Guernen Sang Again:
Pryderi’s Pigs
and other poems
G. R. Grove
Copyright 2010 by G R Grove
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Introduction
This is my second collection of poetry (the first was King Arthur’s Raid on Hell and other poems). Most of these poems are, in one way or another, SCA (Society for Creative Anachronism) poems – poems written for or about people in the Kingdom of the Outlands (parts of Colorado, New Mexico and Wyoming) where I live, or poems about persons or events in the SCA period (approximately 600-1600 AD). The poems in this volume were written between January 2002 and April 2006.
Most of these poems are written in medieval fixed forms, or approximations of medieval forms – one of my on-going quests being a search for ways of reproducing the sound and feel of medieval Welsh poetry in modern English! And yet, because the bardic art I practice is a performance art, these are in a larger sense not my poems at all, but merely pale imitations – poems preserved on paper. Until I can come and sing the real poems to you, I hope you will enjoy the substitutes.
Guernen Cimarguid / G. R. Grove
A.S. XXXVI / AD 2006
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Dedication:
i’r cyrell coch
*************
CONTENTS
Praise to Maelgwyn and Cainnleach
Two Riddles (from the Bardic List)
Five Limericks (from the Bardic List)
A Welsh Curse (To King Edward I of the English)
More Riddles From the Bardic List
Praise to Arthur High King of Britain
Aranrhod's Lament for Dylan ap Ton
Lament for Dafydd ap Gwilym (1320? – 1370?)
*************
Guernen’s Boast
At the back of the North Wind
I had my beginning
Near the Head of the Alder-Wood
I got my birth
Taliesin was my teacher
First Bard of the Cymry
I have slept in his homestead
I have learnt well his words
I have drunk wine and mead
With Aneirin in Dun Eidyn
I have feasted before battle
I have seen the spears fly
I have traveled all of Britain
North to south, east to west
I have told tales for Princes.
I have sung before Kings
I have walked at midnight
Beneath the Summer Stars
And in the midst of Winter
I have seen the Spirits’ Dance
I have played my harp
Beside the Gates of Annwn
I have sung at Samhain
In the shadow of the Stones
On the Isle of Druids
I have slept alone
And I have watched at daybreak
for the opening of the Gate
All through my Kingdom
My name is not ill-known
Alder-tree am I:
I have sung songs.
*************
I Frwno / To Bruno
Rhyfelwr cryf yw, ganddo – calon fawr
Fel cawr, ac mae arno
Cot ddu iawn gedennog – O!
Goreu o gwn yw Brwno.
A strong warrior is he, with – a great heart
Like a giant, and there is on him
A very black shaggy coat – Oh!
Best of hounds is Bruno.
*************
Cruel is the Frost
Cruel is the frost that glitters in the dawn;
Cruel is the cutting wind that blows all day;
Cruel is the cold that comes when light is gone
And only fire can keep the ice at bay.
Cruel is the pain that’s wrought with bitter steel;
Cruel are the chains that mock a prisoner’s groans;
Cruel are the wounds that bleed and will not heal,
And cruel the tears that fall on barren stone–
But crueler, claws that lurk in silken glove
And caltrops sharp well-hidden in the mire.
More cruel betrayal by a friend once loved
Than any wound that’s got of steel or fire.
Cruelest of all the thoughts that come by night
When minds have no defense from memory’s bite.
*************
War Song
Our war-drums beat, our trumpets call –
– the Outlands riding forth to war –
the Stag will lead us one and all!
– now sing the Outlands evermore!
King Maelgwn to Estrella goes
– the Outlands riding forth to war –
to plunder, fight and crush his foes!
– now sing the Outlands evermore!
Queen Cainnleach she rides with him
– the Outlands riding forth to war –
to take the field of battle grim!
– now sing the Outlands evermore!
The army of the Outlands wide
– the Outlands riding forth to war –
will follow them in all its pride!
– now sing the Outlands evermore!
From Caerthe fair, that Castle strong
– the Outlands riding forth to war –
rides forth a fierce and mighty throng!
– now sing the Outlands evermore!
From mighty al-Barran now come
– the Outlands riding forth to war –
the fell pack of the Scorpion!
– now sing the Outlands evermore!
The Dragon’s brood of Dragonsspine
– the Outlands riding forth to war –
come clad in armor fierce and fine!
– now sing the Outlands evermore!
From Citadel far in the south
– the Outlands riding forth to war –
come warriors who will dare hell’s mouth!
– now sing the Outlands evermore!
From Unser Hafen’s northern plains
– the Outlands riding forth to war –
the Legion comes to dare hell’s pains!
– now sing the Outlands evermore!
From college, shire and canton fair
– the Outlands riding forth to war –
come fighters true all hell to dare!
– now sing the Outlands evermore!
The Stag’s war cry will terror raise
– the Outlands riding forth to war –
our mighty heroes bards will praise!
– now sing the Outlands evermore!
With spear and sword we’ll slay our foes
– the Outlands riding forth to war –
and leave them for the wolves and crows!
– now sing the Outlands evermore!
When battle’s done we’ll feast and sing
– the Outlands riding forth to war –
and toast our Outlands queen and king!
– now sing the Outlands evermore!
We’ll drum and dance till break of day
– the Outlands riding forth to war –
then mount and homeward make our way!
– now sing the Outlands evermore!
So follow, heed the Stag’s fierce call!
– the Outlands riding forth to war –
to Estrella’s field – come one and all!
– now sing the Outlands evermore!
*************
Last Battle
When blood-red rose the sun that day
the omens all were ill.
Though Druids had warned, he would not heed –
his foes he rode to kill.
For though the price should be his blood
or death in battle cruel,
He knew his time was growing short –
and soon his son must rule.
On Beltane morn he led them out,
his war-band fair to see –
The sun shone warm, the grass grew green,
and young was leaf on tree.
A land in winter he had ruled
through wild and savage storm,
And glad his heart to see at last
a day spring-bright and warm.
His father’s crown had passed to him
in solemn hall and high –
He’d thought that his would do the same
when came his time to die.
But now he wondered – on this field
he knew that he might fall –
Would some then snatch away that crown
from his young son so tall?
The foes he went to fight that day
were not his only foes –
Strife in his land in past had been
not least of all his woes.
Would those who rode beside him now
still follow his commands
When he lay dead, or rise and seek
by strength to rule these lands?
His thoughts were broken by a shout –
“The enemy draws near!”
He looked and saw their banners bright
against the sky so clear,
And doubt and fear he put aside –
now was his time to be
In body, mind, and soul, all one
’gainst all adversity.
The war-horns brayed, the war-shout rose
and horses’ hooves drummed loud –
They charged, and from the thin spring tuff
dust rose in choking cloud
The battle-din was echoed back
from hills and mountains high
With sounds of blows and shouts and screams
and circling raven’s cry.
And in that battle-murk the King
with bloody spear and sword
Fought grimly on while all around
the battle-tumult roared,
And one by one his foes he found
and one by one they fell
As blow by blow he cleft their shields
and sent their souls to hell.
No easy task – his own blood flowed
from many wounds and deep,
Yet on he rode to rend his foes
as wolves rend frightened sheep.
And when at last the fight was done,
his enemies lay dead
And he rode home in victory
still at his war-band’s head –
But knew he too had got his death,
and Death rode by his side –
That grisly specter with a grin
now matched him stride for stride
Unseen by any but himself –
his close and faithful friend
Who’d go with him to board and bed
until he reached his end.’
Back to his Ráth he led his men,
and they were met with cheers –
But songs and laughter both alike
fell bitter on his ears.
His Queen so fair awaited him –
he took her in his arms
And saw within her eyes the smile
change into deep alarm.
“My Lord, you’re hurt!” – His smile grew grim.
“Help me within, my sweet,
Then send and summon all my lords
in my high hall to meet.
I’ve words for them that cannot wait –
my hour it draws near.
Give me your arm, and smile, for now
there’s nothing left to fear.”
His lords they came from near and far –
his word brooked no delay –
And gathered all outside the hall
where their High King he lay.
They murmured each unto the next –
wild rumors flew about –
But not a man among them all
would dare his lord to flout.
At last he called them all within –
and quietly did they come
And stood within that hall so still
as they were stricken dumb.
They saw his face was ghastly pale
and blood it stained his side,
But still he stood before them, straight
and tall, upheld by pride.
“My lords,” he said, “now listen well –
I’ve words that I must say.
My wounds go deeper than you know –
I’ll not live out this day.
I’ve summoned you all here to see
me give my son this crown –
For me it’s now a heavy weight,
and I must lay it down.”
In silence then his son he came
and knelt before the King
Who drew from off his own right hand
an old and massive ring
And placed it on the boy’s young hand.
“Now swear,” he said, “you will
Remember well these words I speak
through times both good and ill.
“A King is not a master, but
a servant to his land.
Your knights are not your minions, but
your own and strong right hand.
Your ministers and priests and bards
can give you counsel true –
But when at last the die is cast,
they all depend on you.
“So honor all your people from
the highest to most low,
And strive to take within your heart
their every joy and woe.
You are their sole defense against
the enemy without,
And they will give you all their strength –
so that your heart be stout.
“Your land is not your plaything – you
must love her like your Queen,
And cherish every rock and tree,
each lake and pasture green.
She feeds you and your people – from her
comes your every good –
Without her you are nothing, so
defend her with your blood.”
He paused and closed his eyes in thought,
and drew a heavy breath.
Cold sweat stood on his forehead; he
could feel the touch of Death.
No harder fight he’d ever fought,
no battle dearer won –
Yet still he stood upon his feet
and looked down on his son.
“Now swear,” he said, “you will accept
this charge I on you lay.”
“I will,” the boy replied. “I’ll do
most gladly all you say.”
The King took off his crown and placed
it on his son’s own head,
Then swayed, and while the folk all watched,
dropped down before them – dead.
The lords all swore allegiance then
unto their new-made King,
And one by one they knelt and kissed
his – once his father’s – ring.
Beside the old King only knelt
the Queen, whose loss and pain
Showed in her tears, which silent fell
on him like bitter rain.
*************
The Royal Hound
Beside her throne he lolls, red tongue thrust out,
And laughs with grinning jaws to see us play.
He is not young – mixed with the black, some gray
Shows in his chin – but still his heart is stout.
Around him people pass, and laugh or shout,
And sometimes he joins in with bark or bay.
His life is simple – his but to obey,
And wait, and watch, and guard, and never doubt –
And he is wise. O Bruno, warrior strong,
Keep well your Queen, the one who loves you best
And whom you best do love. Stay by her side,
Black-coated guardian who abides no wrong,
Purer than knight that ever rode on quest,
Whose soul knows neither vanity nor pride.
*************
Puppy Love
My puppy is so feckless,
She doesn’t mind me well –
She’s sometimes wild and reckless
And likes to leap and yell.
When I am rushing head-long
She’ll take another tack,
And then she is so head-strong
It’s hard to rein her back.
She has the strangest notion
That she’s the one in charge.
Although she’s swift in motion
She isn’t very large,
But she is so insistent
That I – not she! – give in
I have to be consistent –
I always let her win.
Yet still sometimes I wonder
While lying at her feet
If I have made a blunder
Which I should not repeat –
I love my puppy dearly,
Un-dog-like though she be
And yet I’m sure, or nearly,
She thinks that she owns me!
*************
Host Raider
His new green surcoat suited him,
and he was feeling good;
The Aten sun was shining, and
the spring was in his blood,
And Cainnleach was with him,
his high Goddess and his Queen
As he set out to raid that day –
on Estrella’s fields so green.
Bruno is here! Bruno is here! Host Raider in disguise!
‘Twas not his first Estrella – he
had been this way before;
He’d raided here and there for sport,
since he first went to war.
But now he saw he’d chances that
before he’d been denied –
Let all our Royal Hosts look out!
’Twas Bruno’s day to ride!
Bruno is here! Bruno is here! Host Raider in disguise!
To Artemesia first they went,
that camp of Gold and Black,
And when no one was looking,
Bruno made his first attack –
Some luckless breakfast bacon
they would never see again –
It vanished into Bruno’s mouth –
beyond all mortal ken!
Bruno is here! Bruno is here! Host Raider in disguise!
Next Bruno went to Calontir,
our fine and faithful friends
(Though sometimes they have raided us
for their own private ends!) –
A loaf of bread and half a cheese
went into his insides,
And, “What has happened to our lunch?” –
the Calontiri cried.
Bruno is here! Bruno is here! Host Raider in disguise!
Queen Cainnleach suspected
there was something going on,
For Bruno looked too innocent,
and someone’s food was gone,
But she was not the one to call
attention to her Hound,
And so she led the party on –
upon that visit round.
Bruno is here! Bruno is here! Host Raider in disguise!
They came at last to Atenveldt
beneath its golden Sun,
And Bruno’s tail was wagging,
he was having lots of fun –
But nothing to what met his eyes
within that Aten tent –
He looked upon that table –
and he knew ’twas heaven-sent!
Bruno is here! Bruno is here! Host Raider in disguise!
He saw a splendid banquet,
laid out right before his nose!
While Cainnleach distracted them,
old Bruno carefully chose,
And one by one those sausages
did quickly disappear –
There never was a Raider
could so fast a platter clear!
Bruno is here! Bruno is here! Host Raider in disguise!
The table was half empty
before someone looked around,
And then apologies were due
unto the Aten Crown,
But Bruno he was happy
as they led him home again –
‘Cause when warriors go a-raiding –
it’s the old ones always win!
Bruno is here! Bruno is here! Host Raider in disguise!
*************
Shore Song
by the cold shore silent
stone fort lonely standing,
winter’s late light level
low upon it showing.
sea wind rattles rushes,
roaring loud, cloud-pushing;
black-winged rooks call roughly,
raucous, rustling tree-tops
gold sun gilding ocean,
gliding low, red-glowing,
touches broken towers,
topless walls half-fallen,
withered weeds rain-sodden,
willow-herb still seeding,
grow in empty arches,
open doors and portals.
broken hearth of heroes,
heatless, set with nettles,
ruined and unremembered,
roofless now lies silent.
none knows now who ruled here–
nameless lord, once famous–
of the songs once sung here,
sounds now only owl song.
*************
al-Barran
scorpions a-scurry,
snakes on rocks a-baking –
stretching ‘round this stronghold
stony deserts lonely.
once within it winning
wond’rous the abundance!
In this fair oasis
all men call a welcome
Dainty maidens dance there;
drums their war-cry thunder;
Warriors fierce go wearing
white silks thin and princely.
Poets weave their praises
proudly in hall crowded –
al-Barran the ancient –
at her core, the Scorpion.
*************
Citadel of the Southern Pass
Citadel of south-land
shining fortress courtly
rises by a river
running in hot sunlight
water in the wasteland
winding fast through passes
home to warriors humble
who’re to Temple truest
feasting here is famous –
finest wine and dining
here the famous Herald
home does come from roaming
artisans and artists
all here lushly flourish.
keep of perfect comfort –
Cup of shining kindness.
*************
Pryderi’s Pigs
From purple twilight full of mist and rain
into the torchlight at my gates they came,
twelve men in sodden cloaks, mud-splashed and cold,
and to my Porter said, as I was told,
that they were bards from Gwynedd in the north.
He did not ask their names, or state, or worth –
all peaceful men were welcome in my halls.
He lodged them well, brought water, wine and all,
and sent a boy to bring them to the feast.
They took their seats, and when the noise had ceased
I asked their chief if one of his young men,
to entertain us, might some story spin,
or sing a song, perchance, to make time fly.
He smiled and rose, and looked me in the eye,
and said the custom of their company was
the first night they arrived at some new house
the Chief Bard was the one who should perform,
and so he would. In mellow voice and warm
he started then a story to unfold.
Tale followed tale until the night grew old,
and laughter, wonder, fear and even joy
he conjured up. I never heard a boy
or man could any better story spin,
and when at last he came unto the end
I bade him join me at my table high.
He gladly sat, and heaved a weary sigh.
With mead I filled his cup, and merrily
we did converse, and pleasure ’twas to me.
His beard was black; to me he seemed full young –
a green-eyed lad, born with a silver tongue.
“Chieftain,” he said at last, “I’ll tell my task –
I’ve journeyed here, a boon of you to ask.
I’ve heard you own strange beasts: ‘pigs’ they are named –
not like wild boar, but creatures small and tamed.
I ask their gift.” I sighed and shook my head.
“Alas, my friend, though I myself were glad
to give them you, I cannot – not my own
are they to give. They came from dark Annwn,
whose lord was years ago my father’s friend,
and them I may not give or sell or lend
’til twice they’ve bred their number in this land.”
The stranger smiled. “O lord, leave my demand
unanswered, ‘til tomorrow morn we meet,
and then I’ll show you how an answer sweet
to find, for when you see what I shall bring,
you may exchange them for some better thing.”
I laughed – it seemed a joke – no more was said.
We drank our mead, and off we went to bed.
I dreamed that night of magic. Long ago
a spell was laid on Dyfed by a foe
for vengeance, and myself was held in thrall,
and only by good luck escaped at all.
That night again I knew captivity –
the prisoner’s hopeless longing to win free –
the treachery that sent me to that fate
to satisfy a long-enduring hate
conceived before my birth. I woke in fear
and lay awake to think. No warning clear
it seemed to me – and yet I think it was.
All things are clearer when you know their cause.
Clear was next morning, for the day dawned bright,
and all my dreams and fears it put to flight.
Out of my court I went to take the air,
and splendid was the sight that met me there.
Twelve shields as round and golden as the sun
lay sparkling in my courtyard, every one
full worthy to be bourn by any king,
and bright as blooming gorse in early spring.
Beside them stood twelve stallions black as night –
six young men held them by their harness bright,
and that again was gold where iron should be –
but fairer were those horses fine to see!
Their manes and tails fell shining, thick, and long;
their chests were deep, their legs were straight and strong;
their eyes were bright; their hides like jet did shine.
They looked as fleet as stags, swift as the wind.
Beside them sat twelve hounds, a splendid pack,
their breasts snow-white, and all else raven-black.
Their collars and their leashes were all gold.
Their fangs gleamed white; their looks were fierce and bold.
While I stood gaping, all this wealth to see,
the green-eyed stranger came and greeted me.
“What think you, lord? Is this a fair exchange
for what I ask, your creatures small and strange?”
“Indeed it is!” I scarce looked at his face.
“But I must counsel take, not chose in haste.”
I lied. Already then my heart was set
upon those lovely horses black as jet.
I called my counselors – once they had gazed
they were like me by beauty’s spell amazed.
We all agreed, and on that self-same day
I let the strangers drive my pigs away.
That afternoon I hunted my new pack.
My sons and I bestrode those stallions black,
and when at last at evening we rode home
they seemed as fresh and swift as when we’d come.
We talked of nothing else that night in hall –
but of my pigs we never spoke at all.
Twas only next morn, waking in my bed,
A thought came to me, cold as creeping dread –
when those twelve strangers to my gates had come
of horses, dogs, or shields, they had brought none.
I found no stallions in my paddocks green;
no hounds were waiting in my kennels clean,
but only sticks and trash and scraps of bone –
the magic holding them alive had flown.
And in my strong-room where those shields had lain
nothing but withered toadstools now remained.
A burning anger rose inside me then –
what sort of wretch, what poor excuse for men
could come as guests within my halls so high
and there betray my trust with ruse and lie?
I mounted then, and with my war-band raced
along the track those thieves had gone in haste,
but ere we reached the river, my pigs’ spoor
had vanished; we could follow them no more.
I knew then who that northerner had been –
such power is passing rare in mortal men,
and only from the family of great Dôn,
Mathonwy’s brood, could such a wizard come.
To all my one-and-twenty cantrifs wide
my messengers I sent, to swiftly ride
and summon war-bands ready-armed for fight
to meet me here before the second night,
prepared to march. My insult-price twice o’er
I’d have from Gwynedd, as I grimly swore,
and when at last he felt my vengeance’s sting
that green-eyed bard a different tune should sing.
Our journey could have been a pleasure ride,
an amble through the summer countryside
up Helen’s Track, through green Caredigawn,
each day to wake to birdsong in the dawn,
and sleep each night to cuckoo’s lullaby –
it seemed by far too fine a time to die.
We passed the Ystwyth, winding river clear,
and watched old Idris’ Chair draw slowly near.
We crossed above the Dyfi’s mouth so wide
through shoals of salmon silver in her tide.
Then on and up a pass, where forest thick
pressed in upon us. Grey rocks wet and slick
slid underfoot, as loud the river ran
and deer fled up the cliffs on either hand.
Then downward past Llyn Fach, where wildfowl rose
on thrumming wings, and Idris towered close
above us as another pass we climbed,
where ferns grew thick, and falling fountains chimed.
At last onto Ardudwy’s verdant plains
in sparkling showers of sunlight mixed with rain
we rode, and saw against the northern sky
Eryri’s snows shine on Yr Wyddfa high.
One night we camped beside the Dwyryd stream
and set good watch. Beyond the firelight’s gleam
the hills rose full of shadows, dark and steep.
I lingered by the fire – I could not sleep.
Beside my tent there stood a old black stone,
as rooted in the land as if‘t had grown.
It seemed to breathe of cold – I touched its side
and shivered. In the west the sunset died.
The river muttered in its stony bed,
a hunting owl sailed silent overhead
and summer stars bloomed in the twilight sky.
I heard far off a hunting vixen’s cry.
The camp grew quiet; the night wore softly on,
but I lay wakeful to the edge of dawn.
Next day we rode full-armed, prepared for war,
and in the early afternoon we saw
ahead of us an army. Banners bright
stood on the wind, and spearheads caught the light.
My scouts had warned us, and my captains all
had got their orders. For my war-horn’s call
alone they waited, but ere I might blow
three riders galloped forth from out our foe.
They bore green branches, ancient sign of truce –
no one would dare to use them for a ruse.
I rode alone to meet those warriors strong –
the eldest of them I had known full long.
His hair and beard shone like Yr Wyddfa’s snow;
his power wrapped him; I could see its glow.
Old Math son of Mathonwy he was named –
long was his life and far his magic famed.
Beside him on his left my green-eyed bard
came riding – now he looked a warrior hard.
The third man had his features, not his fire –
a younger brother by the self-same sire –
Math’s nephews, surely, both his sister’s sons,
called Gwydion and Gilfaethwy, born to Dôn.
As we drew rein, a sudden anger bright
burst in my heart – I wanted then to fight.
I wrenched my eyes away from Gwydion’s smile
and looked at Math, his manner stern and mild.
“Good friend Pryderi,” said he, “why come here
leading an army? What have you to fear,
here in my land, that needs a thousand men?” –
“Do you then meet me,” asked I, “like a friend?
Your nephew owes me wyneb-werth and more –
and I will have it from him, as I swore.”
“I will not pay you,” Gwydion harshly said.
“You made your choice – the end be on your head!”
I looked at Math. “Is that your final word?”
I found my hand already on my sword.
All through my life my anger and my pride
had driven me; I could not now abide
to be held light. Math saw it. “Wait!” he said.
“Can reparation benefit the dead?
My nephew may have spoke in too much haste –
put back your sword, and let us talk of peace.”
I looked at Gwydion – in his sneering glance
I wanted then to sheathe my iron-shod lance.
“Then let him speak again, or by my word
I’ll take my reparation in his blood.” –
“Old man,” said Gwydion, grinning, “you may try,
but on the day you do, you’ll surely die!” –
Math shook his head. “Pryderi, take from me
your payment, and ride home, and I will see
to Gwydion.” – “No!” I cried, “I will not go
insulted – no man lives, who’s spoke me so!”
With that I wound my horn, and wheeled my horse,
and galloped headlong back toward my force.
The war horns brayed, the war-shouts echoed loud
from Arfon’s peaks, dust rose in choking cloud
behind our charge, as like a mighty flood
we rushed upon our foes – then all was blood.
Tedious to me it would be to relate
all that day’s fighting – combats small and great –
blood-bursts from spears, those shafts of bitter pain,
bespattering all with their warm scarlet rain,
the reek of blood, the din of sword on shield,
the dead men lying thick upon the field
as in old Eiru when I went with Brân –
never was there a greater fighting man! –
The icy waters of the streams ran red
as finest wine – it seemed all nature bled,
not we alone. And yet the blood I sought
could not, it seemed, for any price be bought.
Long raged that fight – at last we must retreat
into the pass, but fighting still, not beat.
There in Glyn Coll we rallied, made a stand,
and there died many another fighting man.
Too many died – I cannot list their names,
I am no bard to give undying fame,
but only death that day was mine to give,
and somewhere still I knew that Gwydion lived.
As last, as evening’s shadows gathered black
I called for truce – to Dôl Benmaen fell back,
and there we camped. Full five of my nine sons
had died that day – the very rocks and stones
had fought against us. Now must I in pain
devise a way to save those who remained.
Math sent two nobles to arrange a truce,
and I gave hostages. It was no use
to carp or to complain. The eldest son
of my first son I gave, the dearest one,
and three-and-twenty noble youths besides –
I stood and watched them proudly northward ride.
Our dead we buried – far too many gone –
and then rode south. The summer sun still shone,
the sky was blue, the flowers bright as May,
but all the world for me was cold and gray –
for while I rode downcast and deeply grieved,
the man who caused this loss to me still lived.
My army – less than half the men who came –
marched sullenly – they felt despised and shamed.
And all the while the Gwynedd men kept pace
and showed no self-restraint, no gentle grace,
but insults, clods, and stones at us they threw.
Of course my men fought back. Soon arrows flew,
and blood was shed. Before we lost all peace
I stopped at Y Felinrhyd for a space.
My heart ached. Such defeat I’d never known.
I thought about my long slow journey home,
and afterwards. Another arrow fell
close by me – I could hear my soldiers yell.
I called a messenger to take my words
back to old Math. I’d settle this with swords.
The afternoon was late, the evening near.
I stood and watched them come. I felt no fear.
Around me stretched wide sands – the tide was out.
A salt wind stroked my cheek, and all about
white seagulls swooped and cried. I stood alone,
and watched the wave-dance of the sinking sun.
Their horses stopped – I heard the steps of men
crunch on the sand. I turned to face them then,
and Gwydion stood there, the green-eyed lad
who had betrayed me, cheated, and made mad.
Like me he stood full-armed. His friends drew back
as mine were doing. There’d be no attack.
My eyes sought his – I smiled within my beard –
if I was fearless, here was one a-feared.
To face me man to man he did not choose,
for he was young and had a life to lose
and I was old, and full of craft and hate,
full ready now to dare a throw with fate.
At last I spoke. “You understand,” I said,
“the two of us must fight ‘til one is dead.” –
“I do.” He grimaced. “I’d wish this undone.
You could withdraw, and still go safely home.” –
“Oh, no,” I laughed. “My meaning still you miss.
I want you dead – you’ve bought and paid for this.
Though I am old, I’ve garnered no mean skill.
You will not find me easier to kill
than you yourself, for of no mortal breed
my mother came, and I am her true seed.
But if by luck you somehow cut me down,
remember this when I lie on the ground.
I curse you now – as you did me betray,
so shall another do to you one day.
I curse you also with my dying breath –
that thing you most do love, you’ll lose to death.
So though you slay me, and I lose this fight,
you win my curse, and dead men’s curses bite.”
His eyes flashed fire; he swiftly drew his sword
and I drew mine. We said no other word,
but spoke with ringing blows of sword on shield,
and gasping breath, and hiss of cutting steel.
Soon both we bled, though neither wounded sore.
The fight went on, though on the distant shore
the tide had turned. The sun was sinking fast.
It mattered not – ‘til dusk we could not last.
Blow after blow – my shield was broken now,
and streams of sweat ran on my bleeding brow.
My sword’s strong hilt was slick with sweat and blood;
the ground we trod was trampled into mud.
The sun’s low light showed Gwydion’s face was set
into a snarl. No fiercer foe he’d met.
My sword-tip caught his leg – I heard him hiss.
He swung at me in turn, but somehow missed.
His parched lips moved. I saw him framing words
beneath his breath, but nothing of them heard.
Those words came faster still. I gave a groan –
I had forgot the magic that he owned!
I lunged at him – he shouted, and a light
burst in my face like sunrise, fiercely bright.
I closed my eyes, unsighted, stumbled blind,
and wildly swung my sword my foe to find,
but he found me. His sword-point pierced my breast
and I fell down. Far in the bloody west
the sun had set. The tide was coming in –
I heard its roar. A gull cried on the wind.
My blood ran out and soaked the trampled sand.
My strength was gone – I could not lift a hand.
I looked at Gwydion, and I tried to smile –
he felt my curse bite deep. His eyes were wild
and he looked old, as I had never been.
So may betrayers all betrayèd end.
*************
Go Tell the Outlands
Go tell the Outlands, passer-by
Here on Estrella’s bloody fields we lie
Though our army they came late
Still we stood and fought as fated –
Go tell the Outlands, passer-by.
E’en though we faced three kingdom’s might
Yet did we stand and fiercely fight
Let the glory our blood bought,
And our names not be forgotten –
Go tell the Outlands, passer-by.
Dukes Artan and Hrothgar death long defied
Sir James and Sir Sterling slew and died
Fiercely though our foes they fought,
High the price at which they bought us –
Go tell the Outlands, passer-by.
Sir Lavan Longwalker slew foes untold
Sir Berold and Trystan de Gilbert were bold
Boldly there our foes we slew,
Though the price was our undoing –
Go tell the Outlands, passer-by.
Ladies Alethea and Keridwen fought there
Lord Thomas Winterbourne and Wolf did their share
Though the price we paid was dear,
Few the foes we left to fear us –
Go tell the Outlands, passer-by.
Go tell the Outlands, passer-by.
That on no foreign field we lie
For our blood that soaked this sand
Changed it into Outlands land –
Go tell the Outlands, passer-by.
A Man
Oh, I was just a youngling
when first I came to serve
within Ceridwen’s Castle,
and there I fell in love –
I loved my royal Lady
as truly as heart can,
and childlike, vowed to wed her
when I was grown a man.
As page-boy first I served her,
and carried cloak and glove.
She smiled and touched my bright curls,
but spoke no word of love.
Yet on her many errands
full joyfully I ran,
and dreamed that she would love me
when I became a man.
I shot up like a young tree,
and served her as a squire.
I never glanced at maidens –
she was my whole desire.
At last one day it happened –
she smiled and took my hand.
Her lips were sweet as honey,
and she found I was a man.
I sang for her in feast-hall
and joined her at her board,
and she was my dear lady,
though I was not her lord.
We danced in silver moonlight,
we galloped o’er the land –
in hunt and court and bower
I served her as a man.
The years ran by so swiftly,
and now my beard is grey.
My body’s old and withered,
and she’s not aged a day.
When I am gone she’ll miss me –
as much as her heart can –
though she be Queen immortal,
and I was just – a man.
*************
Invitation to Hunter’s Feast
Fine and fair the foodstuffs brought forth by our land –
grains from the farmer, grown by hoe and hand,
wild fruits found and gathered, or herdsman’s slaughtered beast –
but none can compare with our noble Hunter’s Feast.
Oats and wheat are splendid for making bonny bread;
cabbages and turnips both help to keep us fed;
carrots, kale and onions of foods are not the least,
but only serve to garnish our noble Hunter’s Feast.
Apples crisp and ruddy make pies and cider fine;
berries red and purple and grapes make splendid wine;
beer and mead make merry soldier, prince and priest –
but these but serve to sweeten our noble Hunter’s Feast.
Eggs and milk and cheeses, creamy, salt and sweet,
are excellent as staples and pleasant oft to eat;
chickens, ducks and peacocks are loved in west and east,
but still cannot compare with our noble Hunter’s Feast.
Cow’s meat for the Saxons, pig’s meat for the Celts,
mutton for the Normans, and goat’s meat for all else –
every clan and nation has each their favorite beast,
but higher still they value our noble Hunter’s Feast.
Salmon full of wisdom, antelope and hare,
wildfowl from the marshes, deer and boar and bear –
these make up our menu, so when my words have ceased
come and join our company at our noble Hunter’s Feast!
*************
Praise to Maelgwn and Cainnleach
Praise to high lords princely,
proud, I now sing loudly –
over Outlands lovely
long their rule, song-worthy.
Worthy man, King Maelgwn,
mighty hound in fighting,
foe-blood sheds he fiercely –
fright’ning force, resourceful.
Source of good, gold-giver
gladdens all in hall-place –
clad in tartan clothing,
king great-minded, kindly.
Cainnleach most queenly
close beside him biding –
best she shines in beauty
brightly Outlands lighting.
Light from eyes of emerald
ever on her servant –
Bruno, best and bravest –
bards all raise his praises.
Praise to high lords princely,
proud, I now sing loudly –
over Outlands lovely
long their rule, song-worthy.
*************
A Song for St. Golias
Of old the Irish loved their cows –
great were their cattle raids.
For one fine bull Cuchulainn fought
and devastation made.
For love of cows an Irish king
did trade away his wife –
Oh! cows indeed in Ireland old
caused muckle death and strife!
And so I’ll never love a cow –
they’re not my favorite beasts,
and nor will they take precedence
when I prepare a feast!
No more of beauteous cows I’ll sing –
their company I’ll not keep –
Though fine their milk and meat and hide,
they can’t compare with sheep!
For pigs In Wales a fierce war
twixt north and south they fought,
‘Cause Gwydion had carried home
some swine unfairly got!
And Arthur’s men for Culhwch’s sake
a monstrous boar pursued,
and though they got the things they sought,
that contest sorely rued!
And so I’ll never love a pig –
they’re not my favorite beasts,
and nor will they take precedence
when I prepare a feast!
Though magical they well may be,
brought forth from Annwn deep,
For usefulness they can’t compare
with splendid wooly sheep!
Now sheep have never caused a war –
who sings of mutton raids?
And sheep have led no monstrous hunts –
for who’s of sheep afraid?
No king did e’er give up a wife
for parchment, wool or meat,
Or find his ears were charmed by sounds
of soft recurring bleats.
And so I vow I’ll love my sheep –
they are my favorite beasts,
and always will take precedence
when I prepare a feast!
For cows and bulls I will not mourn,
for boars and sows not weep,
But always first in Golias
I’ll praise – beloved sheep!
*************
Wings
(for Mistress Kyriel)
Wings, wings in the sky
high in the west where the sunset was dying
over the mountains and prairies you loved –
wings of a hawk high above.
Wings, wings in the night –
coyotes and cattle both sang for your flighting –
spirit as true as the great sword you loved –
windhover hawk, fly above.
Wings, wings in the fire –
burning away all pain and vain desiring –
warming and lighting the people you loved ¬
wings of a hawk high above.
wings, wings in the stone –
there where they laid you, the crown and the bone –
part now forever of this land you loved –
windhover hawk, fly above.
Wings, wings in my heart –
knowing that truly this is not a parting –
you will watch over this kingdom you loved
on the wings of a hawk high above –
Windhover Bard that we loved.
*************
Two Riddles
(from the Bardic List)
Maiden huntress, silver bow,
first I shrink, and then I grow.
I bring high ones, also low.
(the moon)
Struck with sharp nails, this tree will sing
and leafless still sweet harvest bring –
freely she sings, though wound with wire,
and flameless burns with Apollo's fire.
(a harp)
*************
Indulgences and Pardons
“By my hand for the good of the state,
the bearer has done what has been done”–
on a writ from the hand of that Cardinal great
so did the fateful message run.
Twas a pardon free to maim or slay,
harrow or burn, with war or raid–
knowing there’d be no debt to pay,
no need for the bearer to be afraid
of mortal law or of heaven high
(for surely this was an indulgence too?)
Raise your weapons and then let fly;
nor king nor devil shall harry you!
I hold no indulgence nor pardon free
but I have a weapon I dare to use –
Taliesin’s spear, true poetry,
given to me by the hand of the muse.
So mind all gentles the wrath of a bard
(the fire from heaven that burns all men)
and threaten me not with weapons hard –
sharper than swords is the point of a pen.
–––––––––––––––––––––––
“pren onn hyd yw fy awen gwen”
“my ash spear is my awen” – Taliesin
*************
Summer’s Heat
Summer’s heat grows heavy now –
droops the flower, bends the bough
laden with the ripening fruit –
weary charge on branch and root.
Sultry sun in brazen sky
fixes all with burning eye –
where he gazes all grows hot –
short the step from ripe to rot.
Blossoms beckon buzzing bees,
loud cicadas call from trees,
whining gnats, mosquitoes too
add their voices to the crew.
Shadows lengthen – dusk at last
comes to take us in his clasp,
wraps in darkness cool and sweet –
brief respite from summer’s heat.
*************
Five Limericks
(from the Bardic List)
The Ban-Fili Caelte Caitcairn
owns words that can sooth or can burn -
just lend her an ear
and whatever you hear
I promise some new thing you'll learn.
Our Savya who's called the silent
writes poems exciting and violent,
and in Golias' halls
she sings one and all -
she hardly ever is silent!
I ne'er said that filk was a sin -
it's just not the most noble end,
but when the time's right
(by the bard-fire at night)
I'll commit the act now and again.
There once was a laureate bard
who purchased twelve gallons of lard,
and when they asked why,
she replied, “This supply
is to oil up my praise when required.”
There once was a fighter named Jock
who sometimes gave ladies a shock
for the tilt of the hilt
that he wore by his kilt
was almost as stiff as his socks.
These limericks are far too clean -
there's hardly a – to be seen,
but the cleverest still
while avoiding that ill
can be funny and yet not obscene.
*************
To Be A Bard
To be a bard is not a easy thing –
it is no harmless, idle game we play.
To sing a song, pluck music from a string,
or juggle words in pleasing bright array –
these things are lightly done, and yet with them
a heavy burden comes, whose weight is this:
sharp words may fly as swift as arrow slim
to strike a target – or, as deadly, miss.
For though I hold no sword, yet still I fight –
I bear the muse’s spear, true poetry,
and careful must I be as armored knight
to wield my weapon, which may harm or free.
So know before you start, this road is hard –
it is no easy thing to be a bard.
*************
A Welsh Curse
(To King Edward I of the English)
Your head on a pike, O Edward,
as you did by Llywelyn my lord
(with ivy crowned green) –
Oh, naught that I’ve seen
more pleasure to me could afford!
Your children to die unwedded –
all your issue to rot and decay –
as our Gwenllian died
locked away there inside
far removed from the light of the day.
Your body to lie on our mountains,
and feed the wild dogs and the kites –
and the wind to make moan
over every white bone
for ten thousand bitter-cold nights.
And hell-fire to burn you, Edward –
Oh, hotter than Black Mountains coal!
And loud may you scream
midst the smoke and the steam –
the Devil to keep your soul!
*************
Wizard’s Lament
My castle grey stands on a lonely shore
where salt mist drifts in bitter choking cloud.
White seagulls swoop and soar and cry aloud,
and green waves break with deep resounding roar.
Black candles burn beside my open door;
their fickle flames cast shadows on a shroud.
September’s twilight brings the ghosts that crowd
about this bier, where hope comes never-more.
For all I have of magery or lore,
and all that once was high and strong and proud,
could not unspeak a promise once avowed,
nor one of summer’s days to us restore.
All flesh that lives in time must come to dust,
as day must come to dark, and steel to rust.
*************
Exile
September’s seas stretch cold and grey between
this castle black and lands I once did love,
yet still within my heart those fields are green
and radiant sunlight clothes the hills above.
Though lonely winter soon will wrap this land
and candle flames may give my only light,
last summer’s sweetness still will not be banned
from thoughts and dreams that warm my weary nights.
But when bright spring returns, then shall I come
as steel to lode-stone, needle to the north,
and like those birds by winter stricken dumb
again will pour my heart’s wild longing forth.
Swift then I’ll fly to that which my heart craves,
light as a seagull o’er the sundering waves.
*************
The Birth of Taliesin
Ceridwen’s cauldron seethes and steams tonight;
the wind without her hut gusts high and wild
to shake the stars that shining lend their light
upon the world that waits her new-born child.
The frost-seared fern burns red as fire or blood
and violets shiver, crouched between the stones,
while thorny brambles rattle in the wood
and slender birches show like dancing bones.
Inside this vortex, at the center still
in warmth and steady silence there he lies
within her arms, the babe she cannot kill,
and watches her with ancient knowing eyes.
From wind and fire, from water and from earth
true poetry takes shape and comes to birth.
*************
September Crown
Two voices raised by turns, bards call our past
while scattered dust makes one field all our land,
and king and queen bright-crowned with power stand
to seek those who must follow them at last.
Strong warriors rich-bedight and ladies gay,
each pair in turn strides forth from carven gate
while heralds call their deeds, to silent wait
preparing mind and body for the fray.
Sword oath is sworn and consorts heed their queen,
the lists are drawn and armor buckled tight,
then two by two those warriors face the fight
that tests their skill, and strength, and honor clean.
Though all alike have dreamed, yet only one
today will triumph ‘neath our Outlands sun.
*************
More Riddles From the Bardic List
calling and cursing
over wide wastes
white-clad, wind-borne,
wide I wander
each of two elements
boundless buoys me
only one offers
food to feed me
(seagull)
from five flakes
of argent hue
red as blood
so I grew
five fold star
in me still
till my golden
blood you spill
(apple)
silver war-sark
spearless, swordless
fearless farer
great my ganging
high as heroes
long my leaping
hazels harvest
of all oldest
(salmon)
golden gladness
warriors’ wages
hall all hails me
sweet as summer
bitter burden
blood-price buys me
paid to princes
potent poison
(mead)
well-armed, I bear
two bundles of spears
my loud war-cry sounds
when autumn nears
in snow I show
but tracks alone
yet far and wide
my form is known.
(the outlands stag)
*************
Bela and Elizabeth
O, Bela and Elizabeth
when Outlands King and Queen
did seek what gifts they best could give
to bless their land so green –
for reign of King and Queen is short
but memory is long,
and by the gifts they leave behind
we know them when they’re gone.
“O, herds of horses swift,” said he,
”would bear our knights to war –
so should our Outlands might be known
by foes both near and afar!”
”O, horses swift are good,” said she,
”yet many have the same,
and I would find a gift more true
to Outlands’ far-flung fame!”
“O, swords of steel so bright,” said he
”would arm our fighting men –
so should our Outlands might be known
afar to foe and friend!”
”O, swords of steel are good,” said she,
”yet many have the same,
and I would find a gift more true
to Outlands’ far-flung fame!”
“O, barrels of mead and wine,” said he,
”nine hundred score and more,
would serve to toast our victories
and down our throats to pour!”
”O, mead and wine are good,” said she,
”yet many have the same,
and I would find a gift more true
to Outlands’ far-flung fame!”
Then as they stood a-speaking there,
a hawk cried overhead –
she hovered high upon the air
and then away she sped.
”O, what then means this?” cried the King –
”I know,” the Queen replied.
”An omen fair from heaven sent
to help us now decide!
“O, once within this land there lived
a bard of great renown,
and sad the day for all of us
when death did cut her down!
As Windhover the hawk upon
her banner once was seen,
so Windhover we’ll leave behind
to bless the Outlands green!”
Swift messengers throughout the land
they sent to bear the news
of what great gift they meant to give
and how they meant to choose –
to Fields of Gold and Silver Pass
they summoned all their bards
to come with song and tale, prepared
to meet in contest hard.
The bards they came as they were bid
and gathered round the fire
neath starry night and silver moon
in bold and brave attire,
and for their King and Queen they sang
and told their tales of old,
and two were chosen, best at Silver
Pass and Fields of Gold.
To Hinterland the King and Queen
did come to find Their Heirs,
and there these bardic Champions did
contend and were compared,
and when the Prince and Princess new
sat down in Royal pride,
Windhover Bard sat down as well
in Court there at their side!
O, Bela and Elizabeth
when Outlands King and Queen
did seek what gifts they best could give
to bless the Outlands green –
though reign of King and Queen is short