal vehicles, both terrestrial and those suited for space flight.

She has a passing interest in archaeology and is very inquisitive.

Samus Aran and Anthony Higgs: very close friends! They have such good synergy. Anthony still works for the government (in an official capacity, as opposed to Samus' unofficial pro bono "they hire me sometimes"), so he's not always around, but they hang out pretty often and help the other with groceries on occasion.

Regarding groceries: Samus is a very important person, savior of the galaxy and all that. Sometimes she's got a lot on her mind, and doesn't always have the time to be worrying about meals and apartment upkeep. Sometimes she forgets her health completely to focus on the current problem, so if she's spending any downtime at home port in a situation like this, Anthony will go out of his way to say "hey do you want me to pick anything up for you?" Samus appreciates his thoughtfulness and makes a concerted effort to pay it forward every chance she gets.

Samus is good enough at human social cues, but she was raised Chozo, so sometimes it's a little hard for her to pick up on certain things (mostly cultural norms and little quirks of "average people manners"), particularly when galactic politics aren't involved. She can smell when a motherfucker's lying, but sometimes she forgets that most people don't pick buttons and pennies off the ground at social functions, or that some humans find sudden (not super loud, but unexpected nonetheless) noises disconcerting.

She also hates the lights on the ceiling at the grocery store because she can hear them buzzing, but she finds ways to muffle or ignore it because that's the only store that carries her favorite snack, and it's also the only grocery store whose in-house beverages are any good, and Samus likes a good beverage while she's walking.

Samus loves animals, and knows how to treat them respectfully. Pyonchi is still around. He's not always hanging around the apartment, but he's around circa Dread. I got the feeling that he possesses higher intelligence than your average pet animal thing, so who knows? Maybe he's coercing politicians into doing the right thing at Federation HQ in a distinctly cat-knowingly-pushing-something-off-the-counter-like way. I need to look over the manga again to get another read on him.

Anthony is a conservationist, and he works to ensure Daiban's native plants and animals are thriving alongside sapient society in his spare time. It's not full-time volunteer work, but he does go out into the community to advocate for endangered plants and insects, and is very enthusiastic about educating people on which fruits, herbs, and vegetables would grow best on their apartment balcony while also benefiting the local ecosystem.

Anthony's got a green thumb... for herbs. It's not that he doesn't know how to grow anything else, it's just that herbs are the only thing that seem to want to grow for him. He has the worst luck with vegetable seeds. Everyone says heelbrush doesn't put out much when grown domestically in his area, but when he grows it, the bushes are huge. Yet when he wants to grow roe root, the easiest of all the tubers to cultivate, none of them sprout.

When left to his own devices, Adam sometimes plays solitaire and minesweeper in the gunship. He's very good at Bejeweled and can also sweep you in Tetris 99. Samus does not know about his casual gaming prowess: she doesn't even have any of these programs installed. He has never laid eyes on an XBox in his life and never will.

Sometimes Samus allows "trashy" reality tv shows to play in her living room because she feels that the shenanigans people get up to on tv makes her life feel normal by comparison.

She also very casually consumes Horse Friend Adventures. Her interest was initially sparked when she recognized the name very vaguely from her early childhood, and now it's just something that's on every so often. Sometimes she'll say "I wonder what those horses are up to" and then she'll flip the channel over and see what those horses are up to before she leaves for work. It's fascinating to her in a sense that she could have been immersed in this culture growing up, but circumstance put her and the colorful ponies on different paths

The tv in Samus' apartment exists almost solely for background noise. She hardly ever makes a real effort to "watch" anything.

Your Metroid headcanons mmmmm. Give them to me.

[dwellordream]

“…Many readings of Troilus and Criseyde suggest that Criseyde occupies a masculine space in the narrative that is vacated by Troilus through his courtly love behavior – certainly in the first three books of the poem, and perhaps the fourth as well, since there, Troilus is rendered passive in the parliament, in the bedroom, and in his inability to affect any change of circumstance, or even to change Criseyde’s mind. Perhaps more useful, however, is recognizing Criseyde as offering up an alternative, female masculinity. Speaking of the Wife of Bath, Karma lochrie implies that Chaucer challenges ideas of masculinity, noting “by placing masculinity, with its ties to authority, commerce, violent mastery, social mobility, and publicity, ‘up for grabs,’ the Wife performs an alternative masculinity.”

Given that Criseyde is already, to misquote Chaucer’s Franklin’s Tale, “lord in love” (5.793), the possibilities for her offering up an alternative masculinity that extends beyond the boundaries of the romance plot into the epic and thus bring her into what lochrie calls the “world of marital rivalry, textual contestation, and sexual struggle” come to the fore. Criseyde’s authority in romance is unsurprising: the lady is conventionally constructed as the locus of power against the vulnerability created by the male lover’s desire. For all her seeming anxiety about the love affair, Criseyde appears to be the far more experienced, active lover, another function of her widowhood. If Troilus’s inactivity prevents him from showing a “mannes herte,” Criseyde’s composure suggests that she possesses one.

The overarching narrative conventions of romance render her masculine in these first books, provided readers proceed from the shreds of definitions of masculinity that Chaucer offers up. However, once the war reasserts itself within the narrative, and epic takes over from romance, the reading of Criseyde as “tendre-herted, slydynge of corage” (5.825) tends to dominate readers’ understanding and thus becomes the source for both condemnation and sympathy. The image of her “with women fewe, among the Grekis stronge” (5.688), with all its implicit threat, becomes a symbol of a reclaimed feminine isolation and vulnerability.

This reading ultimately negates Criseyde, rendering her formless and passive, which the poem quietly but steadily refuses to do. Understanding Criseyde as entirely vulnerable and useless, unable to escape her father and prey to the dangerous advances of powerful men, is to make her, in Mary Behrman’s words, “much less interesting. Stripped of any motives of her own, Criseyde becomes a mere automaton, and the readers’ interests switch to the men who manipulate her.” Criseyde is either “the tale’s victim or its villain.” She can be read as a simple traitor to love, who should have chosen death over dishonor (or Diomede) when circumstances refused to allow her to return to Troy, but while many readers have done so, the poem suggests a more complex course: it reveals her as condemned not because she is “slydynge of corage,” but because she acts in self-protection, choosing the most powerful figure around as her protector in Greece as she had in Troy, denying certain elements of her own desires to do so.

Thus, Criseyde’s failure in Troilus and Criseyde comes not from her rejection of her position as the masculinized lady created by the romance genre, but in her at least partially successful attempt to preserve it, even within the epic narrative of war. Halberstam’s definition of masculinity is essentially epic, noting that it seems to “extend outward to patriarchy and inward into the family”; that it “represents the power of inheritance, the consequences of the traffic in women, and the promise of social privilege”; that it inevitably “conjures up notions of power and legitimacy and privilege”; and that it “refers to the power of the state,” she could be describing the gendered dynamics of Troilus and Criseyde. By maintaining her active, self-determining position within the war, instead of accepting the feminine vulnerability that brought about her trade in the first place, Criseyde attempts to save herself, if not her reputation.

Throughout the poem, Criseyde’s portrayal creates a tension between passive construction and self-determined action; she is pulled between the roles that the text’s genres create for her and the contradictory actions the poet allows her to take, which, to increase confusion, are often a product of the very roles they seem to countermand. Part of the difficulty arises from the ways that Criseyde is defined by the passive femininity conveyed by her status as solitary widow and romance lady. Indeed, Gretchen Mieszkowski views her as “substanceless, ... a lack” in her position of the “lady of courtly love” and adds that “she responds to others; she does not act herself. She stands for no independent values. She is Western woman: supportiveness without content, and absence of being, the Other, sheer responsiveness, no one at all.” Chaucer certainly opens up the possibility of reading Criseyde as passive femininity through the emphasis on her solitude, although this, too, is ultimately ambiguous.

Her fear, which by Book 5 comes to be an essential texture of her portrait, makes her vulnerable, while her role as desired object also renders her passive and observed, tied to the conventions of love. Yet ironically, her fear causes her to act as much in Book 5 as in Book 1, and it is her position as romance heroine that provides her with a kind of subjectivity and authority in the love relationship that does not completely vanish at the point of consummation but continues to inform her actions – and Troilus’s expectations – in Book 4. Even her widowhood is an ambiguous symbol of passivity and activity. Widowhood is a kind of solitude, as we see in Chaucer’s repeated use of the word “alone” to describe Criseyde, but it also provides an opportunity for women to be free of male control, a status she later calls to the reader’s attention.

…This picture is further complicated by the reintroduction of her anxiety; she is “Wel neigh out of hir wit for sorwe and fere” (1.108). Yet this very fear, which would seem to render her inert, does the opposite; taking control of her situation, she allies herself with the most powerful, most masculine figure the poem offers, Hector, the prince of Troy. Always a warrior, never a lover (his wife, Andromache, never enters the text), Hector occupies one of the few uncom-promised spaces. Edward Condren sees Criseyde’s plea here as an attempt at seduction; in abandoning “her passivity to lay her helplessness before Hector,” she aims to cast him as her lover.

Although this argument is somewhat unconvincing, Condren’s analysis remains suggestive: if Criseyde is indeed making this ploy, she is casting herself in the male role. After all, Blamires reminds us, “that, since men ‘do’ the deed in sex and pursue women, then women are recipients not agents where sexual activity is concerned.” Readers of Chaucer are aware from the Book of the duchess that the male lover casts himself at the lady’s feet crying “Merci”; of course, Troilus and Criseyde offers this formula as well. So in her mixture of passivity and activity – Condren agrees that “this sequence ... remains the only act planned and executed by Criseyde herself”– she mirrors two male activities.

Of the two, however, her active choice to connect herself to Hector bears greater implications for understanding Criseyde’s masculinity in the poem. Berhman points out that Criseyde “admires men of action, men like heroic Hector who value their individuality and refuse to let challenges daunt them.”Her vision of Troilus as war hero causes her to fall in love with him, not any admiration for the passive lover who writes the letter and whom Pandarus represents. The Troilus she sees is “a knyghtly sighte” (2.628). To look on him is “to loke on Mars, that god is of bataille” (2.630); he is further described as “so like a man of armes and a knight / He was to seen, fulfilled of heigh prowesse” (2.631–32). Troilus here appears at his most Hector-like, which the people’s cry, “‘Here cometh oure joye / And, next his brother, holder up of Troye!’” (2.643–44), firmly cements in Criseyde’s mind.

…That she ends up loving Troilus does not negate her acknowledgment of her own active will in her choice; she is not simply the objectified lady of romance. Even when the romance constitutes her as passive and desired, the immobile object of her dream of the eagle in Book 2, Criseyde “certainly does not view herself as a passive person” on whom meaning is imposed. Again, the reader is confronted with a tension between Criseyde’s fear and her self-determining force. At this moment, her understanding of her widowhood as a complex position is also revealed. The role of modest widow suggests a kind of isolation, if only a social one that allows singing and reading with her ladies, and Criseyde’s dark clothing “evokes both the idea of Criseyde’s vulnerability and the visual sign of her personal loss” and testifies “to the reality of human mortality and mutability,” while emphasizing her “state of being alone and vulnerable.”

It also suggests a possible availability: “the role [of modest widow] is not compatible with a sexual relationship, but it is compatible with the platonic segment of the lady-role, which Pandarus bullies Criseyde into accepting.” Yet in her widowhood, Criseyde sees her own freedom: “I am myn owene womman, wel at ese,/I thank it God – as after myn estat,/Right yong, and stonde unteyd in lusty leese, Withouten jalousie or swich debat./Shal noon housbonde seyn to me ‘Chek mat!’ For either they ben ful of jalousie,/Or maisterfull, or loven novelrie.” (2.750–56) Her recognition that widowhood provides self determination because it frees women from the hierarchies of the sexual economy causes Criseyde to ask “‘Sholde I now love, and put in jupartie / My sikernesse, and thrallen libertee?’” (2.773–74), noting that in love, “‘we wrecched women nothing konne’” (2.781).

In contrast to the earlier presentation of widowhood as fearful solitude, here it becomes an active, powerful position that allows for self-determination and self- construction. Criseyde’s chess metaphor reveals her masculine agency again: while “Criseyde’s allusion to chess also reveals that she thinks of herself in martial terms,” allying herself with the powerfully masculine figures of Hector and Troilus in their warrior guise that has just been presented to her, it also shows the potential for the female to take on masculine traits of mobility, power, and central importance. Or, as Jenny Adams comments, “a reader/player, who sees himself or herself as a piece on the board, must take responsibility for his or her own ethical conduct”; therefore, the player becomes responsible for her own actions rather than perceiving herself as acted upon.

In chess, the queen is the most versatile piece, able to move in all directions and any number of squares, while the king is limited to a single square’s movement, and his capture loses the game. Indeed, the king is a quite feminized figure in chess; he runs and hides behind the castle, and if he must start moving around, the player is in trouble. If widowhood allows Criseyde to assume the metaphoric position of a chess queen, it also allows her to win within a metaphor equally suited to love and to war, the two worlds of Chaucer’s poem. In the romance world, Criseyde claims the power available to romance heroines. This power may ultimately be a conventional fiction providing no real autonomy, but it remains inscribed in the story as a given. Criseyde is aware of and seems to enjoy some of these elements of power while understanding the difference between them and the more “real” autonomy of her widowhood.

Criseyde adds to the powers of romance a self-determining factor. The contrast between the two lovers’ decisions are striking; “while Troilus performs his unconditional surrender in a soliloquy, Criseyde negotiates a contract in front of a witness, fixing the rights and duties of both parties.” Blamires calls this a radical disruption of the “passive/active assumption in the scenes of courtship of Criseyde,” and in so doing alerts readers to the shifting nature of gender within the love narrative. In establishing the terms under which she will agree to love Troilus – that her honor and reputation will be protected – Criseyde again defines the terms of her consent – and does so publicly, thus in the masculine realm. That these guarantees ultimately fail does not detract from Criseyde’s self-determination, but from its ability to function within the assumptions of the genres of the narrative. The irony of her desires – the protection of her honor and reputation – given the ending of the poem only serves to create greater tension between the roles Criseyde attempts to play and the boundaries the worlds of Troy and the Greek camp (as well as the boundaries of epic and romance) impose.”

- Angela Jane Weisl, “A Mannes Game”: Criseyde’s Masculinity in Troilus and Criseyde

[maskedlady]

things people who haven’t read/studied the homeric poems should know

the iliad isn’t about ten years of war. it’s about fifty-one days from the last year of war. more than nine years have passed since the beginning. neither the recruit of achilles or odysseus nor aulis nor the sacrifice of iphigenia nor the trojan horse and not even achilles’ death feature in it. it actually ends with hector’s burial.

similarly, the odyssey starts during the tenth year of odysseus’ travels, when he leaves the island of the nymph calypso who had kept him there for eight years. while the story of his travels is actually there, it’s a massive flashback that odysseus himself narrates.

odysseus actually only travels circa one year, if you subtract the seven years spent on ogigia, the one year with circe, the various months and bits they camped in other places.

part of the odyssey is actually about odysseus’ son, telemachos, and his quest to find his father. also another part is about odysseus returning to ithaca and killing a bunch of princes who were trying to usurp his throne.

the aeneid is not a homeric poem. it’s styled on the homeric model, but it was written in latin by a roman poet, and the protagonist is technically one of the antagonists from the iliad.

homer never existed.

he isn’t a historical figure, he is a name with a legend attached, to whom these poems are attributed. the poems were written—no, not even written, composed orally by a series of unnamed aoidoi (hm... ministrels?) through the ages.

in fact this is quite obvious when you read the iliad. there are a lot of inconsistencies, like frequent style changes, chapters that have nothing to do with anything else and no influence on the story whatsoever, strange time lapses—at some point it’s midday twice the same day

it is thought that all of these separate fragments were then collected and organized by one person, and this version was then handed down, orally, until the first written edition around 520 b.c.

the mycenean civilization that these poems originate from ended in 1200 b.c. circa

the odyssey was initially part of a whole group of nestoi, aka “return poems”, that were basically the tales of the return of each hero from troy. the odyssey is the only one that remains, though we do know something about the others too from other pieces of greek literature

a warning for the interested. these poems are a pain to read. they are delightful but they are a pain. they were composed orally so they are full of epithets, descriptions, metaphors and similitudes. these acted as fillers to help the aedo of turn reach the length of the verse, make the various characters more recognizable, and also make the poems more comprehensible to the general public, composed mostly of common people who had never actually been in a battle—so battles and duels are often compared to more familiar scenes, like fights between animals.

no i’m not joking

there is one in particular where the screeching army of trojans coming down the hill is compared to cranes migrating over the oceans.

also, the duel between hector and patroclus is one of the “compared to animal fights” scene

when odysseus is about to drown, he talks to his own heart. possibly because it sounds slightly less crazy and more Romantic than just directly talking to oneself.

helen insults paris real often. hector berates him both internally and publicly. in fact everyone insults paris. paris is the local coward and scapegoat. deservedly. i rejoice

everybody loves patroclus. all the kings hate each other but everyone loves him—so much so that they risk their lives over his corpse 

which, mind me, wasn’t something that special in and of itself. it was important to retrieve comrades’ corpses because if the enemy got ahold of your body he’d leave it to rot and be devoured by dogs and crows, which was a huge dishonour (and also possibly barred you from entrance to the afterlife)

so much so that the ancient greek version of “go to hell” is eis korakas, “to the crows” (“may you die, lie unburied, and your body be eaten by crows”)

at some point they hold a truce (possibly several times) so they’ll have the time to collect, burn and bury all the fallen soldiers. 

back to patroclus because i got sidetracked: still. this time it is kind of a big deal because the literal centre of the fighting after patroclus dies is all the major greek heroes playing tug-o-war against hector and his brothers with patroclus’ corpse. the centre of the fighting, people, this is no joke

at some point someone is sent to tell achilles that his lover’s body is in danger so he better get out of your sulk, hurry up and come help the rest of us

achilles going armour-less to the battlefield and screaming for patroclus is enough to send the trojans running.

i am sure that all of you know this but the reason achilles doesn’t have armour is that when hector kills patroclus he takes achilles’ armour, that patroclus was wearing, as spoils of war

so an entire book after that is devoted to hephaestus forging achilles new, better armour so he can actually fight again

look, it is not actually stated that they were lovers, but it’s obvious. in greek culture especially. that was the norm and italian school teachers can get over it and stop omitting it from lessons and school books any time now

odysseus isn’t actually an asshole. sure, a lot of his misadventures were caused by him being too curious and disregarding his comrades’ advice *cough*cyclops*cough* but most of the most destructive events were caused by them disregarding his orders.

“do not kill and eat the sacred cows of apollo! he’d kill us.” guess what they did. guess how it ended 

or when they stopped by eolos’ island. eolos, god of the winds, gave odysseus a flask with all the adverse winds imprisoned inside, leaving free only the one that he needed to take him to ithaca. they got so, so very near, and then odysseus fell asleep and the others opened the thing because they thought there was more treasure inside it, and all the winds came out and blew them halfway across the mediterranean

athena often glamours odysseus to look younger and prettier or older and then again younger. it’s amazing because he always looks either like an old beggar (for camouflage) or like a young and handsome man.

do some maths. at the beginning of the war he must’ve been at least twenty. + ten years of war. + ten years of travel. at the end of the odyssey he is at least forty. by ancient standards that was not young.

odysseus’ whole voyage is basically a pissing contest between poseidon and athena. actually between poseidon and the rest of the gods. poseidon hates him and all the other gods take turns helping him.

odysseus is not an asshole, but the greeks probably considered him a shitty character, because he was clever, shrewd, and the only survivor of his community. the greeks really insisted on the concept of community, the individual doesn’t have worth in and of themself but as a part of society. this is particularly evident when he gets to the cyclops, who are the very antithesis of the greek man, described as uncivilized and living in isolation without assemblies or laws. a lot of emphasis is put on the fact that they live outside of a community.

alternatively, the difference between the iliad and the odyssey (and their respective heroes) signifies the change in greek culture, from the warrior myceneans to commerce and voyage: odysseus represents the victory of intelligence over force, and his qualities are the characteristics, for example, of a merchant

i should perhaps point out that the odyssey was composed much later than the iliad, which is also the reason it has a more complex structure (begins with the gods + telemachos’ quest, we first see odysseus on ogigia, then he recounts his whole voyage in a long flashback triggered by a bard at a feast singing about the trojan war)

oh look i got sidetracked again

back to the trivia!

do not be fooled by madeline miller. patroclus was indeed a warrior, and a very good one at that. and briseis was indeed achilles’ lover, and loved him (that is explicitly stated).

odysseus might have loved penelope but that does not mean he did not sleep around with every woman he met

circe. calypso (by whom he is imprisoned for seven years). and nausicaa princess of the phaeacians falls in love with him. this is engineered by athena 

i don’t think he actually sleeps with her but athena does make him look younger and prettier so she’ll be smitten and welcome him at the palace and give him a bunch of gifts and eventually a ship to take him back to ithaca

in the poem named after him, his own poem, odysseus is always the stranger, the guest, or the beggar.

or all three.

or all three, but it’s a lie and he’s actually at home, the king returned.

despite the iliad being about one and a half months and the odyssey being more than a year + more time taken up by other characters, the iliad is about one and a half times the odyssey.

more to come (maybe)

[ask-runaan-anything]

If you weren’t an assassin, what would your chosen occupation be? (I’m including homemaker in “occupations”, if you are so inclined, although I’m curious if you have something else in mind)?

Warrior poet. Emphasis on poet.

Or... *carefully glances around* ...moonstrider trainer.

[a-gay-a-day]

@prettygirlattheairport​ this is the only response I’m going to give to this unless you have other reasonable points on why I shouldn’t use queer because I don’t want to get in a long and pointless reblog argument, but here is my reasoning behind using the word queer. 

Just as we often have to decide what terminology to use for historical figures, and just as many people will use the word “transgender” or “nonbinary” to describe people who have only ever described themselves as queer or transvestite (Think: Marsha P. Johnson, Sylvia Rivera, Claude Cahun, Harry Allen, Marcel Moore), we must also decide which words fall under which umbrella when enunciating history. Using language to refer to historical figures is never a neutral choice, and specifically leaving out the word queer in my bio of Audre would not be a neutral choice either.  

This is not saying that Audre’s identity as a lesbian is invalid. She is very much a lesbian, and very much a woman who shapes her identity around lesbianism. However, would you be willing to call her a member of the LGBTQ community? If yes, why is that appropriate, but queer is not? She never specifically defined herself as polyamorous, yet she believed in open relationships. Would you be comfortable calling her poly? Why or why not?

In fact, Audre did not even refer to herself as a lesbian for all her life. She also used the term bisexual. Would that be an appropriate word to use for her? In that vein, though she identified as a lesbian, she did not identify with the butch/femme dichotomy, and she talks about how she felt uncomfortable with the strict roles placed on lesbians to conform during the time she was first engaged in the lesbian scene. 

You are not obligated to use queer to refer to her. But just as Audre never used the term LGBT, and she never used many of the other descriptors put upon her, think about why queer is the word that you take issue with, and not any other of the many words I used to describe her, which she did not use to describe herself. 

My last point on why I chose to use queer in this short bio is because of Audre’s emphasis on intersectionality within her life. She spoke about the community as being connected- a black issue is a gay issue, a gay issue is a transgender issue, a transgender issue is a feminist issue, a feminist issue is a lesbian issue. All marginalized groups, in her writings, occupy the same space. Using the word queer to describe her involvement in that vast and varied group does not seem like it downplays her lesbianism. She was a black, lesbian, mother, warrior, poet first and foremost, but she was also an teacher, friend, thinker, and queer activist. 

If you would like to contest this with me further, please read these wonderful articles about Audre Lorde and intersexuality first. They display my thought process much better than I can. Let me know if you can’t get ahold of any of them, academia is notoriously classist. 

https://facingtoday.facinghistory.org/exploring-audre-lordes-legacies

https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.5406/blacwomegendfami.2.1.0001

https://www.jstor.org/stable/26433407

Audre Lorde

Audre Lorde was born in 1934 and died in 1992. She was a self described “black, lesbian, mother, warrior, poet,” and she chose to drop the y on the end of her name as she enjoyed the symmetry it provided. She struggled to communicate, and in order to overcome this struggle, she began to respond to people in poetry, and even said later in life that she was thinking in poetry. 

She was a professor of English’s at John Jay college of criminal justice, and fought for the inclusion of a black studies department. However, she is most well known for her poetry, centering around the intersectionality of her queerness and blackness. 

A fragment from her poem who said it was simple goes like this:  

 But I who am bound by my mirror   as well as my bed see causes in colour as well as sex

[dragons-ire]

The Feast of St. Daniffen

[star-veil]

“Endless Blue”

Water Creature!Jaskier AU from my ao3 <3 No TWs apply

--

Geralt woke up, much to his surprise, not coughing up a violent lungful of seawater but instead to the gentle strum of a finely tuned lute and a distant, echoing humming. The melody bounced off the walls of a cave dimly lit by a faint glow from the pools of water that surrounded Geralt. Magic, if he had to guess. There was no glimpse of light revealing a path out of here, though.

Fuck, he thought. It must have dragged him down here. But why ? Sirens didn’t keep their food, nor did mermaids for all he knew. Certainly not kept alive. And yet here he was, heartbeat slow as always and skin pallor and clammy from his deep sea dive. He glanced down at his bare forearms. Judging by the relatively normal color of his veins, Killer Whale had run out a while ago. He’d need another dose to get out of here. Grabbing at his hip to rifle around in his pouch, he found two bottles of swallow, a white honey, and a small and half-drunk flask of rafford’s, but no Killer Whale. Fuck, he thought, but this time with emphasis.

All the clues at the shore told him some kind of sea creature. One with intelligence, which is what led him to believe mermaid . If it was still in this cave with him, hiding in one of the magical pools, the least he could do was finish the contract before he escaped.

So Geralt knelt, then got to his feet, then with a sound much like a puzzle piece fitting in it’s slot pulled out his silver blade. This is how Witchers were meant to be- fighters, warriors, monster killers.

The leather-wrapped grip of the sword was damp and Geralt had to continuously change his grip to avoid the discomfort of wet leather sliding down his palm. His footsteps were quiet and well placed. The stone was slick and slippery, one wrong move and he’d go crashing to the ground and alert his captor. Then the advantage of surprise would be lost.

The Witcher followed the sound of the lute. It was not unpleasant, the player was clearly skilled, monster or not. A shame , Geralt thought. It’ll never get to play again .

He fit through a narrow passage of exposed seashell and stone which opened up in a larger, but more comfortable chamber. It was decorated in pretty looking wreaths of seaweed and flowers Geralt had never seen before. At once, he noticed two points of interest.

One was a deep glowing blue pool at the far end of the cave. It was lit not with magic but natural light. A way out.

The other was another figure. Facing away from him and perched on a little shelf of smooth stone was a man, no older than twenty, arms curled around a lute and fingers dancing up the strings. His hair, a deep chestnut brown streaked through with tawny sun-bleached strands, was decorated with weaving silvery jewelry that curled around his head almost like a crown. And, oh , Geralt realized, he was completely bare-ass naked.

He probably should have said something. Instead, all he could muster was a flustered wheeze. The man whirled around, and Geralt was immediately enraptured. Wow, he was going to die because he was horny for a mermaid.

But… no. Not mermaid. The man lacked a tail, having instead two slender legs he tucked beneath him till he was sitting back on his calves as he peered at Geralt. The man’s eyes were stunning. A deep seastone blue that only the best poets of Oxenfurt could not even begin to describe. A dusting of blue freckles over the bridge of his nose, and similar pretty markings dashed up his temples, framing his eyes and the circlet-like crown his silver jewelry formed. And his smile...

“You’re awake!” The man cried, lilting like songbirds on the first morning of spring. “Um- I really wasn’t sure how long you’d sleep, if I knew you’d be up so fast I would have tidied up a little,”

“Or put some clothes on?” The Witcher grumbled. And why was he not striking at the thing already ?

Immediately, the man’s cheeks went a bright blue. He blushed… blue . Holy shit. That was adorable. He gaped, wrapping his arms around himself and staring at Geralt like he’d insulted his virtue.

“Excuse me !” He cried. “Humans are so sensitive, so- so prude!” The sea creature in the form of a man stood up and padded across the cave to where a few silks and sashes hung from the wall. He hurriedly threw one over himself to conceal his… parts Geralt tried very hard not to look at. “Here I was, being such a gracious host and no t immediately killing you , and you have the gall to insinuate that I be indecent?” He flourished his hands out and the silky sash fell from his hips, leaving him completely bare again. He squeaked, loud, and quickly gathered it up in his arms.

“Not human, obviously, so what are you?” Geralt pressed. The man didn’t seem phased at all by the silver the Witcher wielded before him, keeping a sharp line of defense between the two of them.

The man looked deeply offended again, but to Geralt’s relief, did not go off on another blasting rant. “What do you suppose, dear Witcher?” He asked instead, side-eyeing him as he went to settle on his shelf. “Oh- I bet you’ll say mermaid. That’ll be rich.”

“Siren?” Geralt grumbled instead. Wrong thing to say. The man’s eyes went wide.

“Do I look like a mindless sex demon to you?”

“Well-”

“Don’t answer that. I’m Naiad, thank you very much.” The man scooped up his lute and held it like a child. “And I simply wanted an audience, but if you’re so hell-bent on killing me, get on with it then.”

This was certainly nothing Geralt had ever experienced before. He lowered his sword by an inch, still watching the Naiad warily. “You attacked fishermen, left them wrecked on shore.”

“Sirens attacked those men.” The Naiad corrected. “I was just having a chat… I wanted to sing for them, invite them into my home and play a few ballads. I’m quite good, or at least- I think I’m quite good. Would you like to hear-”

“Stay on topic.” Geralt snapped. He sheathed his sword, for now. This thing, if he was telling the truth, was not at fault and had done no harm to the fishermen. “So it wasn’t you? You had no part in the killings of those men?”

The Naiad shook his head and brown locks tousled over his forehead. “I just want to play my music, really.”

“Then why did you take me?” Geralt moved to stand opposite the Naiad, arms crossed.

“I already said,” he shrugged. “I just want an audience.”

Any other Witcher may not have stayed. Some Witchers may have slew the Naiad anyway, taken him in as proof as a contract completed. Emotionless. Heartless. Geralt was neither of those. He sat cross legged in front of the musical Naiad and blinked up at him.

“Alright. Go on, then.”

The Naiad looked surprised. If this was his method of gaining an audience, Geralt wouldn’t be surprised if he’d never gotten anyone to sit still and listen to him.

“O-oh, wonderful! Yes, yes… um-” He fumbled with his lute strings for a moment. “I’m Jaskier, aspiring poet and bard.” Jaskier grinned wide and bright and Geralt’s heart melted. “And here’s a song called…”

The Naiad bard went on for a little while, and Geralt began to lose track of time. Jaskier’s voice was stunningly melodic, capturing his attention completely until minutes melted into hours and hours melted into a timeless symphony of song.

When the Naiad was done, he set aside his lute, folded his hands in his lap, and looked down expectantly.

“Well?” Jaskier asked, anxious and tense. “Three words or less.”

“Your voice is beautiful,” Geralt replied breathlessly.

Jaskier frowned. “That’s four words.”

“Don’t care. It’s true.” That pretty blue blush returned to his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose.

“Thank you, Witcher… for listening and- and for saying that of me.”

“Geralt.” He told Jaskier. “Not Witcher, Geralt.”

Jaskier’s eyes peered into his, a wide ocean of blue meeting the gold of the sun. “Thank you, Geralt.”

When Geralt wanted to leave, Jaskier was there to guide him to the shore. He took Geralt’s face in delicate soft hands and placed a chaste kiss to his lips. When Geralt made to question him, Jaskier smiled and shushed him.

“A charm for holding your breath. Sorry it’s so… forward.”

Geralt could only stare dumbly at the Naiad as he took his hand and guided him to the pool at the far end of the cave.

Jaskier guided him out and up, up, until the sky broke over their heads and Geralt could inhale fresh air again tinged by the mist of the ocean. Jaskier still clung to his hand, and his fingers were so soft so gentle entwined in his. Geralt wished there had been more to that ever so small kiss than just a charm.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Geralt,” Jaskier told him. His hair, now wet, stuck to his forehead in loose curls. “I do hope to see you along the coast sometime again. I… I like having an audience to play for.”

“I…” Geralt replied, blunt, stupid, struck with affection.

“Goodbye, Geralt.”

The Naiad slipped his hand from his and ducked beneath the still water. Geralt watched him disappear, warped by the water until he could no longer make out the Naiad’s shape. And he was alone, floating, in the endless blue.

[lucien-the-parental-figure]

Mythology ramble time! @nonbinary-lee

In an effort to categorize all of the stories, academics broke down Irish mythology into a series of cycles, grouping stories together based on their context and sometimes by their primary characters. While helpful in providing a general breakdown, this method is still with its faults, as the lines between each cycle are rather blurred. As we briefly look at each one, you’ll see one running theme through nearly all of them: the presence of the most significant family of gods in Ireland: The Tuatha de Danann.

The Mythological Cycle: In a way, this cycle is the easiest to place into a timeline, as its name is self-explanatory. The Mythological Cycle tells the story of Ireland before and during the arrival of the Tuatha de Danann. In this cycle, we see the presence of other mythical races such as the Fomorians, the Gaels, and the Milesians as they tried to claim control of Ireland. Indeed, even this cycle addresses Ireland being ever-present and undergoing repeated waves of conquest. This cycle in particular looks at the creatures and gods of the land that the people of Ireland believed in while they were still unaware of the presence of Christianity.

The King’s Cycle: This cycle is one that is slightly more historical in nature, as it was carried on through bardic practice - bards being poets that served royal courts both as historians and storytellers during the medieval period, which may be a carry-over from druidic practice. In fact, were it not for the tradition of keeping bards in these courts, it is likely that these tales would not have survived. This cycle is characterized by its focus on tales about kings such as Labraid Loingsech and Brian Boru, and popular tales at the time such as the Frenzy of Sweeny. Battles, kings, lineage, and politics characterize this cycle, blending the mythological and historical depending upon the story.

The Ulster Cycle: The Ulster Cycle refers to the two major cities in Ireland at the time: Ulster and Leinster - both referred to collectively as Ulaid. This cycle focuses on tales of the heroes of Ulaid. Many of the legends can be linked to both or either of the medieval period and to early Christianity in Ireland. Of these, one of the most significant stories is the Cattle Raid of Cooley. Once again, the Tuath make appearances - sometimes linked to characters such as Cu Chulainn (who was frequented by the Morrigan and was revealed to be the son of Lugh) - which lends this cycle plenty of magic and myth shared with the Mythological Cycle.

The Fenian Cycle: This cycle is yet another that intertwines with the others. In part, this is because it is heavily linked to the Ulster Cycle in its storytelling, but also provides more emphasis on romances and affairs. The other significant difference between the Fenian Cycle and the others is that the Tuath took more of a back seat to the action of the Fianna - small bands of semi-independent warriors that likely were young aristocrats who had not yet inherited their lands.

[thousndworlds]

行业新人 by  kleinerHai

“The Seeker” At the end of the world there is nothing to look forward to. Nothing, except the journey back. Back to where you began, back from whence they sent you. Back… to nothing.  Though in the ashes of nothing, a new great something may yet be reborn…

 Ahead -- through the mist and rankled reeds of this primordial marsh where it is said to have all began -- you see them. You see the one you seek. Ahead -- past the ponds and mud and silent sadness of this place -- they await your arrival. Ahead, lies the end, but also the beginning… Or so you hope.

“Go to the end of the world,” your master said as he lay dying, the pestilence that had ultimately taken the city burning itself deep within him. “There you will find what you seek, the answers to our doom. In Time, you  will find the one who knows.” And so you have. At first, you knew not what to expect, the borders of your land the furthest you’d ever trekked -- all that remained outside long abandoned and uninhabited by anything savory. With each passing season -- each tumbling of the leaves from the Great Tree enshrined within the walls of the Library -- the desert around your once great nation inched closer, became more thirsty, more hateful. 

The End, as it came to be known, had been studied long before your time; for there had been an End once before, with rumor of one even before that. Not being a scholar yourself, it never much interested you, battle was your forte, and you like to keep it that way. Protecting the knowledge was more important to you than understanding it. Now, at the end of the world, peering out across the slimy waste… you’re not so sure. 

“Keep it simple,” that was your master’s motto. As he lay dying, and you looked out upon the barren nightmare your home had become and the mountains beyond the arid desert at its doorstep and the nothingness that must lie beyond even them, however, you knew that nothing would be simple ever again. “Simple” was a way for the bountiful to live, for the thriving to exist. “Simple” was just another word for “comfortable”; and there would be no comfort in the journey ahead.

“Go to the end of the world,” he said. But, looking out the stone window hewn eons and eons ago, staring into that desolate landscape as the remaining leaves of the Great Tree fluttered and died, you were sure that the end of the world had already come to you. Standing here now, the bog sucking at your boots -- worn and cracked with travel -- your sword stained with the blood of eldritch creatures both large and small and nicked from when you’ve had to use it as a tool, and the colors of your people stained, torn, and matted; you know that the true end of the world lies just beyond the thin fog billowing in front of you. 

They wait, the being (the creature) that has waited -- or so the stories say -- since before time began. Here, they’ve always waited. Always, they say (said), there is one at the end of the world that will hold the key. An Answer, only if one is to seek it. They were wise before The End. Wise and learned and brave and bold were your people. Mystics and poets, warriors and lovers, healers and scholars. There was nothing you did not excel at in your own ways. Nothing you could not conquer, could not understand, nothing that is; except The End. And so seek you have.

Slogging your way forward, you see them standing, stoic and calm. Expectant, maybe even bored. Your armor groans, tired of this journey as you are yourself. Your bones and your spirit and your muscles and your flesh all feel the same.

“Can’t it be over?” They ask in unison. “Can’t we be done? We’re the last, what do answers mean now?”

Their questions hound you like a cloud of pestilent flies -- biting, buzzing, unrelenting. You’ve thought of leaving the armor and its complaints -- it’s creaking joints and screeching plates -- but you know that, should you truly be the last of your kind, it’s workmanship and embroidery will be all that is left of it’s kind in turn and you could not abandon such a relic in the wastes of the world, not even in The End. You passed many such derelicts on your way here and, despite its protestations, you reassure it that, yes. It can be done, and it will be done. “Shortly, shortly we will have the answers and they will mean everything. Everything,” you reassure your bones and your soul and your armor and your ancestors and your friends. 

And so you trek, and so they wait. Your legs buckle and the marsh cheers your failing strength, throwing mud and twigs and bones as you fall, and yet they wait. On your knees, you shuffle through the bog now. You have to reach them, you have to have the answers, you have to… They take a single step towards you as the mist clears. You see them clearly now. Armor neatly aligned, resplendent even in this murky place. They stand tall, proud, and look you directly in the eyes as you raggedly breathe  in and out, resting your remaining strength upon your sword.

“Tell me, Seeker. Tell me of your End.”

The ambient hum and gurgle of the bog seems to stop when they speak. The creature looks down at its feet then back up into your fatigued face as the slight breeze of this fetid abode flutters the decorative heraldry draped from your helmet about your eyes and mouth. 

You struggle through the tale. Struggle through the early days when The End was just a whisper and many believed it to be no more than a tale. You struggle more when you tell of the madness that gripped your people as it became more and more obvious that things were wrong, that even the Great Tree was not eternal. You choke on the words when you recount the final battle against your very own kin, and the being nods solemnly when you whisper to it your master's final command.

“Your tale has been foretold, Seeker. I am the Answer as you have sought. And now I must go.”

You rise, protesting their so soon departure. It has only been but a few hours, the suns haven’t yet set and only the first of the moons has risen opposite them, and they have given you no answers at all...

 “No no, rest. I know the way. As you have done, I must tread the path alone to atone and heal. You have done your part, now I, in turn, must do mine. You’ve sought me, and now I must give you the most difficult answer of all… Time. There is no gift, no answer to our questions quite like that of infinite and impossible Time.”

Your breath catches as you hear this creature give you the answer that your master told you to seek all those trials ago. Time. “Time” it says with the same emphasis he did with his dying breaths. And so, kneeling in the muddy grasses of this lost bog at the end of the world, the light beginning to die as the second of the pale moons slowly rises behind you, you rest. You rest your bones and your soul and your mind as the Answer saunters off into the coming darkness. You remove your armor -- no longer complaining but sighing now -- and you draw your sword from the soft, sucking ground as you lie upon the earth, and wait.

.   .   .

At the start of the world there is everything to look forward to. Everything will be new, everything will be light, everything… will be yours. You remember little of what brought you to this place now, Time is kind in some ways but viscous in others and has only left wispy ashes of your past to you. Though in the ashes of nothing, a new great something may yet be reborn…

 Ahead -- through the mist and rankled reeds of this primordial marsh where you’ve studied forgotten, ancient tomes, and waited for what they call “The Seeker” -- you see them. You see the one who needs you. Ahead -- past the ponds and mud and silent sadness of this place -- you await their arrival. Ahead, lies the end, but also the beginning… Or so you hope, for how you have waited... 

Eons have passed since you… since you what? You can’t remember, you just know that you have. The marsh is your home and your teacher and your master. The marsh is all that you’ve known, and yet, the way is clear now that they have arrived. You are the Answer, and now it is time to Seek for yourself.

[makiema]

Possibility of an Eren vs the Devil final showdown

Okay so I saw @marley-warriors-of-demon-blood's post and I pondered over it for a few days. I finally had the time to write it all down. What I have to say draws a lot from the original post. I'd just like to mention some more hints that I picked up while doing my research along these lines.

First off, I'll elaborate on the recurring mentions of "devil" we get throughout the anime and the manga (also talk a bit about Paths) and secondly, on Isayama's subtle inclusions of numerous other Judeo-Christian references. All of it directly hints at a dramatic ending that may involve Eren, the protagonist, and the main antagonist- the Devil.

1. The Devil : We have had an eerie account of direct or indirect references to the Devil.

• One of the earliest comes from Bertholdt in Season 2 Ep 36 when we first hear him addressing Eldians as "spawns of the Devil"

• The next time we literally get to see the Devil is in Season 3 Ep 43 when Historia revisits her past and the book she reads show us the picture of the Devil and we also see Ymir Fritz for the very first time.

She's present in the story under the alias of Christa, who Freida points out to be a kind girl, always thinking about others.

However, this unsuspecting nature also makes her dangerously gullible and thus, the Devil tricks her into consuming the fruit which'd vest her with incredible powers that could be used to do some potential good work but also wreak havoc on Earth. The illustration was already a foreshadowing of the immediate future event whereby Rod Reiss would try to beguile Historia and get her to eat Eren but she'd see through the ploy and stand up against him. But, that's a different topic and I don't want to digress from my primary point. However this illustration carried an even darker foreboding as we'd realize in the course of the manga.

• The next implication comes from Floch, quite shockingly, during the Serum bowl, also in Season 3. We find him referring to Erwin as the "devil" out of nowhere, that too twice.

It was horrifying yes, but could it be a darker message for events yet to unfold? Surely Isayama wouldn't drag in the word "devil" out of nowhere. Also, another thing I want to point out here is Levi's decision of finally using the serum on Armin. No, not the usual why (because by now it's clear that he wanted Erwin to rest) but whether or not this action of his, that earned him hard opprobrium from almost half the fandom, had some underlying meaning for us. Maybe more than the shock factor, the serum bowl was allegorical of future events- that the Devil, like Erwin here, is not dead yet and has been playing the strings since eons ago; that the character who is following in Levi's footsteps, i.e., Eren will have to make a difficult choice (which is why Isayama had been stressing on how he'll hurt the fans in the conclusion) and bring an end to the Devil who is still at large. Choosing Armin over Erwin seems to be an absurd decision from a logical pov and Levi's action maybe more than just "letting him rest". Isayama loves foreshadowing. Killing off such an important character could very well be an indication of something more than what's visible on the surface. Perhaps, it was symbolical of how, in the near future, the actual devil, who shares the same caliber as the Commander in plotting, will be forced to rest by Eren, who was trained by Levi to make difficult choices by himself.

• After this , Eren Kruger mentions how "anyone can be the God or the 'Devil' " in Episode 58, while also explaining how everything is connected by PATHS.

• The final and the clearest reference to the Devil is found in Wily Tybur's speech where he informs us of his devilry and we also come across Ymir Fritz, the girl who fell into his trap, and apparently consumed "the source of all organic matter".

There couldn't have been a more prominent Biblical allusion than this one. Now, endowed with such power, Ymir Fritz sets off with beneficial work but, as per the Curse of Ymir, she dies in a few years and we learn that her power is eventually divided into Nine Titans.

• The Devil and PATHS : Only, in chapter 115, do we realize that she hasn't died or at least her spirit hasn't (I'll elaborate on this later). She's STILL very much functional in PATHS - this another universe or another place (whatever term you deem fit for it). When I say functional, I mean how she has to tend to and help her subjects respawn as per the contract with the Devil.

However, notice the rather dark shading on her face? Those are similar to Isayama's signature stress lines that indicate Ymir Fritz is in pain or at least, she doesn't look like she's willingly up for kneading soil to help her subjects reincarnate. Now, if Ymir Fritz from Tybur's tale is still active, how can we rule out the possibility that the devil is active too? PATHS connects the future and the past. Eren Kruger can send words of advice to the future via PATHS, every shifter who's endowed with powers of the past has access to PATHS. In short, PATHS could be the place of any probability. PATHS is the place that warps time, history and even reality. If Ymir Fritz has indeed digested 'the source of all organic matter on Earth', then PATHS, where Ymir Fritz is struck, could be what supports this source or more clearly, it is what nourishes the root of the Titan Power. We know that Ymir Fritz obtained the source from the Devil and now, if PATHS is like nourishment to the source and is sort of a massive energy center (where even the concept of time is lost) it might very well be the Devil's residence or the physical manifestation of the Devil's will. The Devil, as part of a greater ploy, intended to do away with mankind and wreak havoc and that's why duped Ymir Fritz, a naive young girl, into consuming something that'd bind her and her progenitors to his evil will forever by genetic alterations, making it susceptible to his wilful morphing. With this, the main plot that revolves around slavery can finally reach an end. And breaking that tie to the Titan DNA, by destroying the Devil or PATHS (which helps the Devil to enslave Eldians/Subjects of Ymir no matter the era) could resolve the main issue and pave the way to freedom. If Eren does that, it'd be poetic given that Eren Kruger said that the Attack Titan and it's owner has always chased freedom. It's only fair that the Attack Titan (the embodiment of freedom) destroys PATHS (the embodiment that allows slavery). It all sets out beautifully and maybe this is the reason why Isayama even ensured that we get to see PATHS animated as early as in Season 2 Ep 10. Thus, we get a sneak peek of it in Ymir's memory.

It just gives more corroboration to my hunch that PATHS is THAT important and can possibly be the abode of the Devil and hence, be crucial in the endgame. Also, isn't it ironic how Ymir says "I saw freedom spread out before me" in this scene? Or could Isayama be hinting at a possible conclusion that Eren would finally achieve freedom once he is also in PATHS dimension and destroys it? That this scene would be included so early in the anime but not carry some deeper meaning just doesn't settle well.

2. Other Judeo-Christian references : The manga is brimming with those but I'd just point out to a few as some interpretations may seem too far off and I have the habit of snowballing every minute detail.

• Violets : These flowers keep popping up time and again and is even there in the very beginning of the show. Eren wakes up crying from his 'dream-vision' and we find those violets right beside him.

We again see these flowers very briefly under Armin when Eren consciously transforms for the very time in Season 1 Episode 10. This was not in the manga but Isayama wanted this to be animated. He wouldn't have stressed on the importance of including the violets if he didn't have a motif.

Violets have strong religious connotations in Christianity. They blossomed when Gabriel told Mary of her son's impending birth. Now, Gabriel is the Angel who communicates with humankind and thus stems the potential meaning associated with violets - connections. The symbolism is a very important one as it could be a allegory to how PATHS connects the future to the present, connects all the Subjects Of Ymir. Isayama even canonically included the violets in PATHS dimension in Chapter 115, when Zeke meets Ymir Fritz.

Isayama's emphasis to add violets in the anime and also later, to draw them in PATHS couldn't be for naught. The flowers and what they stand for must be crucial in the final resolution. Also, just as violets blossomed when the birth of the Saviour was prophesized, here in the the SnK universe, violets pop up when Eren is in the frame in the very beginning and when he first reveals his power, indicating he'd be the eventual saviour. If Eren is an allusion to Christ it also justifies what Isayama said : that he wants to 'hurt' the readers. We all know about Christ's sacrifice and perhaps Eren is also going to do something similar which will leave the readers hurting.

• Allusions to literary classics : There are a lot of allusions to Dante's Inferno and even to Milton's Paradise Lost, both of which borrow heavily from mythology and the Bible. But, I'd discuss the ones that I found the most suggestive-

1. Nine : The power of the Devil that Ymir Fritz inherited was split into Nine Titans. In Inferno, we get the Nine Circles of Hell that will eventually lead the poet to Satan. And like we have discussed before, the Devil has striking semblances to Satan. Satan lies below the Nine Circles of Hell and the Nine Titan Powers combined is equivalent to the power the Devil possessed. Uncanny similarity, eh?

2. Ymir and Virgil : Like @marley-warriors-of-demon-blood mentioned, Ymir Fritz is currently caught in a Limbo. She was just a naive little girl and hence, what ensued from her making a deal with the devil wasn't technically her fault. In Inferno, Virgil is distraught similarly- fated to remain trapped in Limbo forever. Now, like I said earlier, PATHS is connected to everything. And Limbo, the first circle of Hell, is also connected to the later circles. I hypothesized in a previous post how I think Ymir Fritz and Eren will meet next in the manga. (with Eren being decapitated and everything) Virgil was the one that guided Dante in his journey in Inferno and Ymir Fritz, currently just a lost spirit in another dimension, may become Eren's guide. She can advise the holder of the two most powerful Titans (the Attack and the Founding) on ways to resolve Eldia's problem by killing it's source, i.e., the Devil, considering she's really a girl with good intentions. This would also resolve her character arc properly. She'd get a stance in the story and not just be someone who was used by the Devil for his conspiracy. After all there's no one more suited for the task than Eren. I'm probably taking it too far but I do think Ymir will have a similar role like Dante. Both are caught in the Limbo, both are not at fault, and both are destined to meet the protagonist.

3. The Crystal : Annie enclosing herself in impenetrable crystal, which outwardly looks very much like ice, could be an allusion to Satan again. In Inferno, he's trapped in ice at the centre of the Earth. Annie is being held captive 'underground'. A very similar process is applied for Satan. He's held underground too and he's enclosed in hard, impenetrable ice, akin to Annie's crystal.

4. Paradis : The name itself could be suggestive of Paradise, i.e., the Garden of Eden, which is mentioned in the Bible as well as in Paradise Lost. The place is described as magical. The 'Paradis' in Isayama's story is not far from being extraordinary and is peppered with rare resources as Kiyomi points out in Chapter 107.

It has "the forest of giant trees", a plethora of resources, and is teeming with diversity. It's equivalent to a biodiversity hotspot, a very rare place on Earth. It has an aura of supernaturality and extravagance, much like the Paradise of Milton. Also, the whole Satan luring Eve with the apple thing (and the Devil's likewise conniving) is also mentioned in Paradise Lost.

So, in conclusion, with this many underlying religious motifs it's highly possible that the Devil is the ultimate villain, like Satan is in Christianity, and Eren's final confrontation is going to be with him- the one who is the root cause of all evil. Even the final exhibition gave a lot of importance to the Devil tricking Ymir Fritz scene. It definitely has much more significance than is apparent.

One of the key themes in SnK has been gray morality. All the characters have their own reasons to justify their commiting the most horrible atrocities they inevitably had to, as per orders. Marley is not exactly on the wrong for torturing and ghettoing Eldians. They fear power that can actually trample on the whole world. Eldia is, of course, not at fault. Their genetic make up may spell impending danger but that doesn't make them any less human. They're cursed alright but that doesn't automatically strip them off their humanity. They have as much right to live as Marleyans. In fact, as we have seen Eren reinforcing from time to time, "Nobody has the right to take that away from us".

Here, Eren also expressed his denial of any plan that even remotely suggested using this probability of turning into a Titan as a weapon to fight. Thus, we can trust that what Eren aims will cause the eradication of this possibility altogether. He will make it so that such a cruel way of fighting doesn't exist ; that nobody will have to be forced to turn into a Titan and die no matter the cause. And the only possible way to do away with this is to kill it's source : the source being the Devil or his instrument, the PATHS.

But, even if nobody is at fault, one cannot veil the truth that Titans exist or rather, the Titan DNA and the inadvertent possibility of an Eldian turning into a Titan exists. It still looms in the SnK universe like 'the grim reminder' we have heard over and over again in the anime. The reminder of humanity being caged and the humility of living under constant fear of Titans popping up suddenly called for invariable Fighting since the very beginning and had also inspired the chase for Freedom. So, how will Isayama bring the main plot/theme revolving Fighting for Freedom to a close? Of course, the answer is by ending slavery in all forms, including Eldians being a slave to the Devil via their fundamental genetic constitution. The Devil is the one responsible for making them Titans, for making the world see them as dreadful enemies. He is the one infringing on their right to freedom and right to live. Thus, Eren WILL face off with the Devil, the cause of all slavery in their world, and finally bring Freedom to humankind. After all, hasn't Eren's character always been all for freedom and for detesting and aiming to do away with every possible form of slavery? If the Devil's very existence is the cause of Eldians being a slave to devilish power, it's only fair that the one character, who has reasserted the importance of Freedom more noticeably than any other throughout the story, is the one that brings the curtain down on the Devil and all his ploys of enslavement and wreckage, consequently freeing his men.