Que triste es asumir el sufrimiento,
patético es creer que una mentira
convoque a los duendes del milagro,
que te hagan despertar enamorada.
I cannot write beside you in bed at night.
It makes the distance of inches unbearable,
and in turn memories of cold December sun-
shine and high end hotel sheets unburied by verses
I thought I had forgotten, the realization
that some Guatemalan singer said it all
years ago: how it hurts, the distance, that although
I hear you breathe, you’re hundreds of miles away,
and on, and on, better words than my own,
and besides the sound of my typing keeps you
awake, huffing impatiently in the screenlight,
resenting me for such clichéd closeness,
for perhaps the failure to find the right analogy,
for yet another song I never showed you.
even through the thickest ice, redemption
may bubble. don’t call it the realm of the dead.
say instead: that cauldron from which every man
springs, and will again return.
pull up fistfuls of last year’s leaf-
mould; wade the bitter waters;
sift the cold from the thaw.
this is not another poem
about what to feed your dragon.
serpent-sister, i no longer fear judgment,
have seen the green from your high walls.
atonement is made from yeast-drops
and pomegranate seeds, shimmers,
the life-beneath-frost, your nascent
breakings, the roots planted in winter.
remember the strength in those you have loved,
the gentle rain lost to the mists.
This poem focuses on the figure of Hel and Niflheim, the “Mist-home” or Realm of the Dead. According to some sources, Niflheim was the first of the nine worlds in the Viking mythos, and home to Hvergelmir, the “boiling bubbling spring” protected by the dragon Nidhug and origin of all life (as well as its final destination).
Hel is the daughter of trickster god Loki, sister to the wolf Fenrir and Jormungandr, the serpent that circles the world. She has dominion over all who die of sickness and old-age, determining their ultimate fate. The high walls and gates of her land are cited several times in the Poetic Edda.
The dead are not necessarily condemned to Niflheim, but can also pass through Nastrond’s (Shore of Corpses) poisoned streams to be cast back into Hvergelmir. Other sources say Nastrond and the feeding of Nidhug therein is reserved for those guilty of murder, adultery or oath-breaking.
The title, “If all things should weep” references the fate of Baldr, son of goddess Frigg, who sends an emissary to Hel to try to ransom him back to the land of the living. Hel replies that the love of the world for Baldr must first be tested:
“If all things in the world, alive or dead, weep for him, then he will be allowed to return to the Æsir. If anyone speaks against him or refuses to cry, then he will remain with Hel.”
When one refuses to weep for Baldr, he is forced to remain. The story is reminiscent of the Greco-Roman Orpheus, who also journeyed to retrieve a loved one from the land of the dead. Other sources have linked Hel variously to Proserpina.
your dragon purrs, earth-
quaking, scaly metaphor
made heavy flesh, a serpent
that circles your world. you,
its catspaw to bat and squeeze
and toss gray skyward
where you seek snow
to pillow the hard gorge of falling,
or a hero, a hammer-wielding
savior to break the cage of winter.
lift a cup with me, drain the ocean
of ache and illusion. every season
has its ending, every Goliath
its David, every snake its eagle.
This poem is the 3rd as part of a collaborative project at artipeeps. The poems center around the nine realms in Viking mythology. The third realm is that of the giants, Jotunheim. “Today” plays with the language of a story wherein Thor and companions are tricked by the illusory magic of giant Útgarða-Loki.. Among other things, Thor is challenged to pick up a gray cat but can lift only his paw; it is revealed later that the cat is actually Jormungand, the serpent that encircles the world. You can find the entire story (which is a part of the Poetic Edda) here under “Fighting Illusions.”